Authors: Robert Roth
The frightened voice of Sinclaire’s A-gunner yelled, “
There,
to the right.”
“Not so loud,” Sinclaire whispered before firing a burst from his machine gun.
Sinclaire continued firing in short bursts as his A-gunner tried to zero him in. “Up a little.
.
.
. To the right.
.
.
. Missed.
.
.
. Got him.
.
.
. Two more to the left.”
Chalice took a quick glance above the sandbags and saw the body of a sapper lying within some strands of concertina wire; then two others, alive, naked except for black cloths wrapped around their groins. They were less than thirty yards away and almost directly in front of him. Seeing that Sinclaire was firing high, Chalice aimed a grenade round at the nearest sapper. It exploded by his side. He rolled over, writhing, still alive. Rabbit aimed a burst of rifle fire at him. Chalice reached for another grenade round to fire at the other sapper who was now ten yards closer. He hesitated, watching him crawl on his stomach and side through the barbwire that seemed hardly to bother him. A burst from Rabbit’s M-16 hammered into the sapper’s convulsing body just before an explosion came from a few yards behind him leaving a gap in the wire.
Chalice watched the wounded sapper struggling with something in his hands. In an instant, the sapper’s body and the wire around it disintegrated in a deafening explosion. All along the barrier of sandbags, the firing of M-16’s increased until it was almost constant. Sappers seemed to emanate from the ground itself as they continued to appear in greater numbers within the tangled strands of concertina wire. Though few of them managed to reach the sandbags, they cleared the way for other troops, both Viet Cong and NVA. Sinclaire constantly fired bursts from his machine gun, as did most of the gunners along the perimeter. But this wasn’t enough. They kept coming, from nowhere.
By chance alone, Chalice saw a hand reach over the sandbags. He fumbled within his pouch for a shotgun round. Rabbit fired a burst beside his ear. With a convulsing motion, the sapper rose up from the top of the sandbags, then collapsed, the upper part of his body hanging within the perimeter. There was a loud explosion to Chalice’s right. A quick glance revealed Sinclaire and his assistant gunner almost completely out of their hole and lying motionless.
“
Corpsman, up! Corpsman, up!
”
Chalice screamed.
Within seconds, a corpsman had reached the position, found both men dead, and left them lying where they were. Hamilton ran towards the machine gun. A sapper trying to get out of the perimeter rushed madly by him and into Chalice’s hole. Chalice tried to grab the frightened sapper’s hands. Hamilton’s rifle exploded and the sapper fell limp at Chalice’s feet.
Pablo ran by and placed the machine gun at the notch in the sandbags, then yelled, “
Professor
, over here.”
Chalice was in a daze, trying to make himself believe that the man at his feet was no more dead than himself. Only after Pablo yelled again did Chalice run towards him, tripping over Sinclaire’s body. Even after he was next to Pablo, Chalice continued to glance at the bodies around him, feeling incapable of defending himself, no less helping Pablo with the machine gun.
Pablo searched for a target as he said, “Have another belt ready. Feed me as I fire.” These words were spoken so calmly that Chalice found it hard to believe he was hearing them amidst the turmoil that surrounded him. When Pablo began firing, Chalice was still somewhat dazed, but he managed to feed the belt to the machine gun. “Sight me in,” Pablo said calmly. The sound of Pablo’s voice relaxed Chalice to a degree that he himself found hard to believe.
Gradually, the firing became more sporadic. Chalice scanned the bodies and what was left of the barbwire, realizing the worst had probably passed. A minute went by in silence. Then, from nowhere, an NVA soldier came charging directly at Pablo’s machine gun. A short burst from it left Chalice refusing to believe what he was seeing, the NVA soldier staggering closer, still aiming his rifle, but finally collapsing, his head lying on the ground five yards in back of him.
It had been twenty minutes since the last shot or explosion. Childs sat behind his position in the rain, shivering now that he had time. Hamilton approached, calmly making the rounds of his squad’s positions. “Looks like we survived another one.”
“There’s always tomorrow,” Childs replied.
