Sand in the Wind (47 page)

“
 
‘Mex,’ bullshit! I’m a Chicano!”

“Sure, Ramirez, toughest Chicano in the Marine Corps.”

“I can ride anything.”

Before they even reached the platoon hootch, they found Tony 5 waiting for them. He had learned exactly what they were up to soon after they had gotten off the hill. Chalice cringed when he saw the furious look on Tony’s face, and even Forsythe became ill-at-ease. Tony rushed by Chalice and headed directly for Hamilton, who was now back-stepping with his hands held out in front of him to fend off Tony. Hamilton continued stepping backwards as Tony berated him through gritted teeth. After both of them had made a complete circle around the squad, Tony was finally able to control himself enough to stand in one place. His forearms held tensed in front of him, he almost hissed his words while spittle flew from his mouth. Hamilton assured him that they’d never pull anything like the patrol again, and also that they’d get Tony’s permission before smoking the marijuana.

When they reached the platoon hootch, they found both mail and replacements waiting for them. Of the five new men, Alpha received two. Each rifle squad was supposed to have a squad leader and three fire teams of four men each. Rarely did more than one of Second Platoon’s three rifle squads have enough men to make a third fire team. Instead of the standard thirteen men, Alpha now had eight. The two replacements didn’t even make up for the loss of Bolton, Harmon, and Tony 5. One of the replacements was a pudgy, blond-haired kid from Ohio named Fuller. The other was a slender black nicknamed Rabbit. It was now necessary for Hamilton to rearrange his fire teams. Until they received another replacement, he would have to act as both squad leader and a fire team leader. Payne and the radio would have to remain in his own fire team. Childs had more time in-country than any of the other men in the squad, and he should have been the other fire team leader; but Hamilton figured that Childs would be sent to the rear pretty soon because of his two Purple Hearts. This and the fact that Childs didn’t care anyway, caused Hamilton to make Forsythe the other fire team leader and keep Childs in his own fire team. Forsythe was left with Chalice, Roads, and one of the replacements. Hamilton could see that Rabbit would be quite a bit better than Fuller; but Payne objected to having a “nigger” in his fire team, so Hamilton took Fuller and gave Rabbit to Forsythe.

As soon as he assigned the two new men, Hamilton began opening a large package at his feet. The other members of his squad gathered around him. The first few layers were canned goods, and he gave most of them away. He then picked up a box of candy bars and a dreamy smile appeared on his face as he said, “Almond Joys, wow!” Forsythe reached into the package and pulled out a small box. This drew the same reaction from Hamilton. “Turtles, wow!
 
.
 
.
 
.
 
Let me have one.”

Forsythe drew the box away. “No, save them.” Their eyes met, and Hamilton knew exactly what Forsythe was thinking. There were numerous other types of candy in the box. Hamilton kept less than half of it for himself. He sat thinking about how it would taste that night, when he suddenly remembered his promise to Tony 5.

Hamilton sought him out and asked permission, but Tony again became furious. “Not a fucking chance!”

“But Tony, it may be our last time to smoke for two months.”

“Tough shit! You’re lucky I didn’t stuff that dope up your ass.”

“C’mon Tony, you’ll use just as much of it as I will.”

“Fuck if I will. I’m not smoking anymore.”

“Bullshit.”

“I’m tellin’ you, I’m laying off the stuff.”

“What’s the big deal, just because you’re platoon sergeant?”

“You’re
damn
right! I don’t want anybody gettin’ an extra hole in his ass ’cause of me.”

“But you’re just as good when you’re stoned.”

“
I know that,
but I don’t want to give some punk that can’t handle it an excuse to get wrecked.”

“Why the hell can’t
I
smoke?”

Tony hesitated before saying, “Because Payne is a shitbird and I don’t want him smoking, and because you got two new men.”

“So what? I’ll stick Payne and the new men with Roads tonight.”

“Quit buggin’ me!”

“C’mon, Tony?”

“Oh get the fuck out of here.”

“It’s all right then?” Hamilton asked before leaving. Tony made no reply.

