he's also big and mean; he inspires a certain tolerance.
"Joker thinks he has an outstanding program," Mother tells the New Guy.
"Going to Hollywood after he rotates back to the World. If I don't waste him
first. Going to be Paul fucking Newman. My ass." Animal Mother pulls out a
deck of poker cards. The cards are dog-eared and greasy and have photographs
of Tijuana whores on them. The Tijuana whores are establishing meaningful
relationships with donkeys and big dogs.
Animal Mother deals draw poker hands to himself and to the New Guy.
The New Guy hesitates, then scrapes up his cards.
Animal Mother unbuckles his field pack and pulls out a brown plastic
rack of poker chips--red, white, and blue. Mother takes a stack of plastic
chips from the rack and drops them on the deck in front of the New Guy.
"Where are you from, you little shit?"
"Texas, sir."
"Sir, my ass. This ain't P.I. and there ain't no way I'm gonna be no
fucking officer. Never happen. Ain't even the assistant squad leader
anymore. Now I'm a private--the most popular rank in the Marine Corps. Got
more fucking ops, more confirmed kills, and more T.I. than any grunt in this
squad--including Cowboy." Animal Mother spits, scratches the dark stubble on
his chin. "Flipped a bird to a poge colonel at the big PX on Freedom Hill.
Got me busted from sergeant. I was the fucking platoon sergeant. No slack.
Just like back in the World. Back in Queens I took me a ride in this Lincoln
Continental. It was a beautiful machine. The judge gave me a choice between
the Crotch and hard time in a stone hotel. So I became a mercenary. I should
have gone to prison, New Guy. There's less humping." Animal Mother grins.
"So don't call me that 'sir' shit. Save that lifer shit for poges like the
Joker."
I grin. "Hey, Mother, I'm big but I'm wiry..."
Animal Mother says, "Yeah, I know, you're so tough you bite the heads
off animal crackers." Animal Mother turns to Cowboy: "Hey, Lone Ranger, they
got your little sister in the Crotch. Here she sits, a lean Marine in the
green machine." Turning back to the New Guy: "Our honcho is from Texas, too,
little maggot. Dallas. He wears that Stetson so the gooks will see that they
are dealing with a real Texan lawman."
Cowboy chews. "Play poker, Mother." Cowboy picks up a B-3 unit, a
little can containing John Wayne cookies, cocoa, and pineapple jam. Cowboy
cuts open the can with a little P-38 folding can opener on his dogtag chain.
"I won't say it again."
Silence.
"Yeah, okay, you don't have to get hard. What are you going to do--send
me to Viet Nam? Cut me some slack, Cowboy. You ain't John Wayne. You just
eat the cookies."
Animal Mother grunts. "Bet a buck." He drops a red chip. He puts his
cards facedown on the deck and continues to massage his disassembled machine
gun with the white cloth. "New Guy, you just better not be no hero. Lifers
get glory; grunts get killed. Like ol' Rafter Man. Went hand to hand with a
tank. And Crazy Earl; shot gooks with a BB gun. Last New Guy we had sat down
on a bouncing betty his first day in the bush. Rotated straight to hell.
Blew away six good grunts. KIA and tough titty to you, ma. I got shrapnel
through my nose..." Animal Mother leans forward and shows the New Guy his
nose. "Worst part about it was that little maggot owed me five bucks--"
Alice spits. "You got to run them sea stories?"
Animal Mother ignores Alice and says, "This is no shit, New Guy. Stoke,
our old honcho, thought he was Supergrunt. Got the thousand-yard stare.
Every time he saw a dead Marine he'd start laughing. Pulled a tour of duty
in a rubber room. He--"
Alice stands up. "Stow that Mickey Mouse shit, Mother. You hear me?"
Animal Mother doesn't look up. He says, "Thank God for sickle cell."
Alice scratches his chest. "No racists in a foxhole, Mother. New Guy,
you'll do fine. No sweat."
"Sure," says Animal Mother. "Just watch me. Do what I do. These guys
will tell you that I am a monster, but I'm the only grunt in this squad that
doesn't have his head up his ass. In this world of shit, monsters live
forever and everybody else dies. If you kill for fun, you're a sadist. If
you kill for money, you're a mercenary. If you kill for both, you're a
Marine."
"Yes, sir," says the New Guy, dropping two chips into the pot.
"I'm horny," I say. "I can't even get a piece of hand."
Animal Mother groans. "That was real funny, Joker. I don't get it." He
drops two chips, then three more. "I raise you three bucks. Dealer takes two
cards."
The New Guy says, "I'll take three cards. And I'm not a hero. Just want
to do my job. You know, defend freedom--"
"Fuck freedom," says Animal Mother. Animal Mother starts reassembling
the M-60. He kisses each piece before snapping it back into place. "Flush
out your headgear, New Guy. You think we waste gooks for freedom? Don't kid
yourself; this is a slaughter. You're got to open your eyes, New Guy--you
owe it to yourself. If I'm gonna get my balls shot off for a word I get to
pick my own word and my word is poontang. Yeah, you better believe we zap
zipperheads. They waste our bros and we cut them a big piece of payback. And
payback is a motherfucker."
"Why talk about it?" asks Donlon. "The Nam can kill me, but it can't
make me care. I just want to get back to the land of the Big PX in one
piece. I owe it to myself."
"Why go back?" I ask. "Here or there, samey-same. Home is where my
sergeant is--right, Cowboy?" I turn and look at Animal Mother. "You watch
Cowboy, New Guy. Cowboy will tell you what to do."
"Yeah," says Donlon, plucking a pack of cigarettes from the elastic
band around his helmet. "Cowboy takes this shit seriously."
Cowboy grunts. "Just doing my job, bro, just counting my days." He
smiles. "You know what I did back in the World? After school, I shucked
pennies out of parking meters. I had a red wagon to pour the pennies in, and
I had a blue cap with a silver badge on it. I thought I was hot shit. Now
all I want is a ranch with some horses..."
Animal Mother says, "Well some cunts smell really bad, and Viet Nam
smells really bad, so I say, fuck it. And fuck the lifers who invented it."
"I hear you talking," I say. "I see your lips move. But we all
brown-nose the lifers..."
"That's an amen," says Alice, up the trail. He swats a mosquito away
from his face. "We talk the talk, but we don't walk the walk."
Donlon glares at me. "So who the hell are you? Mahatma Gandhi?" Donlon
aims an index finger at me. "You're honcho of the first fire team, Joker.
That makes you the assistant squad leader. So you're no different. You just
like to feel superior."
"Shit."
"I wouldn't shit you, Joker. You're my favorite turd."
"Fuck...you..."
"Quiet, Joker," says Cowboy. "Somebody's mother might be hiding in the
bush and you're talking dirty. Keep it in the family, okay?"
"Yes. That's affirmative, Cowboy." I look at Donlon. "When Cowboy gives
me the order I'll eat the boogers out of a dead man's nose. I ain't got the
guts to rot in Portsmouth. I admit it. But I don't give orders. I--"
"Bullshit," says Donlon. "You and your fucking peace symbol. Why do you
wear that thing? You're here, same as us. You're no better than we are."
"Look," I say, trying not to lose my temper, "Maybe the Crotch can fuck
me, but I won't spread my own cheeks."
Animal Mother interrupts: "You ain't got a hair on your ass."
My lips are trembling. "Okay, Mother, you can just eat the peanuts out
of my shit. I'm not the author of this farce, I'm just acting out my role.
It's bad luck to wear green on stage but the war must go on. If God had
wanted me to be a Marine I'd have been born with green, baggy skin. You got
that?"
Nobody says anything.
I say, "I'm just a snuffy. A corporal. I don't send anybody out to get
blown away. I know that getting killed over here is a waste of time."
I stand up. I take three steps toward Animal Mother. "You be gung ho,
Mother. You give the orders." I take another step. "But not me!"
Nobody says anything.
Finally the New Guy says softly, "Bet a buck."
Animal Mother looks at me, then starts dropping his chips into the pot
one at a time. "Call...raise you..." Counting...counting. "Five bucks."
The New Guy thinks about it. "I call."
"Oh, Jesus H. Christ!" Animal Mother slaps his cards down hard, bending
them. "Number ten! I ain't got shit."
The New Guy says, "Three jacks." He flashes his cards and rakes up the
pot.
"Hey, Mother," says Donlon, laughing, "that was humble."
Alice says, "You sure bluffed out the New Guy."
I say, "Lose a few, lose a few--right, Mother?"
Mother tries to be cool about it. "I couldn't fold, could I? Had over
four bucks in the pot. I thought the New Guy would fold. Most people are
afraid of me..."