“For me there’s only five more tomorrows and a wake-up.
.
.
. You gonna see me off when I get on that beautiful green chopper?”
“I’ll probably shoot you off that beautiful green chopper.”
“In three weeks you’ll be on one yourself.”
“If they hadn’t blown those satchel charges too early, I could be dead right now.
.
.
. A lot can happen in three weeks — Khe Sanh for one.
“Tell ’em you ain’t going. You got two Hearts.”
“I ain’t telling those bastards anything. If I knew which sonofabitch kept me in the bush, I’d blow his ass away.”
“Ask around.”
“As long as I don’t know, I can’t end up in the brig.”
“You gonna miss me, motherfucker?”
Hamilton’s question immediately reminded both of them of Forsythe. “I’m gonna miss a lot of people.
.
.
. Man, I don’t want to be around here anymore. Every friend I ever had is dead, gone, or leaving.”
“When did you ever have a friend?” Even realizing Childs knew he was joking, Hamilton was immediately sorry he had said this. He added in a somber tone, “You had lots of friends, still have some.”
“I don’t know whether I can take three more weeks. The Professor’s the only one worth a shit, and he’s been acting fucked up for a while.”
“He’s all right now.
.
.
. You were a little weird in the Arizona yourself.”
Childs said with malice, “I had
good reason!
”
“It won’t be so bad. You’ll be the squad leader.”
“I’ll be
goddamned
if I will.”
“It’s either you or Roads. You wanna take orders from that fucking nigger?”
“He’s probably got more brains that you have.”
“Bullshit! What he’s got is more hair up his ass.
.
.
. Man, Alpha, the whole platoon even, is so fucking green that if the shit hits, a lotta guys are gonna get blowed away. Ask them for a job in the rear.”
“I
ain’t
gonna kiss their ass!”
“You don’t wanna work in the rear. You don’t wanna be squad leader. You got three weeks left. What the fuck
do
you want?”
“To get the fuck out of here, that’s what I want!”
As Childs said this, two mortars fell less than thirty yards in back of his position. Both he and Hamilton sprawled out on the ground behind the sandbags. Within seconds, Childs was sitting up searching his pants pockets.
Hamilton grabbed his shoulder and pushed him back down. “What the fuck you doing?” he asked, as another series of mortars landed behind them.
“C-rat opener.”
“What?”
“I can’t find it.”
“Who needs it?”
“I do!”
“For what?
Oh,
I get it. Use mine.”
Another series of mortars landed, only farther behind them.
“
Quick!
Give it to me!”
“Oh, I left it in the tent.”
“You
idiot!
” Childs shouted.
“You left yours too, stupid.”
“No I didn’t. I lost it.”
“That’s even stupider,” Hamilton insisted.
“You got anything sharp, your bayonet?”
“I mailed it to my little brother.”
Childs sat up again as he nervously rummaged through his pockets. “That’s just fucking lovely.”
A mortar exploded within fifteen yards of them. It was a few seconds before Hamilton was composed enough to ask, “Are you hit?”
“
Hell,
no! Haven’t you got anything sharp?”
“My teeth.”
“That’ll never get it.”
“I got it: break your glasses.”
“They’re my last pair.”
“Who cares?”
“I do.
.
.
. Here, I got it — my C-rat opener. It was on my dog tag chain.”
“You idiot! You didn’t know that?” In the glare from the illumination flares, Hamilton could see Childs hesitating to cut himself. “
C’mon!
”
“Just relax.
.
.
. There, I did it.”
“Where?”
“There.”
“You pansy. You expect to get a Purple Heart for that mosquito bite?”
“It’s bleeding, isn’t it?”
Hamilton ripped the C-ration opener from Childs’s dog tag chain and gashed his arm, at the same time yelling, “
Corpsman, up! Corpsman, up!
”
Within an hour after dawn, the men had placed their own dead in plastic bags and stacked the bodies of the Viet Cong and NVA soldiers a short distance outside of the perimeter. Most of the members of Second Platoon went back into their tent, but Ramirez and a few others stood around and watched the parade of battalion officers making their way out to the Viet Cong bodies to have their pictures taken. Some of them were wearing bush covers they had never worn before, and carrying rifles and pistols they hardly ever touched except to oil.
