Bryan called from the ditch. "Is he all right?"
Patty tasted nausea, and his tears dropped on Jimmy's face, on the hollow, still smile at the corners of his mouth, on his warm, beautiful lips. Patty reached, and he came up empty. There was a little hole on the left, just where the fuzz of Jimmy's hair began. Patty wanted to thank him for the flag, to tell him that Bryan was twenty and stupid, to scream and make him hold on. They watched him for two hours, and Jimmy died.
Patty saw the haunt of the orange flames and heard the static electricity and the wind of the bullets. They call and some listen, and some don't, and some heed and some don't, and some reach for the orange arms, and some lie still, frightened, dead, still.
CHAPTER 14: THE LETDOWN
Patty lay still in the ditch and listened to the echoes of firing. With bitter pleasure, he imagined that the whine of the bullets controlled his heartbeat, and that when the last shot died out, his heart would stop. The radio crackled. Patty ignored it. He concentrated and tried to force tears into his eyes. Nothing came. Bryan crawled up and shook Patty's arm. Patty gazed blankly at him, and Bryan looked away.
"Say, Patsin, uh, I just got a message over the radio. We have to move out."
"Move out where?” Patty spoke listlessly. "Aren't you tired of killing your men?"
Bryan ignored the remark. His fingers scraped circles in the dirt. "They said we gotta take this open field and move to the dikes on the other side. The orders came over the radio. Your squad is first."
Patty furrowed his forehead and shook himself. When he spoke, he was suddenly alert. "We're not crossing that field in daylight, and you can tell the captain, the major and anybody else you want. You got me, Bryan."
"Patsin, that's an order," flared Bryan without looking up.
"Bryan, you're done giving orders around here. Jimmy's dead. You killed him, and you're done giving orders."
"I didn't kill him."
Patty leaned close to Bryan. "Look at me when you speak to me, Lieutenant.” Bryan looked up. "Tell them to take the orders and shove 'em. We're not moving 'til dark."
"Look, I didn't make the orders," said Bryan softly.
"Shut up and bug off," said Patty. He glanced at Bryan's eyes and rolled over away from him.
Camp smiled at Patty. "Nice to hear you talking again, buddy."
Patty frowned. "It's over, and I'm done thinking about it. I ought to shoot Bryan."
"Jimmy . . . " said Camp.
Patty reached out and put his fingers over Camp's mouth. "Don't mention his name, huh."
"Okay, buddy," said Camp. "Let's try to rest 'til dark."
"Yeah, Doc. 'Til dark.” Patty crooked his arms behind his head and closed his eyes.
At twilight, the firing ceased, and a smoke-filled stillness settled over the battle field. Patty whispered to Camp to pass the word for everybody to come over. The men crawled up, and a little circle gathered around Patty in the ditch, everybody low to the ground and nervous. Jimmy lay on the high ground above like a sentinel.
Patty looked into the shadows of faces and spoke. "The moon's full, but we gotta move anyway. We'll stop at the first dike. Any questions?"
Italy tapped Patty's knee. "There hasn't been any rifle fire for a half-hour. You think maybe they left?"
Patty shook his head. "C'mon, Italy. Even you don't believe that."
"Well, maybe."
"Right," said Camp. "Our twenty walking wounded scared off their battalion."
Italy shrugged. "Nothing wrong with hoping."
"Okay," said Patty. "Let's go.” He turned and crawled out of the ditch. Everybody followed. They spread out in a line and bellied out past the last row of trees into the open field.
Patty saw Camp and Frank moving beside him like wriggling silverfish under the spotlight of the moon. No shots came. They'll spot us any minute, thought Patty, then we'll get it. He rested and listened to the jagged sound of his panting. When his breathing allowed, he started forward again. In the distance, the low mound of the dike seemed to rise and fall as he moved. The ground was hard, and his body dug in at each crawl. His rifle clattered each time he pushed his right hand forward. The magazine on his ammo belt rattled. The noise seemed like a signal. Shoot me. Me first. Still, nothing happened. Patty's helmet made his head sweat. His scalp itched. His arms ached.
"No sign of 'em yet," called Italy.
"Shut up," Patty hissed.