Donlon laughs again. "Your program is squared away, New Guy. What's
your name?"
"Parker," says the New Guy, smiling. "Name's Parker. Henry. People call
me Hank."
The New Guy counts his chips. "Animal Mother, you owe me nine and a
half bucks."
Animal Mother grunts.
I say, still standing, "Lose a few, lose a few--right, Mother?"
"Who fucking asked you, Joker? You're funny enough to be a lifer."
"Yeah? Well, when I'm a civilian first class and you're a bonehead
funny gunny I'll buy you a beer and then I'll kick your ass." I sit down.
Cowboy grins. "You can buy me a beer, too, Joker. But you'll have to
wait until I'm twenty-one."
Down the trail, someone laughs very loud. I say, "Hey, belay that
noise. I'm making all the noise for this squad."
Lance Corporal Stutten, honcho of the first fire team, gives me the
finger. Then he turns to the guy who laughed--a skinny redneck named
Harris--and says, "Shut the fuck up, Harris."
Animal Mother says, "Yeah, Harris, obey General Joker."
I say, "I'm ready to jump on your program, you fucking ape..."
"So eat this monkey turd and choke on it, poge." Animal Mother spits.
"You just can't hack--"
And then I'm on my feet, my K-bar in my hand. There's hot saliva on my
lips and as I hold the big jungle knife inches from Animal Mother's face I'm
snarling like an animal. "Okay, you son-of-a-bitch, I'm gonna cut your
fucking eyes out..."
Animal Mother looks at me, then at the blade of my K-bar, then at
Cowboy. His hand moves to his M-60.
Cowboy continues to eat. "Stow that pig-sticker, Joker. You know how I
feel about that Mickey Mouse shit. Now get your head and your ass wired
together or--"
"No way, Cowboy. Never happen. He's been on my--"
Cowboy jabs at his glasses. "Didn't ask to run a rifle squad in this
piss tube war...but I will break your back, if that's the way you play..."
Donlon whistles. "Cowboy's--"
Cowboy says, "Shut up, Donlon."
I relax a little bit and then I slip my K-bar back into its leather
sheath. "Yeah, yeah, I guess all this humping has given me diarrhea of the
mouth."
Cowboy shurgs. "No sweat, Joker." Cowboy stands up. "Okay, ladies, stow
the pogey bait. Let's saddle up. Moving."
"Moving" is repeated down the trail.
I struggle into my gear. "Hey, Animal Mother, I wasn't really going to
waste you. It's just that I'm well, you know, a trained killer. Cut me a
huss with my pack..."
Animal Mother shrugs and helps me into my NVA rucksack. Then I help him
put on his field pack. I say, "Now you buy me Saigon tea?" Mother sneers. I
blow him a kiss. "No sweat, maleen, I love you too much." Mother spits.
Cowboy waves his hand and Alice takes the point.
I say, "Break a leg, Jungle Bunny."
Alice gives me the finger. Then he raises his right fist and throws
power. On the blue canvas shopping bag slung on Alice's back is the warning:
If you can read this your too dam close.
Cowboy waves his hand and the squad moves out.
My gear feels like a bag of rocks, heavier than before.
Animal Mother tells Parker, the New Guy. "Don't follow me too close,
New Guy. If you step on a mine I don't want to get fucked up."
Parker steps back.
As is my custom, I salute Animal Mother so that any snipers in the area
will assume that he is an officer and shoot him instead of me. I have become
a little paranoid since I painted a red bull's-eye on the top of my helmet.
Animal Mother returns my salute, then spits, then grins. "You sure are
funny, you son-of-a-bitch. You're a real comedian."
"Sorry 'bout that," I say.
Searching for something we don't want to find, we hump. And hump. And
when we're so bone-sore tired that our minds sever contact with our bodies,
we hump even faster, green phantoms in the twilight.
From somewhere, from everywhere, an almost inaudible snap.
A bird goes insane. One bird sputters overhead. And a great weight of
birds shift across the canopy.
Alice stands rigid and listens. He raises his right hand and closes it
into a fist. Danger.
I slump forward. My body is aching with all the thousand natural shocks
that flesh is hear to after every fiber of every muscle is begging you to
stop but you choose to overrule such objections by a force of will stronger
than muscle, bullying your body into taking one more step, one more step,
just one more step...
Cowboy thinks about it. Then he says, "Hit it."
Wavering forms crumple to the deck as Cowboy's order is echoed from man
to man back down the trail.
I say to Cowboy, "Bro, I was hoping a sniper would ding me so I'd have
an excuse to fall down. I mean, I think I'm going to hate this movie..."
Cowboy is watching Alice. "Cut the shit, Joker."
Kneeling, Alice studies the few yards of trail he can see before it's
swallowed by leathery, dark green jungle plants. Alice studies the treetops,
too, for a long time. "It's not right, bro."
I say, "That's affirm, Cowboy. All my crabs are screaming, 'Abandon
ship! Abandon ship!'"
Cowboy ignores me, keeps his eyes on Alice. "We got to move, Midnight."
The jungle is silent except for the squeak-squeak of a canteen being
unscrewed.
"Hurry up and wait. Hurry up and wait." Alice wipes the sweat from his
eyes. "All I want to do is make it back to the hill so I can smoke about one
ton of dope. I mean, are you sure this is safe? I...wait...I heard
something."
Silence.
"A bird," says Cowboy. "Or a branch falling. Or--"
Alice shakes his head. "Maybe. Maybe. Or maybe a rifle bolt going
home."
Cowboy's voice is stern: "You're paranoid, Midnight. No gooks here. Not
for maybe another four or five klicks. We got to keep moving or we'll give
the gooks time to set up an ambush in front of us. You know that..."
Donlon crawls over to Cowboy, handset at his ear. "Hey, Lone Ranger,
the old man wants a report on our position."
"Let's move, Midnight. I mean it."
Alice rolls his eyes. "Feets, get movin'." Alice takes one step
forward, then hesitates. "I can remember when I've had more fun."
I say in my John Wayne voice: "Viet Nam is giving war a bad name."
Daddy D.A., who's walking tail-end Charlie, calls out: "HEY, MR. VIET
NAM WAR, WE HOMESTEADING?"
Cowboy says, "Everybody shut the fuck up."
Alice shrugs, mumbles, takes another step forward. "Cowboy, m'man,
maybe old soldiers never die, but young ones do. It ain't easy being the
black Errol Flynn, you know. I mean, if I don't get the Congressional Medal
of Honor for all the crazy shit I do, I am going to send Mr. L.B.J. an
eight-by-ten photo of my black bee-hind with a caption on the back, telling
him what it is..."
Alice, the point man, moves out. He ditty-bops into a little clearing.
"I mean--"
Bang.
The crack of an SKS sniper's carbine jolts Alice into a rigid position
of attention. His mouth opens. He turns to speak to us. His eyes cry out.
Alice falls.
"HIT IT!"
Falling forward--now...
"Oh, no..." Black earth.
Dead leaves. "ALICE!"
"What...?" Damp. Bleeding elbows.
"MIDNIGHT!"
Looking, not seeing, looking...
"Oh-oh...Shit City..."
Waiting. Waiting. "Hey, man..."
Silence.
My guts melt.
"ALICE!"
Alice doesn't move and I curl up and try to make myself small and my
asshole feels like it has been turned inside out and I think how wonderful
it would be if Chaplain Charlie had taught me magic and then I could crawl
up into my own asshole and just disappear and I think: I'm glad it's him and
not me.
Alice, the point man, is down. His big black hands are locked around
his right thigh. On the deck all around him are a dozen decayed gook feet.
Blood.
"FACE OUTBOARD!"
Cowboy says, "Damn." He shoves his Stetson to the back of his head and
jabs at his glasses with his index finger. "CORPSMAN UP!"
Cowboy's command is echoed back down the trail.
Doc Jay comes scrambling up on all fours like a bear in a hurry.
Cowboy waves his hand, "Come on, Doc."
Donlon grabs Cowboy's ankle, tries to hand Cowboy the radio handset.
"Colonel Travis is on the horn."
"Fuck off, Tom. I'm busy."
Cowboy and Doc Jay start crawling.
Donlon says into the handset: "Uh, Sudden Death Six, Sudden Death Six,
this is Baby Bayonet. Do you copy? Over."
Cowboy stops crawling, calls back: "Gunships. And a med-evac."