Chalice, Hamilton, Childs, and Forsythe sat quietly on top of the bunker’s shooting counter, their legs dangling over the front edge. The only movement was the occasional passing of candy from hand to hand as they stared across the valley, waiting silently for the popping of the variously colored illumination flares. It was a common understanding among the men of Second Platoon that if all the men in a bunker had been smoking marijuana, no one would be left alone on watch until the effects had worn off. For this reason, they had smoked the first joint a few minutes after sunset, knowing that by nine o’clock it would be all right to leave one person on watch. Forsythe held the still unlit second joint in his hand as he scanned the area around the bunker. Something told him not to light it yet, and a few seconds later he heard approaching footsteps. Chalice was the first to speak the challenge. “Halt! Who is there?”

“Three fucking guesses,” replied the now familiar voice of Valdez.

Ski was with Valdez, and the first thing he asked for was one of the joints. Forsythe turned around, and with his body lying across the shooting counter and his head hanging inside the bunker, he lit the second joint. After taking a drag, he passed it to Ski.

Hamilton’s voice asked dreamily, “How come you guys aren’t on watch?” Ski was trying to pass the joint, but Valdez refused it saying, “No man, not tonight.”

“C’mon,” Ski insisted, “this is just what you need.”

Again Hamilton asked, “How come you guys aren’t on watch?”

“What’s wrong with him?” asked Forsythe, referring to Valdez.

“He’s got short-timer’s jitters,” Ski replied.

In a serious tone, Valdez said,“Wait till you get ’em. It won’t be so funny.”

“That right, man?” Forsythe asked.

“Hey, how come you guys aren’t on watch?”

“That’s right,” Valdez answered. “Sunday I mail the king of spades home.” His tone became more reflective as he added, “The ace goes home with me on the plane.”

“That’s the death card,” Childs interrupted. “Ask any Gook.”

Valdez’s anger was real as he replied, “Your death card if you don’t shut the fuck up.”

Forsythe tried to calm him. “Take it easy, man.
  
.
 
.
 
. Maybe a few tokes ’ud do you some good.”

“Hey, how come you guys aren’t on watch?”

“No man, leave me alone.”

“Whata ya eatin’?” Ski asked Childs.

“Almond Joys.”

“Pass me one.”

“No.” Ski reached over and took what was left of the candy bar from Childs’s hand.

“Wait a minute! Listen!” Hamilton commanded. Everybody froze in silence as they listened intently for the sound Hamilton had heard.

“I don’t hear anything,” Forsythe whispered.

“Of course, I didn’t say anything yet.”

“Huh?”

“What?”

“
I’m
gonna
 
.
 
.
 
.
 
ask
 
.
 
.
 
.
 
a question.”

“Shit.”

“I don’t fucking believe it.”

“Okay Hamilton, ask your goddamn question.”

“How come you guys aren’t on watch?”

“Because we’re squad leaders,” Valdez answered.

“Oh, that’s right! You’re Bravo’s squad leader now, aren’t you, Ski?
 
.
 
.
 
.
 
Wait a minute! I’m a squad leader too.”

“Yeah, but you’re dumb,” Childs cut in.

Valdez said irritably, “We’ve got nine men in our squads. You got eight.”

“Oh
 
.
 
.
 
.
 
wait a minute! You shoulda had five-man watches.”

“But we didn’t,” Ski replied. “Nine months in the bush and this is the first time I didn’t have to stand lines, and probably the last too.”

While Ski had been talking, Chalice said, “Puff the Magic Dragon, I think he’s gonna work out.” They all looked in the direction Chalice had pointed. Two huge illumination flares designating corners of Puff’s grid square had already been dropped. They watched intently as the other two burst over the Arizona. Waiting for the machine gun tracer rounds, they were now able to enjoy the calming effect of the marijuana. Then it appeared, a bright red dotted line, seemingly created out of nothing but the blackness of the sky — manmade lightning. This same sight that he’d seen so many times before, hypnotized Chalice as always; and he said to himself, ‘So beautiful, like a thousand falling stars.’ Then the muffled staccato of the machine guns that created it reached his ears, seemingly as an afterthought of whoever it was that had been capable of such an act of beauty. They all continued to watch for those brief seconds when the red line of fire would cut the darkness in half.

Forsythe heard someone’s footsteps approaching the rear of the bunker, and all he could think of was ‘Go away. Go away.’ Now the others heard them also, but each man refused to give the challenge. They stared in the direction of Puff, not wanting to break the spell. Only when the footsteps had reached the door did Forsythe speak — not the mandatory “Halt! Who is there?” but instead a resentful “Who’s that?”

