Sergeant Dickinson (15 page)

Jumping out of the helicopter and running toward the tree line I waited for the bullet or the mortar frag that would stop me for good. When the helicopter lifted off and exploded all I felt was relief that I was not on it, and gratitude that I had not known the crew.

The embankment was slick with mud and mold and we pulled ourselves up by clutching vines and the exposed roots of the larger trees. It was the kind of country men could hardly move in but when you got to the top of a ridge you found elephant tracks. We knew that we had left a sizable trail and that the NVA would follow it like a blood spoor. We had been moving for six days and had been hit twice and had lost seven men.

We followed an animal trail along the ridge line. It had rained just before dawn so the ground was soft, and we left the trail rich with boot prints and slide marks. After four hundred meters we climbed down the other side of the ridge until we came to a creek bed. We watered there and then climbed the next ridge.

Pierson told me to put up the radio antenna; then he placed the others in the cover of trees and boulders in a line parallel to the creek bed. We had time and Pierson passed the word that it was all right to talk quietly and to smoke.

I sat down and lit a cigarette. My tongue was furry from dehydration and my belly turned over with the first drag, but after the first one it was all right. We waited for a little over two hours.

Ortiz's voice came over the radio in a whisper. I found Pierson and told him the NVA were five hundred meters out and that they were following our trail. Pierson passed the word to put out the cigarettes and to cease talking. I shuddered with a quick chill; my uniform was still wet with sweat.

Two men came down the slope of the ridge in front of us. They were not wearing rucksacks and they looked healthy and well fed. They stopped at the creek bed and peered through the bush cautiously. Then one turned around and made a signal and more came down. You could see leaves and brush moving where they were sliding down the embankment when we began firing. It lasted only a few minutes; we killed eleven of them and took no casualties ourselves. It was very good, a classic ploy.

“I think we can get more of them, sir.”

“No.”

“We can pull the same trick again, kill more of them, and then pull out.”

“Goddamnit, Dickinson, no. They weren't wearing rucksacks, do you know what that means? That means the main
body is near here. Plus, some of them got away. That means even if the main body didn't hear the firing, they'll soon be warned anyway. Plus, we have to meet the choppers in less than three hours or walk out of this shithole.”

“Even so, sir…”

“Dickinson, I know what's wrong with you. You're crazy, that's what. Get your rucksack on. We're pulling out while we still can.”

We sat on the crest of a hill watching an American unit get mauled. It looked like a platoon had stepped in it against a company of NVA. Two 104s flew down the valley and strafed the Americans. When they came around again I fired off a magazine at the lead one.

“We need a Thompson,” Geyer said. “These Armalites don't throw a heavy enough round.”

“I just get so tired of that shit.”

“What's-his-face—Terry—used to carry a Thompson.”

“They're coming around again.”

“How far are you supposed to lead them?”

“I don't know. Try three lengths.”

We couldn't tell if we hit it. We didn't see any smoke anyway.

“I've heard stories about American troops shooting at their own aircraft.”

“So have I.”

We looked at each other and started to giggle.

“Christ, that's what we're doing.”

“Yeah, we are.”

We just giggled.

Coming fast into a fight that has already started you have to pick something physical to focus on, there's an APC, you say, and it's burning, and then you pick a second thing, say the dead Americans beside it to the left, and from there you expand your vision and your other senses so that you can begin to put order on it, you know that where you see a muzzle flash with the tip of flame pointed in your direction you have the enemy, and your ears will tell you where the AKs are firing from and where the M-16s are although that isn't always indicative of enemy and friendly positions because sometimes Americans use AKs too. The important thing is to hang on to the material thing that you started with, the burning APC, because as you take in more and more you begin to doubt that any of it is real, but you can refer back to the APC and know that it, at least, is real, you have to put your faith in the idea that the APC is real, you don't want to get caught up in the sensations, you don't want to get lost in the illusion.