Donlon talks into the handset, talks to the old man. Static. The
handset hangs on a wire hook attached to Donlon's helmet strap. Donlon's
singsong words are like a prayer he has known for a long time. Donlon stops
talking, listens to an insect inside the handset, then shouts: "The old man
says, 'Only you can prevent forest fires.'"
Cowboy looks back. "What? What the hell does that mean?"
The radio crackles. Static. "Uh...say again, say again. Over." Static.
Donlon listens, nodding. Then: "I roger that. Stand by, one." Donlon yells:
"The old man keeps saying, 'Only you can prevent forest fires.'..."
Cowboy crawls back to our position. "Donlon, boy, if you're fucking
with me..."
Donlon shrugs. "Scouts honor."
I say, "Cowboy, are you absolutely sure that the colonel is on our
side?"
Animal Mother spits. "There it is. He's a lifer, ain't he?"
Donlon shakes his head. "No slack. The old man is dinky-dow, crazy."
I grunt. "Sanity is overrated."
Cowboy says, "Just tell that lifer son-of-a-bitch that I need a dustoff
for--"
Bang.
A rifle bullet snaps through Donlon's radio. The impact of the bullet
flips Donlon onto his back. Donlon struggles like an overturned turtle.
I crawl on my hands and knees. I grab Donlon's rifle belt. I drag him
behind a boulder.
Donlon swallows air. "Beaucoup thanks, bro..."
Cowboy and Doc Jay are arguing. Cowboy says, "Alice is in the open. We
can't reach him."
The New Guy says, "Is it just one enemy soldier?"
"Shut your mouth." Animal Mother sets up his M-60 machine gun on a
rotten log and adjusts a golden ammo belt over a C's can he has attached to
the gun so that the rounds feed in smoothly.
Cowboy says, "I got to send back a runner--"
Bang.
Cowboy rolls over. "I'm okay. I'm okay."
"He hit Alice again!"
Alice moves, groans. "It hurts...it hurts..."
There's a dark hole through the canvas jungle boot on Alice's left
foot. Alice laughs, grins, grits his teeth. "I'm short..."
Animal Mother kicks the rotten log and opens fire. High-velocity
machine-gun bullets clip, chop, and ricochet through the canopy, snapping
into tree trunks with rhythmic precision, cutting leaves from twigs and
killing birds.
The New Guy opens up with his M-16. Lance Corporal Stutten fires an
M-79 and the grenade bursts, invisible in the darkness. I see a strange
shadow on a limb so I throw a few rounds in there with my grease gun. But
it's Maggie's drawers. There's nothing to shoot at.
The New Guy pops a frag and lobs it in.
Cowboy screams into the jarring thud: "OKAY, OKAY, EVERYBODY FUCKING
COOL IT."
Everyone stops firing--everyone except Animal Mother. I put my hand on
Mother's shoulder but his weapon continues to spill hot brass and black
metal links until the belt runs out.
"We gotta kill that cocksucker!" says Animal Mother. "Payback is a
motherfucker!"
"Yeah."
"Yeah."
"The law of the jungle, man."
Animal Mother punches the rotten log with his fist. "I'll punch his
fucking heart out!"
"Yeah."
"Kill that cocksucker!"
Alice is trying to crawl to cover. "Cowboy? Bro?" Alice extends his
gloved right hand.
Bang.
Alice's hand is knocked down. He lifts it again slowly. Ragged leather.
And Alice's right forefinger is missing. "Oh, no...not..."
Alice screams.
Doc Jay stands up. Cowboy grabs him and pulls him down. "You crazy?"
But Doc Jay wrestles free. He unhooks the Unit One medical kit from his web
belt and drops the rest of his gear.
Cowboy looks sick. "Don't try it, bro. That sniper does not miss..."
"I'm the corpsman," says Doc Jay." Not you." And before Cowboy can
react, Doc Jay is on his feet and running. He runs at a crouch, zigzagging.
Bang.
Doc Jay stumbles, falls.
The Doc's left thigh has been torn open. Jagged bone protrudes. The Doc
tries to push himself forward with his good leg.
Cowboy pops a smoke grenade, lobs it in.
"We've got to do something...."
The squad bunches up behind the boulder. "Spread out," I say,
halfheartedly. The New Guy is watching with wild eyes, his weapon at port
arms. Animal Mother's bloodshot eyes scan the canopy for muzzle flashes,
movement, any sign of life. Lance Corporal Stutten and the rest of the squad
watch silently--they are waiting for orders. Donlon is hugging his dead
radio.
Doc Jay stands up, balances himself on his good leg. He bends over and
hooks Alice under the armpit with his forearm, tries to lift him.
Bang.
Doc Jay collapses. Now his left foot is a bloody lump. He waits for the
last bullet. When the last bullet doesn't come he sits up, pulls Alice
across his lap. The Doc fumbles in his Unit One, takes out a Syrette, gives
Alice a hit of morphine.
Using his teeth, Doc Jay tears the waxy brown wrappers off three
compress bandages. The Doc ties the bandages around Alice's wound. Alice
groans, says something we can't hear. Doc Jay uses his shirttail to wipe the
sweat from Alice's forehead, then pulls out a piece of rubber tubing he uses
to tie tourniquets.
Bang.
Doc Jay's right hand is shattered. The Doc tries to move his fingers.
He can't.
Green smoke pours from Cowboy's smoke grenade, obscuring the clearing.
Cowboy starts to tell us what to do. But he can't make up his mind.
Then: "We're pulling out. That's a shitty thing to do, but we can't refuse
to accept the situation. We saw this in Hue. That sniper is just sucking us
in. Wants the whole squad, one at a time. You know that. Doc and Midnight
are wasted; we're not. Saddle up."
Nobody moves.
Cowboy stands up. "Do it."
We all know that Cowboy is right. He's hard, but he's right.
"GET SOME!"
Without warning, the New Guy charges for the clearing. He fires blind.
He lopes along with the fluid grace of a meat eater, a predator attacking.
His chin is dripping saliva. The New Guy wants warm blood to drink. The New
Guy wants human flesh to tear apart and devour. The New Guy's eyes are red:
the New Guy's eyes glow in the shadow world around us. He fires blind. The
New Guy doesn't know what the hell he's doing. He thinks he's John Wayne. He
hasn't been born yet.
Cowboy tries to trip the New Guy as he double-times up the trail, but
the New Guy catches his balance and runs faster, a werewolf charging into
the house of death. He stumbles up to Doc Jay. He spins around. His red eyes
probe the canopy. "Com'on, Doc. I'll help you. I'll carry--"
Bang.
For a breath or two we think maybe the sniper has missed for the first
time. Then the New Guy drops to his knees, praying, clutching his throat.
Cowboy says, "Let's move."
"Move, my ass," says Animal Mother. "You move, motherfucker."
Cowboy takes a step toward Animal Mother, puts his face up close to
Animal Mother's face, looks Animal Mother right in the eye. "Mother, take
the point."
Animal Mother stands up, pulls his machine gun off the log and sets the
butt into his hip so that the black barrel slants up at a forty-five degree
angle. "Marines never abandon their dead or wounded, Mr. Squad Leader, sir."
Cowboy glares at Animal Mother for several deep breaths, then pulls me
aside. "Joker, you're in charge. Move these people out," Cowboy sees that
Animal Mother is listening so he adds, "Order Mother to walk the point."
Animal Mother spits.
Cowboy says in a low voice: "Never turn your back on Mother. Never cut
him any slack. He fragged Mr. Shortround."
I say, "What about you, Cowboy? I mean, if you get yourself wasted who
will introduce me to your sister?"
Cowboy looks at me. His face is without expression. "I don't have a
sister. I thought you knew that." Cowboy looks at Doc and Alice and the New
Guy. "Mother's right. I've got to try. The sniper will see you pulling back
and--"
"Hey, never happen. Fuck it. You can't do anything."
"Move them out, Joker. By the numbers."
"But Cowboy, I--"
"It's my job," Cowboy says. "It's my job...." Cowboy says, as though
his guts are choking him. Then: "Okay?"
I hesitate.
"Okay, bro?"
"Sure, Cowboy. I'll get them all back to the hill in one piece. I
promise."
Cowboy relaxes. "Thanks, Joker." He grins. "You piece of shit."
Donlon yells: "LOOK!"
Doc Jay has the New Guy across his lap. The New Guy's face is purple.
Doc Jay is kissing the New Guy's purple lips in an attempt to breathe life
back into the limp body. The New Guy squirms, claws for air. Doc Jay holds
the New Guy down, zips out his K-bar, cuts the New Guy's throat. Air
whistles in through the crude incision, blows pink bubbles in the New Guy's
blood. The New Guy bucks, wheezes, coughs. Doc Jay spills his Unit One, paws
through splints, compress bandages, white tape. Then, frantic, he empties
his pockets. The Doc throws everything away until he finds a ball-point pen.