“Commander of the Guard,” came a voice from outside the bunker.

‘So what?’ thought Childs.

The commander of the guard waited outside for the command, “Advance and be recognized!” When he realized it wasn’t coming, he entered anyway.

Chalice sat thinking, ‘Uh oh, now we’ve had it.’

As the commander of the guard entered the bunker, a green flare burst in the air above it. He could now make out the distinct outlines of four men sitting upon the shooting counter. They heard him walking around behind them, yet no one took his eyes off the green flare.

“Who’s on watch here?” asked the fatherly voice.

Hamilton realized that it was his responsibility to reply, and while thinking, ‘What a bummer,’ he answered, “We all are.”

The commander of the guard continued to walk behind them. Without saying anything, he placed his hand on the shoulders of each of the four men. Still with their backs to him, they wondered what he was doing. As if in reply to their thoughts, he asked casually, “Where are your flak jackets, men?”

Again there was a pause before Hamilton answered, “We don’t put them on until we go on watch.”

“I thought you said you were all on watch.”

“I mean when we divide up the watch at nine o’clock.”

The voice said calmly, “You know it’s battalion policy for everyone on watch to wear a flak jacket and helmet.” He received no reply, nor did anyone attempt to put on his flak jacket. After a long pause, he again spoke in a fatherly tone as he walked up and down behind them. “I know you men have seen quite a bit of action, but that’s no excuse for getting careless. Charlie can’t keep this up much longer. It looks like we’ve got this war just about won.
  
.
 
.
 
. How would one of you like to be known as the last man to be killed in Vietnam?” Again no one answered him. “You men make some pretty fine targets up there.” None of them made any effort to climb down off the shooting counter. He paced back and forth behind them a few more times before leaving the bunker without saying another word.

The men sighed in unison, and Forsythe spoke the thought they’d all been thinking. “I thought he’d
never
leave.”

Chalice said, “God, what if it had been Trippitt?”

Hamilton answered immediately. “We would have gotten our asses kicked, court-martialed, or both.”

“He wasn’t a bad guy,” Chalice commented.

Childs gave a sarcastic grunt, then said, “A lifer’s a lifer. The fatherly type can get you killed just as dead as any other type.”

“Yeah,” Ski agreed, “but if I had to take my choice, I’d take the fatherly type.”

“Do you think he knew we were Stoned?” Chalice asked.

“Who cares?” Childs replied.

Forsythe said, “I doubt it. If he knew what it was like, he’d a been stoned himself.”

“They all know we blow grass,” Childs cut in. “What do they expect. We never get any time off. We’d go nuts if we didn’t.”

“What about the Second World War?” Valdez asked.

“What are you talking about?”

“They didn’t get any days off and they didn’t smoke marijuana.”

“Sure they didn’t,” Hamilton replied, “but they sure as hell got drunk a lot.”

“Not when they were standing bunker watch,” Valdez insisted.

“That’s different,” Forsythe said. “You’re a hell of a lot better off on grass, sometimes even more alert than when you’re straight. Besides, they were always getting shipped to the rear. Our rear is Okinawa.”

“There it is,” Ski agreed.

The men soon lost what little desire they had to talk, and their attention shifted back to the flares exploding in front of them. At nine o’clock, the effects of the marijuana had practically worn off, and Chalice was left alone to begin his watch. Hamilton, Forsythe, and Childs spread out their poncho liners on a little knoll in back of the bunker. Ski and Valdez had followed them, and they were all lying down gazing at the sky when Valdez broke the silence by saying, “If anything happens to me, I want one of you to write to my family.” They all tried to laugh off this remark, but Valdez spoke again as if he hadn’t heard them. “I want you to tell my brother to stay home and take care of my parents, not to join the Crotch.”

“How come you’re talking like that?” Hamilton asked.

Valdez hesitated before answering slowly and with conviction, “I’m not coming back from the Arizona. Ain’t no way I can make it.”

They no longer tried to laugh off what Valdez was saying. They knew that they had to convince him otherwise, and their reason for attempting to do so was spoken by Forsythe. “C’mon man, you know what the story is: If you think you’re gonna get it, you will.”