Maybe they won't fire, Patty thought. Maybe they're waiting for us to crawl up to the dike, and they'll jump us in the dark. All those Asians know judo. He felt along his belt for his bayonet. He rubbed the hilt, sliding it a little out of the scabbard to make sure it moved easily. His mind raced. God, I never thought I'd get into hand to hand combat. They'll probably come at us five to one with knives in their teeth and little 'ah so' grins. We don't have a chance. I wish they'd get it over with. They better get me quick. I don't want to be tortured. This lousy ground feels like cement. My elbows and knees will be bruised for a week. Poor Jimmy.
Patty looked up. The dike loomed a few yards ahead. Patty crawled up to it and waited, panting, for everybody to catch up. His breathing slowly subsided. He took a deep breath of air and held it, listening for the sound of a breath, or a whisper, or the jiggle of a rifle from the other side. Nothing. He blew his breath out and stuck his head over the top. Nothing.
"I told you," panted Italy. He grinned and turned over on his back. "The stars are sure beautiful. I wonder how many there are."
Patty turned over, using his helmet for a headrest. "They sure are beautiful. I'll be damned.” Patty laughed. "Nothing, not a goddamned thing."
"Yeah," said Camp. "Here we been waiting for hours, scared to death, and they just up and flaked off. Ain't that a shame."
"Yeah," said Patty. "All that worrying for nothing. Those bastards. Those lousy bastards."
Patty's side ached, and he was weak from laughter. He snagged his helmet back on and gazed at the stars. It was a warm night with a gentle breeze. The stars were lovely, and Patty felt peaceful. He closed his eyes and almost dozed.
"Ouch," said Italy. "Ow. Ouch."
Sleepily, Patty looked over at him. "What's up?"
"I don't know. Something's biting me. Ow. Ouch."
Patty smiled. "It's just nerves. Doc, what do they call it, psycho something or other."
"Psychosomatic illness," answered Camp without looking up. "Look Italy," he added. "Don't bother me. I'm dreaming about getting laid."
"Well," responded Italy. "Whatever the screw it is, it itches and it hurts. Ouch."
"Hey, Camp," said Patty. "I never knew Italy had such a vivid imagination."
"Did you know he has nightmares about losing money in poker games?" said Camp.
"No fooling," said Patty. "That's serious."
"Ouch," yelled Italy. "Something bit me in the crotch. Ow. Ow.” He jumped up, did a little jig, and started taking off his clothes.
Camp and Patty chuckled. "Keep your shirt on, brother," said Patty. "There's no showers out here."
"Ow," said Camp. "Ouch.” He jumped up and started stripping.
"What are you guys doing?” Patty sat up with alarm. "You fooling with me or something?"
They ignored him and continued undressing.
"What's going on with you guys," said Patty. "Stop messing around.” Suddenly he understood. "Ow! Ooh wee! That hurts. Ouch. Ow. Ouch!”
He jumped up and started stripping his clothes off as fast as he could, dancing around like a madman. His ammo belt was stuck, and in his hurry, he couldn't get it off. When it came free and fell to the ground, he grabbed the two sides of his shirt and pulled. The buttons popped off. He threw the shirt on the ground and slapped his chest and stomach, and sides, slapped his pants legs and rear end with one hand while he tried to unbutton his military fly with the other. Finally the pants were loose, but he couldn't get them over his combat boots, and he fell down in a tangle.
"Ow. Ow. Damn.” He crawled out into the
field, unlaced his boots and whipped off the rest of his clothes, slapping himself as he did.
"Patty, you sure have a vivid imagination," called Italy.
"Naked as a jaybird," said Camp.
"Lousy red ants," said Patty as he pulled one out of his pubic hair. "Ooh."
"Patty, you sure have shiny skin in the moonlight," said Italy. "Five to two, you're whiter than Camp."
"Up yours. Why didn't you warn me?"
"Well, brother, to tell you the truth, I was a little occupied.” Italy laughed.
"You look great, Patty," said Camp. "One helluva target."
Italy slipped his shirt back on. "Say, Patty, did I hear you rip your buttons? It sure sounded like it."
"Well, I was in a hurry," said Patty.
"Yeah, sounded like it," said Camp.
Patty pounded his pants with his shoe, then got back into them. He sat down on the dike to lace up his boots. He itched all over, but the ants were gone.