He stares at the ball-point pen, draws his hand back to throw the pen away,
stops, looks again, unscrews the pen, inserts the biggest piece into the
hole in the New Guy's throat. The New Guy sucks in air, breathes irregularly
through the small plastic tube. Doc Jay puts the New Guy down on the deck,
gently.
Bang.
Doc Jay's right ear is split. Cautiously, the Doc touches the side of
his head, feels wet, jagged meat.
Bang.
A bullet cuts off Doc Jay's nose.
Bang.
A bullet passes through Doc Jay's cheeks. He coughs, spits up uprooted
teeth and pieces of his gums.
Animal Mother snarls, fires his machine gun into the canopy.
"Get them back," Cowboy says. He drops his Stetson and Mr. Shortround's
shotgun. He pops another smoke grenade, lobs it in. He jerks Mr.
Shortround's pistol from his shoulder holster. And before I can tell Cowboy
that a pistol is useless in the jungle he punches me on the shoulder like a
kid and runs, feinting as wildly as the narrow trail allows.
We wait.
I know that I should be getting the squad on its feet, but I too am
hypnotized.
From nowhere and from everywhere comes the sound of something laughing.
We all rubberneck to see who aming us is so stone-cold hard that he is
enjoying a world of shit like this.
The sniper is laughing at us.
We try to pinpoint the sniper's position. But the source of the
laughter is all around us. The laughter seems to radiate from the jungle
floor, from the jade trees, from the monster plants, from within our own
bodies.
As the dark laughter draws the blood from my veins I see something. My
eyes try to focus on a shadow. Sweat stings my eyes, blurs my vision. And I
see Sorry Charlie, a black skull, perched on a branch, and then I understand
that only a sniper that does not fear death would reveal his position by
laughing....
I squint. I strain my eyes. The laughing skull fades into a shadow.
Today I am a sergeant of Marines.
I laugh and laugh. The squad freezes with fear because the sniper is
laughing with me. The sniper and I are laughing together and we know that
sooner or later the squad will be laughing, too.
Sooner or later the squad will surrender to the black design of the
jungle. We live by the law of the jungle, which is that more Marines go in
than come out. There it is. Nobody asks us why we're smiling because nobody
wants to know. The ugly that civilians choose to see in war focuses on
spilled guts. To see human beings clearly, that is ugly. To carry death in
your smile, that is ugly. War is ugly because the truth can be ugly and war
is very sincere. Ugly is the face of Victor Charlie, the shapeless black
face of death touching each of your brothers with the clean stroke of
justice.
Those of us who survive to be short-timers will fly the Freedom Bird
back to hometown America. But home won't be there anymore and we won't be
there either. Upon each of our brains the war has lodged itself, a black
crab feeding.
The jungle is quiet now. The sniper has stopped laughing.
The squad is silent, waiting for orders. Soon they will understand.
Soon they won't be afraid. The dark side will surface and they'll be like
me; they'll be Marines.
Once a Marine, always a Marine.
Cowboy stumbles into the clearing.
"We're moving," I say, more to Mother than anyone.
Mother ignores me, watches Cowboy.
Bang. Right leg.
Bang. Left leg. Cowboy falls.
Bang. The bullet rips open Cowboy's trousers at the crotch. "No...."
Cowboy feels for his balls. He shits on himself.
Animal Mother takes a step.
Before I can make a move to stop Animal Mother a pistol pops in the
clearing.
Bang.
Then: Bang.
Donlon: "HE KILLED DOC JAY AND THE NEW GUY!"
Cowboy shakes himself to stay conscious. Then he shoots Alice through
the back of the head.
Bang. Alice's face is blown off by the forty-five caliber bullet. Alice
flops as though electrocuted.
Cowboy raises the pistol and presses the huge barrel to his right
temple.
Bang.
The pistol falls.
The sniper has put a bullet through the center of Cowboy's right hand.
The squad bunches up behind the boulder again. I study the dirty faces
of all my bearded children: Animal Mother, Donlon, Lance Corporal Stutten,
Berny, Harris, Rick Berg, Hand-Job, Thunder, The Kid from Brooklyn, Hardy,
Liccardi, and Daddy D.A.
"Stutten, take your people back."
Lance Corporal Stutten looks at Animal Mother, takes a step toward him.
The squad is going to follow Mother and commit suicide for a tradition.
Mother checks his M-60. His face is wet with tears, Viking-wild, red
with rage. "We'll go for Cowboy, give the sniper too many targets. We can
save him."
I take a step into Animal Mother's path.
Animal Mother raises his weapon. He holds the M-60 waist high. His eyes
are red. He growls deep in his throat. "This ain't no Hollywood movie,
Joker. Stand down or I will cut you in half..."
I look into Animal Mother's eyes. I look into the eyes of a killer. He
means it. I know that he means it. I turn my back on him.
Animal Mother is going to waste me. The barrel of the M-60 probes my
back.
The squad is silent, waiting for orders.
I raise my grease gun and I aim it at Cowboy's face. Cowboy looks
pitiful and he's terrified. Cowboy is paralyzed by the shock that is setting
in and by the helplessness. I hardly know him. I remember the first time I
saw Cowboy, on Parris Island, laughing, beating his Stetson on his thigh.
I look at him. He looks at the grease gun. He calls out: "I NEVER LIKED
YOU, JOKER. I NEVER THOUGHT YOU WERE FUNNY--"
Bang. I sight down the short metal tube and I watch my bullet enter
Cowboy's left eye. My bullet passes through his eye socket, punches through
fluid-filled sinus cavities, through membranes, nerves, arteries, muscle
tissue, through the tiny blood vessels that feed three pounds of gray
butter-soft high protein meat where brain cells arranged like jewels in a
clock hold every thought and memory and dream of one adult male Homo
sapiens.
My bullet exits through the occipital bone, knocks out hairy, brain-wet
clods of jagged meat, then buries itself in the roots of a tree.
Silence. Animal Mother lowers his M-60.
Animal Mother, Donlon, Lance Corporal Stutten, Harris, and the other
guys in the squad do not speak. Everyone relaxes, glad to be alive. Everyone
hates my guts, but they know I'm right. I am their sergeant; they are my
men. Cowboy was killed by sniper fire, they'll say, but they'll never see me
again; I'll be invisible.
"Saddle up," I say, and the squad responds. Packs are hefted up. The
flap and rattle of equipment. A grunt, a growl, and the Lusthog Squad is
ready to move.
I study their faces. Then I say, "Man-oh-man, Cowboy looks like a bag
of leftovers from a V.F.W. barbecue. Of course, I've got nothing against
dead people. Why, some of my best friends are dead!"
Silence. They all look at me. I have never felt so alive.
Semper Fi, Mom and Dad, Semper Fi, my werewolf children. Payback is a
motherfucker.
They shift their gear to more comfortable positions.
They wait for an order. I pick up Cowboy's muddy Stetson.
I wave my hand and the squad moves out, moves back down the trail.
Nobody talks. We're all too tired to talk, to joke, to call each other
names. The day has been too hot, the hump too long. We've shot up our share
of Victor Charlie jungle plants and we are wasted.
We wrap ourselves in pastel fantasies of varied designs and "X" another
day off our short-timer's calendars. We look forward to imaginary bennies:
hot showers, cold beer, a fix of Coke (because things go better with Coke),
juicy steaks, mail from hone, and a moment of privacy in which to massage
our wands, inspired by fading photographs of loving wives and girlfriends
back in the World.
The showers will be cold, the beer, if there is any, will be hot. No
steak. No Cokes. The mail, if there is any, will not be from sweethearts.
The mail from hometown America, like the half dozen letters I carry unopened
in my rucksack, will say: Write more often be careful if you think it's
tough there bought this used car what a report card mother is taking shots
nothing good on TV don't write depressing letters so maybe send me fifty
bucks new furniture in the dining room for a ring quick buddy she's pregnant
be real careful write more often and so on and so on until you feel like you
just got a Dear John letter from the whole damned world.
We hump back down the trail.
Back on the hill, Sorry Charlie, our bro, will laugh at us one more
time; Sorry Charlie, at least, will greet us with a smile.
Putting our minds back into our feet, we concentrate all our energy
into taking that next step, that one more step, just one more step.... We
try very hard not to think about anything important, try very hard not to
think that there's no slack and that it's a long walk home.
There it is.
