Sand in the Wind (2 page)

“Yes.”

“It’ll take about a half hour to get your papers processed, sir. If you want, you can still probably get some chow at the officers’ mess in the mean time.”

“All right.”

“Make a left as you go out the door. It’s about six bunkers down. You’ll see the sign.”

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome, sir.”

The bunker was fronted by a fairly wide road. Marines walked along both sides of it. Jeep drivers, tearing around corners seeing how close they could come to splattering somebody on their windshields, yelled to friends they spotted along the road. Soldiers were hanging out of the backs of trucks shooting peace signs at everyone in sight. An occasional tank rumbled by with its driver looking straight ahead, daring anybody to get in his way. Anything that didn’t move on two feet was followed by huge billows of orange dust.

Kramer noticed a group of shabbily dressed Vietnamese foraging through some garbage cans — ‘The mess hall.’ It was a small building of unpainted plywood walls with screens circling it just below the tin roof. He pushed the door open and saw that the messmen were starting to clean up. No one was eating, but a cook behind the chow line nodded so he went over and got a plate of what was left. Not liking milk, Kramer filled a canteen cup from a large thermos jug he thought contained water — only afterwards noticing the sickening green color of Kool-Aid. The food turned out to be just slightly worse than the stateside Marine Corps chow he had given up hope of ever getting used to. But he hadn’t eaten since early that morning, so he forced the food down.

When Kramer got back to Regimental Headquarters, he was approached by the same sergeant. “Sir?”

“My orders.”

“Your orders?”

“Yes, I’m checking in. You told me to come back in a half hour.”

“Oh! Yes sir, they should be ready by now. I’ll take a look.” The sergeant returned to the counter reading the orders. “You’ve been assigned to Second Battalion, sir. It’s outside the gate and about half a mile down the road. I’ll get you a jeep.”

When the jeep drove up, Kramer turned around to get his seabag. “Thought it was green,” he mumbled to himself.

“What was that, sir?” the driver asked.

“Nothing, I just said my seabag used to be green, now it’s brown,” he answered while heaving it into the back of the jeep.

“The dust, sir?”

“Yeah, I guess you get used to it.” The jeep lurched forward and headed down the road.

“No sir, not a chance. Around here it’s either mud or dust — when you’ve got one, you pray for the other — but you never get used to either.”

“Mud?”

“Yes sir, in the rainy season this whole fucking dump is covered with two feet of mud.”

Kramer noticed a huge concrete superstructure just off the road. “What’s that?”

“An Hoa’s one of the few places in South Vietnam that has coal. The West Germans were building a big industrial complex here, but the war started and they had to pull out. Never finished the buildings, just the concrete frames. The only thing left is a hospital down the road, treats the villagers. They say sometimes a wounded VC walks in and they treat him too.”

The jeep stopped in front of a wooden building. Kramer got out and entered it. A staff sergeant sat behind a desk and a first lieutenant leaned against it while talking to him. Kramer addressed both of them, “I just flew in from Da Nang. I’m checking in.”

The staff sergeant stood up. “Yes, sir.”

The first lieutenant offered his hand. “I’m Lieutenant Forest.”

“Lieutenant Kramer.”

“Glad to meet you, Kramer.”

He turned and shook hands with the staff sergeant. “Staff Sergeant Allen.
  
.
 
.
 
. Since the colonel’s in the rear today, he’ll probably want to talk to you. I’ll take your orders and record book now.”

Forest was about to address Kramer when a short, stocky man walked quickly through the door. “Good afternoon, sir. Lieutenant Kramer here has just been assigned to our battalion. Lieutenant Kramer, Lieutenant Colonel Nash.”

They shook hands. “Glad to have you, Kramer. I’m sure we can use you.”

‘You won’t be the first,’ thought Kramer, nodding his head.

“Lieutenant Forest, if you’re not too busy, why don’t you show him around. Kramer, I’d appreciate it if you come back in ten minutes so I can talk to you.”

“Yes, sir.”

The colonel went into his office and Forest led Kramer out the door. “I guess the first thing you’d be interested in seeing is the officers’ quarters so you can get rid of that seabag.”

“Sounds like a good idea.”