Camp picked up Patty's shirt by a corner. "You want this, Patty?"
"Nah. Leave it for the peasants."
Italy picked up his helmet and stuffed it back on his head. "Charlie will probably get it. He digs American made."
"So what," Patty said.
"You better take it," said Camp. "You're one hell of a target in the moonlight."
"Nah, it's all full of ants.”
Camp dropped the shirt back among the ants.
Bryan called out, "Patsin, I just got orders. We're to move down the field."
"Okay," said Patty. He grabbed his rifle and stood up. "Let's go, men."
The men gathered their gear and moved back into the field, walking through the dry rice paddies at a right angle to their original line of attack. The field stretched out, and the men walked along, well spread out in an easy line, crossing the dikes that separated one paddy from another. The paddies were mowed and dry. Only occasional broken yellowed stalks stuck out of the silver and brown.
The light was soft and romantic. Patty pictured a picnic blanket spread on the ground. He felt the soft warmth of Janet's breasts as he held her tenderly in his arms, and the blood of violence ebbed from him. He walked along, emptied and unseeing. The cool night breeze pleasantly tickled the hair on his belly.
Bryan's voice carried formlessly through the dark. "This is it."
"What's this?" said Camp.
"We're setting a perimeter defense here for the night," responded Bryan.
"What was the object of the stroll?" said Camp. "We could've made a nice perimeter right where we were and protected the ants from Charlie all night long."
"I think we were looking for Bravo," said Italy.
"Cut it," answered Bryan. "Men, make a circle. Every fifth man stays awake. Shifts are two hours."
Patty lay down right where he stood. He was too tired to cook any Crations, so he curled up, trying to keep warm without his shirt.
Quickly he slipped into a nightmare of light sleep. He was low crawling on the sidewalk. On the left, his parent's white stone house loomed about him, part of a row of gigantic houses with pointed roofs and one-eyed attics. The porch roof had fallen and the chaise was broken. The oak tree that protected the house stood on the sidewalk in front of him, its roots cracking the cement. In the street, big ants had his father and mother and brother down on the tar and were eating them. "Shoot," Bryan yelled. Patty didn't know whether to kill the ants or his parents, but Jimmy said not to worry, just to do it. So he pulled the trigger. And the curb ran full with the blood of his family. The ants, with cold, yellow teeth, swam on the curb. The blood overflowed onto the sidewalk and knocked down the oak tree. The red tide came at Patty in a rush and engulfed him, ants swimming over his head.
Patty awoke chilled. Italy was shaking him. "Wake up, Patty. It's your watch," he whispered.
"Thanks," Patty mumbled.
"Patty, you feel cold. You'd better take my shirt. I got a T-shirt and plenty of fat to keep me warm."
"Okay," Patty answered. His teeth chattered.
"Goodnight," said Italy. He tapped Patty on the shoulder.
"'Night."
Patty sat up, pulled on Italy's big shirt, and buttoned it. The moon had slid behind clouds. It cast a pale light on the clouds but left the field dark. Patty peered into the night and made out the vague shapes of trees and bushes and dikes. They seemed to drift toward him as ghosts left over from his dream. He gazed at them, and they materialized. They slipped up to him as Jimmy, and Thompson, and Rob, and Mac, and Frank. They came closer, and Patty felt the night chill. He imagined they were Charlie creeping up on him.
"Don't fire," he muttered to himself. "You'll wake everyone for nothing, you dumb coward.” He slapped his face twice, hard, and the phantoms disappeared. Soon the waning moon came out from behind the clouds and brightened the field, bathed it in gentle silver. The time drifted away, and the watch ended.
Patty shook Camp. "Come on, Doc, your turn."
"Huh," Camp mumbled without moving.
"You're on watch."
Camp's eyes blinked open. "Jesus, can't a guy get some sleep around here."
"It's your watch."
"Oh, yeah. Okay."
"C'mon, get up before I go to sleep."
"Okay, I'm up.” Camp sat up.
"Goodnight, Doc."
"'Night," said Camp.
Patty had just fallen back asleep when Camp shook him. Patty looked up. "What?"
"I'm sorry, Patty, but I just can't stay awake. You mind sitting up with me?"
Patty frowned and sat up.
"I'm really beat, Patty. Thanks."