I wave my hand and Mother takes the point.
"Joker thinks he has an outstanding program," Mother tells the New Guy.
"Going to Hollywood after he rotates back to the World. If I don't waste him
first. Going to be Paul fucking Newman. My ass." Animal Mother pulls out a
deck of poker cards. The cards are dog-eared and greasy and have photographs
of Tijuana whores on them. The Tijuana whores are establishing meaningful
relationships with donkeys and big dogs.
Animal Mother deals draw poker hands to himself and to the New Guy.
The New Guy hesitates, then scrapes up his cards.
Animal Mother unbuckles his field pack and pulls out a brown plastic
rack of poker chips--red, white, and blue. Mother takes a stack of plastic
chips from the rack and drops them on the deck in front of the New Guy.
"Where are you from, you little shit?"
"Texas, sir."
"Sir, my ass. This ain't P.I. and there ain't no way I'm gonna be no
fucking officer. Never happen. Ain't even the assistant squad leader
anymore. Now I'm a private--the most popular rank in the Marine Corps. Got
more fucking ops, more confirmed kills, and more T.I. than any grunt in this
squad--including Cowboy." Animal Mother spits, scratches the dark stubble on
his chin. "Flipped a bird to a poge colonel at the big PX on Freedom Hill.
Got me busted from sergeant. I was the fucking platoon sergeant. No slack.
Just like back in the World. Back in Queens I took me a ride in this Lincoln
Continental. It was a beautiful machine. The judge gave me a choice between
the Crotch and hard time in a stone hotel. So I became a mercenary. I should
have gone to prison, New Guy. There's less humping." Animal Mother grins.
"So don't call me that 'sir' shit. Save that lifer shit for poges like the
Joker."
I grin. "Hey, Mother, I'm big but I'm wiry..."
Animal Mother says, "Yeah, I know, you're so tough you bite the heads
off animal crackers." Animal Mother turns to Cowboy: "Hey, Lone Ranger, they
got your little sister in the Crotch. Here she sits, a lean Marine in the
green machine." Turning back to the New Guy: "Our honcho is from Texas, too,
little maggot. Dallas. He wears that Stetson so the gooks will see that they
are dealing with a real Texan lawman."
Cowboy chews. "Play poker, Mother." Cowboy picks up a B-3 unit, a
little can containing John Wayne cookies, cocoa, and pineapple jam. Cowboy
cuts open the can with a little P-38 folding can opener on his dogtag chain.
"I won't say it again."
Silence.
"Yeah, okay, you don't have to get hard. What are you going to do--send
me to Viet Nam? Cut me some slack, Cowboy. You ain't John Wayne. You just
eat the cookies."
Animal Mother grunts. "Bet a buck." He drops a red chip. He puts his
cards facedown on the deck and continues to massage his disassembled machine
gun with the white cloth. "New Guy, you just better not be no hero. Lifers
get glory; grunts get killed. Like ol' Rafter Man. Went hand to hand with a
tank. And Crazy Earl; shot gooks with a BB gun. Last New Guy we had sat down
on a bouncing betty his first day in the bush. Rotated straight to hell.
Blew away six good grunts. KIA and tough titty to you, ma. I got shrapnel
through my nose..." Animal Mother leans forward and shows the New Guy his
nose. "Worst part about it was that little maggot owed me five bucks--"
Alice spits. "You got to run them sea stories?"
Animal Mother ignores Alice and says, "This is no shit, New Guy. Stoke,
our old honcho, thought he was Supergrunt. Got the thousand-yard stare.
Every time he saw a dead Marine he'd start laughing. Pulled a tour of duty
in a rubber room. He--"
Alice stands up. "Stow that Mickey Mouse shit, Mother. You hear me?"
Animal Mother doesn't look up. He says, "Thank God for sickle cell."
Alice scratches his chest. "No racists in a foxhole, Mother. New Guy,
you'll do fine. No sweat."
"Sure," says Animal Mother. "Just watch me. Do what I do. These guys
will tell you that I am a monster, but I'm the only grunt in this squad that
doesn't have his head up his ass. In this world of shit, monsters live
forever and everybody else dies. If you kill for fun, you're a sadist. If
you kill for money, you're a mercenary. If you kill for both, you're a
Marine."
"Yes, sir," says the New Guy, dropping two chips into the pot.
"I'm horny," I say. "I can't even get a piece of hand."
Animal Mother groans. "That was real funny, Joker. I don't get it." He
drops two chips, then three more. "I raise you three bucks. Dealer takes two
cards."
The New Guy says, "I'll take three cards. And I'm not a hero. Just want
to do my job. You know, defend freedom--"
"Fuck freedom," says Animal Mother. Animal Mother starts reassembling
the M-60. He kisses each piece before snapping it back into place. "Flush
out your headgear, New Guy. You think we waste gooks for freedom? Don't kid
yourself; this is a slaughter. You're got to open your eyes, New Guy--you
owe it to yourself. If I'm gonna get my balls shot off for a word I get to
pick my own word and my word is poontang. Yeah, you better believe we zap
zipperheads. They waste our bros and we cut them a big piece of payback. And
payback is a motherfucker."
"Why talk about it?" asks Donlon. "The Nam can kill me, but it can't
make me care. I just want to get back to the land of the Big PX in one
piece. I owe it to myself."
"Why go back?" I ask. "Here or there, samey-same. Home is where my
sergeant is--right, Cowboy?" I turn and look at Animal Mother. "You watch
Cowboy, New Guy. Cowboy will tell you what to do."
"Yeah," says Donlon, plucking a pack of cigarettes from the elastic
band around his helmet. "Cowboy takes this shit seriously."
Cowboy grunts. "Just doing my job, bro, just counting my days." He
smiles. "You know what I did back in the World? After school, I shucked
pennies out of parking meters. I had a red wagon to pour the pennies in, and
I had a blue cap with a silver badge on it. I thought I was hot shit. Now
all I want is a ranch with some horses..."
Animal Mother says, "Well some cunts smell really bad, and Viet Nam
smells really bad, so I say, fuck it. And fuck the lifers who invented it."
"I hear you talking," I say. "I see your lips move. But we all
brown-nose the lifers..."
"That's an amen," says Alice, up the trail. He swats a mosquito away
from his face. "We talk the talk, but we don't walk the walk."
Donlon glares at me. "So who the hell are you? Mahatma Gandhi?" Donlon
aims an index finger at me. "You're honcho of the first fire team, Joker.
That makes you the assistant squad leader. So you're no different. You just
like to feel superior."
"Shit."
"I wouldn't shit you, Joker. You're my favorite turd."
"Fuck...you..."
"Quiet, Joker," says Cowboy. "Somebody's mother might be hiding in the
bush and you're talking dirty. Keep it in the family, okay?"
"Yes. That's affirmative, Cowboy." I look at Donlon. "When Cowboy gives
me the order I'll eat the boogers out of a dead man's nose. I ain't got the
guts to rot in Portsmouth. I admit it. But I don't give orders. I--"
"Bullshit," says Donlon. "You and your fucking peace symbol. Why do you
wear that thing? You're here, same as us. You're no better than we are."
"Look," I say, trying not to lose my temper, "Maybe the Crotch can fuck
me, but I won't spread my own cheeks."
Animal Mother interrupts: "You ain't got a hair on your ass."
My lips are trembling. "Okay, Mother, you can just eat the peanuts out
of my shit. I'm not the author of this farce, I'm just acting out my role.
It's bad luck to wear green on stage but the war must go on. If God had
wanted me to be a Marine I'd have been born with green, baggy skin. You got
that?"
Nobody says anything.
I say, "I'm just a snuffy. A corporal. I don't send anybody out to get
blown away. I know that getting killed over here is a waste of time."
I stand up. I take three steps toward Animal Mother. "You be gung ho,
Mother. You give the orders." I take another step. "But not me!"
Nobody says anything.
Finally the New Guy says softly, "Bet a buck."
Animal Mother looks at me, then starts dropping his chips into the pot
one at a time. "Call...raise you..." Counting...counting. "Five bucks."
The New Guy thinks about it. "I call."
"Oh, Jesus H. Christ!" Animal Mother slaps his cards down hard, bending
them. "Number ten! I ain't got shit."
The New Guy says, "Three jacks." He flashes his cards and rakes up the
pot.
"Hey, Mother," says Donlon, laughing, "that was humble."
Alice says, "You sure bluffed out the New Guy."
I say, "Lose a few, lose a few--right, Mother?"
Mother tries to be cool about it. "I couldn't fold, could I? Had over
four bucks in the pot. I thought the New Guy would fold. Most people are
afraid of me..."