Kramer studied Forest as he led him between the plywood and canvas buildings. Though he was only slightly overweight, Forest’s arms and face lacked muscle tone, making him appear fatter than he actually was. His close-cropped hair receded an inch or two at the corners of his forehead. He spoke with an almost feminine drawl. “Where you from, Kramer?”

“Florida, Miami, Florida.”

“Hey, I’ve been there. Wild town.”

“There’re a lot wilder towns.”

“I’m from Birmingham. Where’d you get your degree?”

“Gainesville, University of Florida,” answered Kramer the way he always did when he thought the person he was talking to might otherwise say, “Oh, that’s in Miami, isn’t it?”

“That’s in Miami, isn’t it?” asked Forest.

“No, Gainesville.”

“That’s right, you said Gainesville, didn’t you?”

Kramer nodded. “What’d you get your degree in, Forest?”

“Phys. Ed.”

“Gonna teach Phys. Ed.?”

“No, I’m gonna make the Marine Corps my career. I just needed a degree to get my commission. It was real interesting though.”

“I imagine it was.” — ‘A lifer. I knew it.’

“Did you see that Gook that just walked by?”

“Yeah.”

“His name is Binh. He’s a Kit Carson Scout. You know what they are, don’t you — ” Kramer did, but Forest continued without waiting for a reply. “ — They’re former VC or NVA who were captured or
chieu hoied.
We use them a lot. I make it a point never to trust a Gook, but he seems to be all right — brought up around here, knows the whole area like the back of his hand.”

“Do you get many
chieu hois?
”

“Not around here. They usually fight to the death, but every once in a while we corner a few Gooks and they jump up yelling “
chieu hoi
” just to cheat my platoon out of some confirmed kills. The government gives the slant-eyed bastards a piece of land and more money than they’ve ever had in their lives.”

“How long have you been here, Forest?”

“Call me Maynard.”

Kramer waited a few seconds before asking again, “How long you been here, Maynard?”

Forest stopped in front of a plywood building. “Four months. This is our hootch.” He grabbed Kramer’s seabag. “I’ll take it inside, and you can go see Nash.”

“I’ve been looking at your record book, Kramer. The test scores in it indicate you’re quite a bit more intelligent than most of the infantry officers we get here. This could make things a lot easier for you. Chances are it’ll make them harder. Do you have any idea why you got infantry instead of finance
 
.
 
.
 
.
 
even though you have a degree in acounting?”

“I requested infantry, sir.”

The colonel waited for more of an explanation but, when he saw none coming, went on. “I had a feeling you did.
  
.
 
.
 
. As I was saying, you’re going to see a lot of things done here you won’t like. You’re also going to see men get killed following orders you question. It’s important, in fact it’s your job, to see that there’s as little of this as possible. You notice I say
possible,
because in most cases you won’t be able to do a damn thing about it. This war’s been going on for a long time. There’s about as much chance of you changing the way it’s fought as there is of you winning it single-handed. Your job is to make decisions within the boundaries set by your superiors,
and no more.
Otherwise you’ll be risking your own neck and maybe the lives of your men. This war is just like any other — things are done in certain ways, not because they’re best, but because they’re judged best by those that make the decisions. Don’t try and change things that can’t be changed. You’ll only end up doing more harm than good. Any questions so far?”

“No sir.” While Nash spoke, Kramer concentrated more on him than on what he was saying. Kramer had expected a talk on how great the Corps was, what a good job it was doing, and how he was now a part of it and had a chance to add to its glory. He had also expected a lecture on the importance of the United States being in Vietnam. Kramer
hadn’t
expected what he was now hearing. So far, Nash had refused to make a fool of himself, refused to give Kramer anything to scoff at. Kramer’s chair seemed suddenly uncomfortable. Nash’s eyes upon him, he remained motionless.

“I guess now you’re mainly interested in what you’ll be doing the next few days. First you’ll stay here for five days of Induction School, then you’ll join one of our rifle companies as a platoon commander. Anything else you need to know, you’ll find out soon enough. I’m not going to waste your time. Any questions?”

“No sir.”

As Kramer left the colonel’s office, he wondered whether this had been the same speech all the boot lieutenants received. He doubted it. Kramer had been prepared to dislike Nash from the start, but so far he hadn’t been able to find a good enough reason.