Patty stretched. "No big thing. Yesterday was a long day."
"Yeah, and maybe today will be another," said Camp.
"I hope not."
"I'm really sorry, Patty."
"Forget it.” Patty squeezed his shoulder. "We'll get there together, huh?"
Camp nodded.
They sat in silence, feeling close. Slowly the dawn slipped up, spreading gray light across the sky. The clouds began to shine, pink and orange and red from the east.
Camp broke the silence of an hour. "It's beautiful."
"Yeah, it is," Patty answered.
They sat on, Patty's hands hooked around his legs, his chin resting on his knees; Camp, flat on his stomach, his elbows stretched forward with his hands supporting his head. The sun rose and warmed the land, replaced the soft lines of moonlight with the stark contrasts and harsh lines of daylight in the tropics.
The men began to stir. Patty pulled out some Crations, meat and potatoes, and heated them over C-4 plastic explosive.
Italy crawled up. "Good morning, America.” He grinned as he smelled the potatoes. "Patty, you wouldn't want to trade those old green potatoes, would you? They smell half rotted."
"I don't know," said Patty. "What you got?"
Italy beamed. "I got scrambled eggs, the perfect breakfast."
Patty laughed. "Who you kidding?"
"Nothing wrong with trying.” Italy winked. "I thought maybe you'd like 'em."
"Nobody likes them."
"Okay," said Italy. He stood up, stretched, and threw the can as far as he could. He looked down at Camp. "No use poisoning myself, is there, Doc?"
"None at all," answered Camp.
Patty scarfed down his meat and potatoes and a couple gulps of tepid water. He rubbed his belly and smacked his lips. "Italy, you'll never know how good that was."
Italy grinned. "Give me my shirt, you bastard."
"Sure.” He pulled it off and handed it over. "Thanks, buddy."
Italy spoke as he slipped into it. "Anybody want to make a little bet. I say we scared the pants of Charlie, and he won't show today."
"You're on for five dollars," answered Frank.
"I don't know about Charlie, but he sure as hell scared me," said Camp.
"Got you covered," said Italy. "Doc, you want to bet?"
"I'm not about to bet against myself. I'd be rooting for you to w
in."
Bryan called out, "We got safe, simple orders today. We re-sweep the areas we covered yesterday and pick up our dead and pile 'em in the middle of the field for the helicopters. Any questions?"
There weren't any.
Italy leaned over to Frank. "Want to double the bet?"
"Fuck you," answered Frank.
Frank, Camp, and Patty walked back up the field to get Jimmy. Nobody said a word. Patty kept his eyes on the ground so he wouldn't see the men walking on either side of him.
A few months before, the paddies had been filled with water and rice. Now the rice had been picked. Only dried bits of straw remained. The dry season had evaporated the water, and the land had turned from wet dark mud to cracked light dirt. The drying had turned each few inches into an island separated by little cracks from other islands. Patty walked silently over the dirt and felt its hardness.
They entered the woods, walked a few steps into the shade, and found Jimmy, brown and lifelike, lying on his back. His head rested on his flag. There was no wind, and the only sound was the slow trickle of dark water in the ditch. Here the water kept the land. The dirt was black, and the trees a deep, sheltering green.
Patty grabbed Jimmy's legs, and Frank and Doc each took a hand. They carried the heavy dead weight out to the middle of the field. They walked in time, and Jimmy's sagging body swayed between them as if he were in a hammock. The little hole in his forehead had a thin line of dried blood around it. They put Jimmy down carefully, last in a row of dead in the middle of the field. Bryan gave Patty a green sleeping bag cover and he wrapped Jimmy in it.
Patty heard the soft whine of the helicopter from afar, coming to carry them home. Patty looked up. The sky was a deep blue with scattered cumulus clouds.
CHAPTER 15: BRYAN
Patty knocked on Bryan's door.
"Who's there?" said Bryan.
"It's Patsin. You wanted to see me."
Bryan opened the door and invited Patty into the room. "Make yourself at home.” He motioned Patty to an arm chair.
Patty walked over and sat down.
"Pretty plush, huh?" said Bryan.
Patty glanced at the dark wood paneling and the headboards on the twin beds. The room smelled of leather. He nodded. "What do you want?"
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