Donlon laughs again. "Your program is squared away, New Guy. What's
your name?"
"Parker," says the New Guy, smiling. "Name's Parker. Henry. People call
me Hank."
The New Guy counts his chips. "Animal Mother, you owe me nine and a
half bucks."
Animal Mother grunts.
I say, still standing, "Lose a few, lose a few--right, Mother?"
"Who fucking asked you, Joker? You're funny enough to be a lifer."
"Yeah? Well, when I'm a civilian first class and you're a bonehead
funny gunny I'll buy you a beer and then I'll kick your ass." I sit down.
Cowboy grins. "You can buy me a beer, too, Joker. But you'll have to
wait until I'm twenty-one."
Down the trail, someone laughs very loud. I say, "Hey, belay that
noise. I'm making all the noise for this squad."
Lance Corporal Stutten, honcho of the first fire team, gives me the
finger. Then he turns to the guy who laughed--a skinny redneck named
Harris--and says, "Shut the fuck up, Harris."
Animal Mother says, "Yeah, Harris, obey General Joker."
I say, "I'm ready to jump on your program, you fucking ape..."
"So eat this monkey turd and choke on it, poge." Animal Mother spits.
"You just can't hack--"
And then I'm on my feet, my K-bar in my hand. There's hot saliva on my
lips and as I hold the big jungle knife inches from Animal Mother's face I'm
snarling like an animal. "Okay, you son-of-a-bitch, I'm gonna cut your
fucking eyes out..."
Animal Mother looks at me, then at the blade of my K-bar, then at
Cowboy. His hand moves to his M-60.
Cowboy continues to eat. "Stow that pig-sticker, Joker. You know how I
feel about that Mickey Mouse shit. Now get your head and your ass wired
together or--"
"No way, Cowboy. Never happen. He's been on my--"
Cowboy jabs at his glasses. "Didn't ask to run a rifle squad in this
piss tube war...but I will break your back, if that's the way you play..."
Donlon whistles. "Cowboy's--"
Cowboy says, "Shut up, Donlon."
I relax a little bit and then I slip my K-bar back into its leather
sheath. "Yeah, yeah, I guess all this humping has given me diarrhea of the
mouth."
Cowboy shurgs. "No sweat, Joker." Cowboy stands up. "Okay, ladies, stow
the pogey bait. Let's saddle up. Moving."
"Moving" is repeated down the trail.
I struggle into my gear. "Hey, Animal Mother, I wasn't really going to
waste you. It's just that I'm well, you know, a trained killer. Cut me a
huss with my pack..."
Animal Mother shrugs and helps me into my NVA rucksack. Then I help him
put on his field pack. I say, "Now you buy me Saigon tea?" Mother sneers. I
blow him a kiss. "No sweat, maleen, I love you too much." Mother spits.
Cowboy waves his hand and Alice takes the point.
I say, "Break a leg, Jungle Bunny."
Alice gives me the finger. Then he raises his right fist and throws
power. On the blue canvas shopping bag slung on Alice's back is the warning:
If you can read this your too dam close.
Cowboy waves his hand and the squad moves out.
My gear feels like a bag of rocks, heavier than before.
Animal Mother tells Parker, the New Guy. "Don't follow me too close,
New Guy. If you step on a mine I don't want to get fucked up."
Parker steps back.
As is my custom, I salute Animal Mother so that any snipers in the area
will assume that he is an officer and shoot him instead of me. I have become
a little paranoid since I painted a red bull's-eye on the top of my helmet.
Animal Mother returns my salute, then spits, then grins. "You sure are
funny, you son-of-a-bitch. You're a real comedian."
"Sorry 'bout that," I say.
Searching for something we don't want to find, we hump. And hump. And
when we're so bone-sore tired that our minds sever contact with our bodies,
we hump even faster, green phantoms in the twilight.
From somewhere, from everywhere, an almost inaudible snap.
A bird goes insane. One bird sputters overhead. And a great weight of
birds shift across the canopy.
Alice stands rigid and listens. He raises his right hand and closes it
into a fist. Danger.
I slump forward. My body is aching with all the thousand natural shocks
that flesh is hear to after every fiber of every muscle is begging you to
stop but you choose to overrule such objections by a force of will stronger
than muscle, bullying your body into taking one more step, one more step,
just one more step...
Cowboy thinks about it. Then he says, "Hit it."
Wavering forms crumple to the deck as Cowboy's order is echoed from man
to man back down the trail.
I say to Cowboy, "Bro, I was hoping a sniper would ding me so I'd have
an excuse to fall down. I mean, I think I'm going to hate this movie..."
Cowboy is watching Alice. "Cut the shit, Joker."
Kneeling, Alice studies the few yards of trail he can see before it's
swallowed by leathery, dark green jungle plants. Alice studies the treetops,
too, for a long time. "It's not right, bro."
I say, "That's affirm, Cowboy. All my crabs are screaming, 'Abandon
ship! Abandon ship!'"
Cowboy ignores me, keeps his eyes on Alice. "We got to move, Midnight."
The jungle is silent except for the squeak-squeak of a canteen being
unscrewed.
"Hurry up and wait. Hurry up and wait." Alice wipes the sweat from his
eyes. "All I want to do is make it back to the hill so I can smoke about one
ton of dope. I mean, are you sure this is safe? I...wait...I heard
something."
Silence.
"A bird," says Cowboy. "Or a branch falling. Or--"
Alice shakes his head. "Maybe. Maybe. Or maybe a rifle bolt going
home."
Cowboy's voice is stern: "You're paranoid, Midnight. No gooks here. Not
for maybe another four or five klicks. We got to keep moving or we'll give
the gooks time to set up an ambush in front of us. You know that..."
Donlon crawls over to Cowboy, handset at his ear. "Hey, Lone Ranger,
the old man wants a report on our position."
"Let's move, Midnight. I mean it."
Alice rolls his eyes. "Feets, get movin'." Alice takes one step
forward, then hesitates. "I can remember when I've had more fun."
I say in my John Wayne voice: "Viet Nam is giving war a bad name."
Daddy D.A., who's walking tail-end Charlie, calls out: "HEY, MR. VIET
NAM WAR, WE HOMESTEADING?"
Cowboy says, "Everybody shut the fuck up."
Alice shrugs, mumbles, takes another step forward. "Cowboy, m'man,
maybe old soldiers never die, but young ones do. It ain't easy being the
black Errol Flynn, you know. I mean, if I don't get the Congressional Medal
of Honor for all the crazy shit I do, I am going to send Mr. L.B.J. an
eight-by-ten photo of my black bee-hind with a caption on the back, telling
him what it is..."
Alice, the point man, moves out. He ditty-bops into a little clearing.
"I mean--"
Bang.
The crack of an SKS sniper's carbine jolts Alice into a rigid position
of attention. His mouth opens. He turns to speak to us. His eyes cry out.
Alice falls.
"HIT IT!"
Falling forward--now...
"Oh, no..." Black earth.
Dead leaves. "ALICE!"
"What...?" Damp. Bleeding elbows.
"MIDNIGHT!"
Looking, not seeing, looking...
"Oh-oh...Shit City..."
Waiting. Waiting. "Hey, man..."
Silence.
My guts melt.
"ALICE!"
Alice doesn't move and I curl up and try to make myself small and my
asshole feels like it has been turned inside out and I think how wonderful
it would be if Chaplain Charlie had taught me magic and then I could crawl
up into my own asshole and just disappear and I think: I'm glad it's him and
not me.
Alice, the point man, is down. His big black hands are locked around
his right thigh. On the deck all around him are a dozen decayed gook feet.
Blood.
"FACE OUTBOARD!"
Cowboy says, "Damn." He shoves his Stetson to the back of his head and
jabs at his glasses with his index finger. "CORPSMAN UP!"
Cowboy's command is echoed back down the trail.
Doc Jay comes scrambling up on all fours like a bear in a hurry.
Cowboy waves his hand, "Come on, Doc."
Donlon grabs Cowboy's ankle, tries to hand Cowboy the radio handset.
"Colonel Travis is on the horn."
"Fuck off, Tom. I'm busy."
Cowboy and Doc Jay start crawling.
Donlon says into the handset: "Uh, Sudden Death Six, Sudden Death Six,
this is Baby Bayonet. Do you copy? Over."
Cowboy stops crawling, calls back: "Gunships. And a med-evac."