He was still thinking about Nash when he reached the officers’ quarters — a rectangular, plywood building, fifty feet in length and a few feet off the ground. The interior was a single room, dark except where thin wedges of dust clouded light knifed in from the outside. At first the room seemed empty, but then Kramer noticed someone sleeping on a cot at the far end. Against the walls, a few stacks of modified ammo boxes served as shelves. In the center of the room stood a makeshift table made of some more ammo boxes with a poncho liner draped over them. A portable television and some magazines lay on top of it. Kramer fingered through the magazines while mumbling to himself, “
Playboy, Sports Illustrated, Leather
neck, Playboy, Leatherneck, Time
— how’d that get in there?”

Looking up, he noticed an M-16 lying on one of the cots. He walked over and picked it up, then sat down on the cot. Kramer pulled the bolt back and pushed his finger into the chamber. He examined his finger for carbon and nodded — ‘Clean. Rule Number One: your rifle is your best friend, keep it clean.’ He placed the rifle on his lap and leaned back against the wall.

‘No surprises so far.
  
.
 
.
 
. The way I wanted it.’ And it was. He didn’t have to be in Vietnam. ‘Haven’t regretted it yet,’ he thought, but then remembered, ‘Maybe
 
.
 
.
 
.
 
just that one time’ — the time in the plane. He’d finished a month’s leave and was headed for Camp Pendleton on the way to Vietnam. The plane took off into a bank of clouds. He felt relieved, free of decisions. All he could see were clouds swirling by his window — then, suddenly, no clouds. He glanced down, unthinkingly, immediately sorry that he had. The coast of South Florida lay beneath him, and off it the reefs. A thin white band sparkled between them like a ribbon of glass particles — the beach. But it was the reefs he stared at — light patches beneath the crystal blue water — wondering how many of them he had dived on. He saw them as if from a boat, remembering how the color of the water changed from light green, to blue, and finally to the rich dark blue of the Gulf Stream. The water was as he had seen it rarely — level, barely undulating, the only mark upon it being the wake of his boat. Staring down, fifty feet below him, he could see the coral heads — various shades of brown spotted with purple, slowly wavering sea fans and orange patches of fire coral — everything as distinct and clear as if it lay at the bottom of a glass paperweight. Dolphins swam near the surface, their prismed sides mirroring the sun’s light back at him, changing it to flashes of blue and gold and green. The dark shapes of turtles and stingrays moved slowly along the bottom.

Only a glasslike surface separated him from this quieter, simpler, more beautiful world. He entered that world, floated slowly towards the bottom. The colors sharpened. A school of parrot fish swam by him unafraid — some of them royal blue, others mottled with patches of red and yellow and green. Closer to the rocks, a queen angelfish swam in small, unhurried circles. Thousands of colors changed and blended around him as if he were floating weightless within a barely moving kaleidoscope. Water was the silence that surrounded him. He’d escaped. Time itself seemed slowed, almost suspended. He saw it as within a dream — then and now.

‘Ended it,’ Kramer thought to himself, ‘ended it for good.’ Everything that had happened since he’d signed his enlistment papers made him surer. Never had he regretted what he was doing — except once, when he looked down and saw the reefs, knowing it was for the last time, forced to think, to remember. Now, once more, he remembered; but told himself, ‘Never have to see them again.
  
.
 
.
 
. No more second thoughts.’

Kramer drew the rifle up to his chest and let the bolt fly home with a loud, metallic crack. The cot across the room scraped the floor as the motionless figure bolted to a sitting position. Startled, Kramer also sat up. He had forgotten someone else was there. The figure turned its head, quickly scanning the room. At first its glance passed over Kramer, then slowly returned to him. It pivoted its body until its legs were over the edge of the cot and its feet fell to the floor. It nodded at him; then, in a sleepy voice, asked, “Who are you?”

He answered hesitantly, “Lieutenant Kramer. I’ve just been assigned here.”

The figure lowered its face into its hands and spoke with muffled words. “I’m Lieutenant Hyatt. Just finished my tour. Came out of the bush last week.” After a long pause, Hyatt continued. His voice seemed tired, but from something more than just being awakened. “Seemed like a long time while I was waiting for it to end, now it seems like I just got off the plane from Okinawa.
  
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.
 
. Probably be the same way for you.”