Pablo sat off by himself in the platoon tent examining the machine gun taken from Sinclaire’s position. Thirteen months ago he had checked it out of the battalion armory. It had been new, a clear plastic bag sealed around it. Pablo remembered carefully cutting the plastic instead of tearing it, and also the smell of new metal and oil as he did this. He had slowly pulled the bolt back, then gently released it — again, and again, and again; listening to the sound of its mechanism as the metal parts slid smoothly against each other; saying to himself, ‘Like a watch, like a fine watch.’ With great care and even a sense of awe, he had taken it apart, spread its shiny metal parts upon a clean, white towel. They were jewel-like and of different colors. Slowly he put them back together, amazed by the way each part so neatly fit into the others. Again he began to pull the bolt back and release it, admiring the precision of its mechanism; but thinking, ‘Only to kill, so precise, so beautiful, only to kill,’ and then saying to himself, aloud, “But you’ll keep me alive, won’t you?”
His fingers now traced patterns upon the stock. Most of the scratches were old and familiar. The barrel was darker, coated with carbon. Pablo began to take the machine gun apart, cleaning it for the last time, thinking about the only other men who had ever done this, all four of them dead.
Ramirez sat down on the edge of Pablo’s cot. He was careful not to disturb the array of worn parts. Ramirez remained silent, but Pablo realized there was something he wanted to talk about, so he said, “It’s good when the sun comes up.”
“Were you scared?” Ramirez asked.
“Till I get home, I’ll be scared; and even then I’ll be scared I’m really back here.”
“We’ve been through some shit, man.” Pablo nodded his head, and there was a long pause before Ramirez added, “They really come at you.”
“They’re hard core.”
“They come right at you, and they keep coming until you kill them.
.
.
. They ain’t never gonna stop, are they, Pablo?”
“We’ll never stop them.”
Ramirez’s voice broke slightly as he said, “I don’t wanna try no more. It’s their country.”
“What can we do?” Pablo replied, at the same time asking himself.
“You don’t have to do nothing. Two more days and you’ll be out of here.”
Pablo continued to assemble the machine gun as he talked. “You haven’t got that much longer either.”
“Seven weeks. That’s a long time.”
“Not that long. Just play your cards right and you’ll be okay.”
“I ain’t playing no more cards.”
“What do you mean by that?” Pablo asked, this time looking directly at Ramirez.
“I ain’t killing no more of them.”
“Do you think they’re better than we are?”
“I don’t know.
.
.
. It’s their country.”
“We’re no worse than them. The people hate them as much as they hate us.”
“Not in the Arizona.”
“They have the guns in the Arizona. The people are scared of them. Here they’re scared of us. Do you think it makes any difference to them who takes their rice?
.
.
.
They just want to be left alone.”
“But we ain’t Gooks.”
“No, we ain’t.”
“It’s their country.”
“It’s their country.”
“I ain’t killing no more of them.”
“You gonna let them kill you?”
“I ain’t going after them no more.
.
.
. You know how many men I’ve killed?” Pablo shook his head. “Eight.”
“Not even half of what I’ve killed.”
“But you don’t have to kill no more.”
“You think that makes a difference?” Ramirez shook his head, and Pablo held up the machine gun while saying thoughtfully, “You’ve seen me. Bucoo Gooks are dead because of this baby.”
“But you’re going home.”
“And when you finish your tour, you’ll go home too.”
“I ain’t gonna kill no more of them.”
“What are you gonna do?”
“I’m telling Kramer.”
“Man, you can’t beat the system. They’ve got it all figured out.”
“I’m gonna tell him.”
“And he’ll send you to Forest.”
“I’ll tell him too.”
“And he’ll send you to the brig.”
Ramirez had hoped Pablo would make things easier, but now he was even more uneasy than before. “I don’t care. I’ll tell them.”