Donlon talks into the handset, talks to the old man. Static. The
handset hangs on a wire hook attached to Donlon's helmet strap. Donlon's
singsong words are like a prayer he has known for a long time. Donlon stops
talking, listens to an insect inside the handset, then shouts: "The old man
says, 'Only you can prevent forest fires.'"
Cowboy looks back. "What? What the hell does that mean?"
The radio crackles. Static. "Uh...say again, say again. Over." Static.
Donlon listens, nodding. Then: "I roger that. Stand by, one." Donlon yells:
"The old man keeps saying, 'Only you can prevent forest fires.'..."
Cowboy crawls back to our position. "Donlon, boy, if you're fucking
with me..."
Donlon shrugs. "Scouts honor."
I say, "Cowboy, are you absolutely sure that the colonel is on our
side?"
Animal Mother spits. "There it is. He's a lifer, ain't he?"
Donlon shakes his head. "No slack. The old man is dinky-dow, crazy."
I grunt. "Sanity is overrated."
Cowboy says, "Just tell that lifer son-of-a-bitch that I need a dustoff
for--"
Bang.
A rifle bullet snaps through Donlon's radio. The impact of the bullet
flips Donlon onto his back. Donlon struggles like an overturned turtle.
I crawl on my hands and knees. I grab Donlon's rifle belt. I drag him
behind a boulder.
Donlon swallows air. "Beaucoup thanks, bro..."
Cowboy and Doc Jay are arguing. Cowboy says, "Alice is in the open. We
can't reach him."
The New Guy says, "Is it just one enemy soldier?"
"Shut your mouth." Animal Mother sets up his M-60 machine gun on a
rotten log and adjusts a golden ammo belt over a C's can he has attached to
the gun so that the rounds feed in smoothly.
Cowboy says, "I got to send back a runner--"
Bang.
Cowboy rolls over. "I'm okay. I'm okay."
"He hit Alice again!"
Alice moves, groans. "It hurts...it hurts..."
There's a dark hole through the canvas jungle boot on Alice's left
foot. Alice laughs, grins, grits his teeth. "I'm short..."
Animal Mother kicks the rotten log and opens fire. High-velocity
machine-gun bullets clip, chop, and ricochet through the canopy, snapping
into tree trunks with rhythmic precision, cutting leaves from twigs and
killing birds.
The New Guy opens up with his M-16. Lance Corporal Stutten fires an
M-79 and the grenade bursts, invisible in the darkness. I see a strange
shadow on a limb so I throw a few rounds in there with my grease gun. But
it's Maggie's drawers. There's nothing to shoot at.
The New Guy pops a frag and lobs it in.
Cowboy screams into the jarring thud: "OKAY, OKAY, EVERYBODY FUCKING
COOL IT."
Everyone stops firing--everyone except Animal Mother. I put my hand on
Mother's shoulder but his weapon continues to spill hot brass and black
metal links until the belt runs out.
"We gotta kill that cocksucker!" says Animal Mother. "Payback is a
motherfucker!"
"Yeah."
"Yeah."
"The law of the jungle, man."
Animal Mother punches the rotten log with his fist. "I'll punch his
fucking heart out!"
"Yeah."
"Kill that cocksucker!"
Alice is trying to crawl to cover. "Cowboy? Bro?" Alice extends his
gloved right hand.
Bang.
Alice's hand is knocked down. He lifts it again slowly. Ragged leather.
And Alice's right forefinger is missing. "Oh, no...not..."
Alice screams.
Doc Jay stands up. Cowboy grabs him and pulls him down. "You crazy?"
But Doc Jay wrestles free. He unhooks the Unit One medical kit from his web
belt and drops the rest of his gear.
Cowboy looks sick. "Don't try it, bro. That sniper does not miss..."
"I'm the corpsman," says Doc Jay." Not you." And before Cowboy can
react, Doc Jay is on his feet and running. He runs at a crouch, zigzagging.
Bang.
Doc Jay stumbles, falls.
The Doc's left thigh has been torn open. Jagged bone protrudes. The Doc
tries to push himself forward with his good leg.
Cowboy pops a smoke grenade, lobs it in.
"We've got to do something...."
The squad bunches up behind the boulder. "Spread out," I say,
halfheartedly. The New Guy is watching with wild eyes, his weapon at port
arms. Animal Mother's bloodshot eyes scan the canopy for muzzle flashes,
movement, any sign of life. Lance Corporal Stutten and the rest of the squad
watch silently--they are waiting for orders. Donlon is hugging his dead
radio.
Doc Jay stands up, balances himself on his good leg. He bends over and
hooks Alice under the armpit with his forearm, tries to lift him.
Bang.
Doc Jay collapses. Now his left foot is a bloody lump. He waits for the
last bullet. When the last bullet doesn't come he sits up, pulls Alice
across his lap. The Doc fumbles in his Unit One, takes out a Syrette, gives
Alice a hit of morphine.
Using his teeth, Doc Jay tears the waxy brown wrappers off three
compress bandages. The Doc ties the bandages around Alice's wound. Alice
groans, says something we can't hear. Doc Jay uses his shirttail to wipe the
sweat from Alice's forehead, then pulls out a piece of rubber tubing he uses
to tie tourniquets.
Bang.
Doc Jay's right hand is shattered. The Doc tries to move his fingers.
He can't.
Green smoke pours from Cowboy's smoke grenade, obscuring the clearing.
Cowboy starts to tell us what to do. But he can't make up his mind.
Then: "We're pulling out. That's a shitty thing to do, but we can't refuse
to accept the situation. We saw this in Hue. That sniper is just sucking us
in. Wants the whole squad, one at a time. You know that. Doc and Midnight
are wasted; we're not. Saddle up."
Nobody moves.
Cowboy stands up. "Do it."
We all know that Cowboy is right. He's hard, but he's right.
"GET SOME!"
Without warning, the New Guy charges for the clearing. He fires blind.
He lopes along with the fluid grace of a meat eater, a predator attacking.
His chin is dripping saliva. The New Guy wants warm blood to drink. The New
Guy wants human flesh to tear apart and devour. The New Guy's eyes are red:
the New Guy's eyes glow in the shadow world around us. He fires blind. The
New Guy doesn't know what the hell he's doing. He thinks he's John Wayne. He
hasn't been born yet.
Cowboy tries to trip the New Guy as he double-times up the trail, but
the New Guy catches his balance and runs faster, a werewolf charging into
the house of death. He stumbles up to Doc Jay. He spins around. His red eyes
probe the canopy. "Com'on, Doc. I'll help you. I'll carry--"
Bang.
For a breath or two we think maybe the sniper has missed for the first
time. Then the New Guy drops to his knees, praying, clutching his throat.
Cowboy says, "Let's move."
"Move, my ass," says Animal Mother. "You move, motherfucker."
Cowboy takes a step toward Animal Mother, puts his face up close to
Animal Mother's face, looks Animal Mother right in the eye. "Mother, take
the point."
Animal Mother stands up, pulls his machine gun off the log and sets the
butt into his hip so that the black barrel slants up at a forty-five degree
angle. "Marines never abandon their dead or wounded, Mr. Squad Leader, sir."
Cowboy glares at Animal Mother for several deep breaths, then pulls me
aside. "Joker, you're in charge. Move these people out," Cowboy sees that
Animal Mother is listening so he adds, "Order Mother to walk the point."
Animal Mother spits.
Cowboy says in a low voice: "Never turn your back on Mother. Never cut
him any slack. He fragged Mr. Shortround."
I say, "What about you, Cowboy? I mean, if you get yourself wasted who
will introduce me to your sister?"
Cowboy looks at me. His face is without expression. "I don't have a
sister. I thought you knew that." Cowboy looks at Doc and Alice and the New
Guy. "Mother's right. I've got to try. The sniper will see you pulling back
and--"
"Hey, never happen. Fuck it. You can't do anything."
"Move them out, Joker. By the numbers."
"But Cowboy, I--"
"It's my job," Cowboy says. "It's my job...." Cowboy says, as though
his guts are choking him. Then: "Okay?"
I hesitate.
"Okay, bro?"
"Sure, Cowboy. I'll get them all back to the hill in one piece. I
promise."
Cowboy relaxes. "Thanks, Joker." He grins. "You piece of shit."
Donlon yells: "LOOK!"
Doc Jay has the New Guy across his lap. The New Guy's face is purple.
Doc Jay is kissing the New Guy's purple lips in an attempt to breathe life
back into the limp body. The New Guy squirms, claws for air. Doc Jay holds
the New Guy down, zips out his K-bar, cuts the New Guy's throat. Air
whistles in through the crude incision, blows pink bubbles in the New Guy's
blood. The New Guy bucks, wheezes, coughs. Doc Jay spills his Unit One, paws
through splints, compress bandages, white tape. Then, frantic, he empties
his pockets. The Doc throws everything away until he finds a ball-point pen.