“Once you know that you're going to die, once you've embraced the fact of your dying and made up your mind to it, all of life is reduced to a waiting. This is my third tour. I've been waiting for four years.”

Cbarles says nothing.

The NCO Club, early afternoon. Charles and I occupy a table close to the door. We nurse our beers, alone in the bar. We can hear the bartender moving stock around in the storeroom.

“I'm cold. I'm always cold now,” I complain.

“The monsoon is coming.”

“Oh, good. Then I can be wet, too. Well, tell me, did you find what you were looking for?”

“What was I looking for?”

“You were going to Dak To, remember? To see what your friend saw?”

“Yes. Yes, I did go to Dak To. It was the same as Dak Pek and Dak Seang and every other camp on the border.”

“Did you find out why you were staying? In Viet Nam? You said something about trying to find that out at Dak To.”

“Yes, I did say that. And no, I didn't find out. I think I've simply stopped asking the question. What a memory you have! I'd already forgotten all of that.”

“My memory is my major failing. So I've been told.”

“Meaning that it's poor?”

“Meaning that it's too good.”

“I could see where that would be a liability here.”

“It's the cumulative effects of memory that are the liability.”

“Who told you all this?”

“Nobody. I made it up.”

“I have one, too. War weariness is simply the conviction that life is not worth the sacrifices one must make to keep it.”

“Are you war weary, Charles?”

“Only when I'm not running on adrenaline. Which is most of the time, I suppose. It takes so much energy to sustain ecstasy. But what do you think? Am I accurate on the subject of war weariness?”

“I don't know. Sure, why not?”

“It's important to be accurate.”

“Are you writing again?”

“I'm thinking about it. Maybe it's just habit, to think about writing. I'll see.”

“I dreamed about you last night. We were talking here in the Club.”

“Oh?”

“But I don't remember what we said.”

“You have no memory at all, Dickinson.”

“I hardly ever dream anymore. At least I don't remember if I do. I dreamed about an old friend, too, last night. Roy Hutchins. But I don't remember what he said either.”

“I try not to pay too much attention to my dreams.”

“Here's another one: Meaninglessness is itself meaningful.”

“Dickinson, I think you've been in Asia too long.”

“What else is there? Should I go back to Bragg so I can tell stories about everybody who was killed? Christ, in just the last ten days Worden at Duc Co, Moore at Plei Djereng, and Brown at Ban Me Thuot were killed. They were all old-timers, they all had at least two tours behind them. Death is such a contemptible bastard. But what else is there? To defeat Him, you have to become Him.”

“Long live Death.”

“Yes! Long live Death!”

“Save yourself, Sergeant Dickinson. You are too near the sun.”

“I've gone too far, Charles. I'm being pulled in. The sun has its own gravity.”

They had been shelled regularly for a month. Circling the camp, you could see that they had to be living underground, there was nothing standing and complete above ground. Seeing that red knoll exposed in the midst of jungle and mountain you realized again how fragile was everything we constructed.

“I've see it before,” Geyer said. He had been at A Shau.

“I have too,” I said.

We set down near what had been the latrine, the helicopters not cutting their engines. “Keep a tight asshole,” said Ortiz.

Pappy Aarons stood up and waved at us from inside the inner perimeter. “Let's go! Let's go!” Pierson yelled. “Spread the Nungs out!” We dumped out of the choppers and followed Pierson at a run toward Pappy, the Nungs on their own making for the trenches on the perimeter. The helicopters took off and then it was quiet. An insect went by my ear at incredible speed and smacked into the wood of the team house. We got down.

“They started sniping at us this morning,” Pappy said. “We lost our LPs last night.”

“Oh shit, oh dear,” Geyer said.

“Geyer, I thought they killed you at A Shau.”

“Another incarnation.”

“You're Dickinson. Last time I saw you was…”

“Vientiane.”

“That's right! Years ago. Well, I'm glad to see you all. I can't think of a better bunch of guys to die with.”