He stares at the ball-point pen, draws his hand back to throw the pen away,
stops, looks again, unscrews the pen, inserts the biggest piece into the
hole in the New Guy's throat. The New Guy sucks in air, breathes irregularly
through the small plastic tube. Doc Jay puts the New Guy down on the deck,
gently.
Bang.
Doc Jay's right ear is split. Cautiously, the Doc touches the side of
his head, feels wet, jagged meat.
Bang.
A bullet cuts off Doc Jay's nose.
Bang.
A bullet passes through Doc Jay's cheeks. He coughs, spits up uprooted
teeth and pieces of his gums.
Animal Mother snarls, fires his machine gun into the canopy.
"Get them back," Cowboy says. He drops his Stetson and Mr. Shortround's
shotgun. He pops another smoke grenade, lobs it in. He jerks Mr.
Shortround's pistol from his shoulder holster. And before I can tell Cowboy
that a pistol is useless in the jungle he punches me on the shoulder like a
kid and runs, feinting as wildly as the narrow trail allows.
We wait.
I know that I should be getting the squad on its feet, but I too am
hypnotized.
From nowhere and from everywhere comes the sound of something laughing.
We all rubberneck to see who aming us is so stone-cold hard that he is
enjoying a world of shit like this.
The sniper is laughing at us.
We try to pinpoint the sniper's position. But the source of the
laughter is all around us. The laughter seems to radiate from the jungle
floor, from the jade trees, from the monster plants, from within our own
bodies.
As the dark laughter draws the blood from my veins I see something. My
eyes try to focus on a shadow. Sweat stings my eyes, blurs my vision. And I
see Sorry Charlie, a black skull, perched on a branch, and then I understand
that only a sniper that does not fear death would reveal his position by
laughing....
I squint. I strain my eyes. The laughing skull fades into a shadow.
Today I am a sergeant of Marines.
I laugh and laugh. The squad freezes with fear because the sniper is
laughing with me. The sniper and I are laughing together and we know that
sooner or later the squad will be laughing, too.
Sooner or later the squad will surrender to the black design of the
jungle. We live by the law of the jungle, which is that more Marines go in
than come out. There it is. Nobody asks us why we're smiling because nobody
wants to know. The ugly that civilians choose to see in war focuses on
spilled guts. To see human beings clearly, that is ugly. To carry death in
your smile, that is ugly. War is ugly because the truth can be ugly and war
is very sincere. Ugly is the face of Victor Charlie, the shapeless black
face of death touching each of your brothers with the clean stroke of
justice.
Those of us who survive to be short-timers will fly the Freedom Bird
back to hometown America. But home won't be there anymore and we won't be
there either. Upon each of our brains the war has lodged itself, a black
crab feeding.
The jungle is quiet now. The sniper has stopped laughing.
The squad is silent, waiting for orders. Soon they will understand.
Soon they won't be afraid. The dark side will surface and they'll be like
me; they'll be Marines.
Once a Marine, always a Marine.
Cowboy stumbles into the clearing.
"We're moving," I say, more to Mother than anyone.
Mother ignores me, watches Cowboy.
Bang. Right leg.
Bang. Left leg. Cowboy falls.
Bang. The bullet rips open Cowboy's trousers at the crotch. "No...."
Cowboy feels for his balls. He shits on himself.
Animal Mother takes a step.
Before I can make a move to stop Animal Mother a pistol pops in the
clearing.
Bang.
Then: Bang.
Donlon: "HE KILLED DOC JAY AND THE NEW GUY!"
Cowboy shakes himself to stay conscious. Then he shoots Alice through
the back of the head.
Bang. Alice's face is blown off by the forty-five caliber bullet. Alice
flops as though electrocuted.
Cowboy raises the pistol and presses the huge barrel to his right
temple.
Bang.
The pistol falls.
The sniper has put a bullet through the center of Cowboy's right hand.
The squad bunches up behind the boulder again. I study the dirty faces
of all my bearded children: Animal Mother, Donlon, Lance Corporal Stutten,
Berny, Harris, Rick Berg, Hand-Job, Thunder, The Kid from Brooklyn, Hardy,
Liccardi, and Daddy D.A.
"Stutten, take your people back."
Lance Corporal Stutten looks at Animal Mother, takes a step toward him.
The squad is going to follow Mother and commit suicide for a tradition.
Mother checks his M-60. His face is wet with tears, Viking-wild, red
with rage. "We'll go for Cowboy, give the sniper too many targets. We can
save him."
I take a step into Animal Mother's path.
Animal Mother raises his weapon. He holds the M-60 waist high. His eyes
are red. He growls deep in his throat. "This ain't no Hollywood movie,
Joker. Stand down or I will cut you in half..."
I look into Animal Mother's eyes. I look into the eyes of a killer. He
means it. I know that he means it. I turn my back on him.
Animal Mother is going to waste me. The barrel of the M-60 probes my
back.
The squad is silent, waiting for orders.
I raise my grease gun and I aim it at Cowboy's face. Cowboy looks
pitiful and he's terrified. Cowboy is paralyzed by the shock that is setting
in and by the helplessness. I hardly know him. I remember the first time I
saw Cowboy, on Parris Island, laughing, beating his Stetson on his thigh.
I look at him. He looks at the grease gun. He calls out: "I NEVER LIKED
YOU, JOKER. I NEVER THOUGHT YOU WERE FUNNY--"
Bang. I sight down the short metal tube and I watch my bullet enter
Cowboy's left eye. My bullet passes through his eye socket, punches through
fluid-filled sinus cavities, through membranes, nerves, arteries, muscle
tissue, through the tiny blood vessels that feed three pounds of gray
butter-soft high protein meat where brain cells arranged like jewels in a
clock hold every thought and memory and dream of one adult male Homo
sapiens.
My bullet exits through the occipital bone, knocks out hairy, brain-wet
clods of jagged meat, then buries itself in the roots of a tree.
Silence. Animal Mother lowers his M-60.
Animal Mother, Donlon, Lance Corporal Stutten, Harris, and the other
guys in the squad do not speak. Everyone relaxes, glad to be alive. Everyone
hates my guts, but they know I'm right. I am their sergeant; they are my
men. Cowboy was killed by sniper fire, they'll say, but they'll never see me
again; I'll be invisible.
"Saddle up," I say, and the squad responds. Packs are hefted up. The
flap and rattle of equipment. A grunt, a growl, and the Lusthog Squad is
ready to move.
I study their faces. Then I say, "Man-oh-man, Cowboy looks like a bag
of leftovers from a V.F.W. barbecue. Of course, I've got nothing against
dead people. Why, some of my best friends are dead!"
Silence. They all look at me. I have never felt so alive.
Semper Fi, Mom and Dad, Semper Fi, my werewolf children. Payback is a
motherfucker.
They shift their gear to more comfortable positions.
They wait for an order. I pick up Cowboy's muddy Stetson.
I wave my hand and the squad moves out, moves back down the trail.
Nobody talks. We're all too tired to talk, to joke, to call each other
names. The day has been too hot, the hump too long. We've shot up our share
of Victor Charlie jungle plants and we are wasted.
We wrap ourselves in pastel fantasies of varied designs and "X" another
day off our short-timer's calendars. We look forward to imaginary bennies:
hot showers, cold beer, a fix of Coke (because things go better with Coke),
juicy steaks, mail from hone, and a moment of privacy in which to massage
our wands, inspired by fading photographs of loving wives and girlfriends
back in the World.
The showers will be cold, the beer, if there is any, will be hot. No
steak. No Cokes. The mail, if there is any, will not be from sweethearts.
The mail from hometown America, like the half dozen letters I carry unopened
in my rucksack, will say: Write more often be careful if you think it's
tough there bought this used car what a report card mother is taking shots
nothing good on TV don't write depressing letters so maybe send me fifty
bucks new furniture in the dining room for a ring quick buddy she's pregnant
be real careful write more often and so on and so on until you feel like you
just got a Dear John letter from the whole damned world.
We hump back down the trail.
Back on the hill, Sorry Charlie, our bro, will laugh at us one more
time; Sorry Charlie, at least, will greet us with a smile.
Putting our minds back into our feet, we concentrate all our energy
into taking that next step, that one more step, just one more step.... We
try very hard not to think about anything important, try very hard not to
think that there's no slack and that it's a long walk home.
There it is.
I wave my hand and Mother takes the point.