“I don't want to hear talk like that, Sergeant,” Pierson said. “Where's Captain Wilson?”

“He's in the medical bunker, sir. Over there.” Pappy waited for Pierson to leave. Then he said, “We have about four hundred strikers, all Yards except for the Vietnamese. There's twelve of them but they don't count. The Yards are Bru, good fighters, but we'll see. The loss of the LPs last night has them spooked, they lost relations there. We've evacuated all the dependents, so we don't have to worry about them. We have Division artillery on call, one-oh-fives, one-fifty-fives, and eight-inchers. So far they've been pretty responsive. We'll see. Air support's a problem because of the fog. We haven't had any. Air support, that is. We've had plenty of fog. It usually clears in the afternoon for two or three hours, but the NVA keep their heads down then. They've been shelling us every day, usually about nine in the morning and about nine or ten at night, sometimes a little earlier at night. They're consistent about the time in the morning. You can count on incoming beginning at zero nine hundred. It'll last for twenty minutes, maybe half an hour. Occasionally we get a round or two at some other time of day, but you can't count on those. Mostly they throw over mortar and rocket. You
can't see it now, the fog's coming in, but there's a mountain over there about four and a half klicks out. They've got one-fifty-twos dug in there but they haven't used them on us yet. They use the one-fifty-twos to pound Division. We haven't seen any sign of armor like they had at Lang Vei, but we'll see. The NVA, gentlemen, have gone to a lot of trouble setting up for this little confrontation. There is no doubt in my military mind that they intend to take this camp, and that they can take it if they're willing to pay the price.” Pappy let that soak in, then spat between his boots and grinned in distaste. “Westmoreland came out a couple of weeks ago to give us a pep talk. Told us the eyes of the world were watching us, ‘the eyes of the world,' he said, and that we were professionals and were setting the example for everybody in the country. All the Americans, I guess he meant. Then he chewed me out because my jungle boots weren't spit-shined, and he told me to get a haircut.” Pappy spat again. “I think he was afraid we were going to bug out. Hell, bug out where? There are ten klicks between us and Division, and the NVA have them all.”

“Have the vultures come in yet?” somebody asked.

“No, at least we've been spared them. We get to do this one by ourselves.” Pappy laughed. “You know you're in deep shit when the vultures don't want to come in.”

That night all of our ambush patrols were ambushed on their way out. They withdrew, leaving their dead and some of their wounded. When we were mortared later, you could hear the
pop!
from the round hitting the bottom of the tube sending it over to us, they were that close.

Pierson told us, “Here's the situation. The Bru are refusing to leave the camp. All right. The Nungs will take over patrolling beginning at dawn. Two Americans will go out with each patrol. Also, I'm taking over command of the camp. Captain Wilson will be going in on the first medevac chopper tomorrow. He has a few pieces of mortar frag in his ribs.” At this there was the hint of contempt in his voice. “All right. There's a column of Laotians heading our way. The message didn't say what kind they are, but they should arrive tomorrow.”

“Laotians won't make any difference, Captain. It's the NVA we have to worry about,” Pappy said.

“You're always a delight to talk to, you know that, Sergeant Aarons? You're always a delight. All right, something else. I've called for a B fifty-two strike for zero four hundred. They'll be bombing close. Close. Keep your heads down. Don't warn either the Bru or the Nungs until zero three forty.”

“Do the Vietnamese know?”

“Yeah. I know, but don't warn the troops anyway. That's all I have for now. If you get a chance to grab any sleep tonight, take it, but let somebody know where you are.”

The wind came up and the sky cleared. It was cold. “You can see the shadow of the mountain where they have the one-fifty-twos,” Pappy said.

“I hate it when it gets like this,” one of Wilson's people said.

“I'd rather have it like this and clear than warmer and fogged in,” somebody said. “I want to be able to see them
when they come.”

“If you can see them, they can see you.”

“There's the Big Dipper.”

“Where? Yeah.”