the Last Run (1987) (17 page)

Childs stopped the formation and faced them toward him as he stood on a rise, stalking back and forth with hands on hips.

You just learned a lesson, shitbirds! Don't ever let your mind think it's over! If you were on a mission and had to run to a helicopter pickup zone and found you couldn't use it, you'd have to run to another PZ-and another until you finally got picked up. A Ranger must never think something's over. It ain 9t never over till the fat lady sings at your funeral! You see them wimps that fell out? They let their minds beat them! They're the ones you'd have to carry on a mission 'cause they thought they couldn't make it! Shitbirds, remember this lesson. It's all in your heads! You have to drive on and push through pain. You must toughen your mind as well as your body."

Childs pointed to the camp a half mile away. "You shitbirds walk on back and cool down before chow. And remember, it ain 9t over till the fat lady sings! Move out!"

The formation of men began walking back to the camp, except for a lone soldier in camouflage fatigue pants who began jogging. Childs recognized him immediately; it was the small Indian he'd inspected earlier. One of the men yelled out, "Show 'em, Preacher! Us ragbags is bad!"

The Indian passed by a group of maggot replacements that jeered at him. "That's one ugly Indian, man!"

"Ragbags ain't shit!"

A ragbag yelled back, "You 173rd maggots are wimpsl"

One of the 173rd replacements broke into a run and easily caught up to the Indian and passed him.

"Go, maggot!" hollered the 173rd replacements, encouraging their group's competitor.

The Indian increased his pace and took back the lead, to the cheers of the ragbags. The replacement maggots began hollering and screaming for their man to catch up. Thumper watched in disbelief, for the replacement that had run to catch the Indian was the tall redhead, Woodpecker.

Childs stood on the rise, watching not the runners but the screaming men who seemed to find identity in the names 'maggot' and 'ragbag.' "I'll be damned," he thought as they hollered and ran to see who would win.

"Move it, maggot!"

"Go, ragbag, beat his ass!"

The two runners ran neck and neck up the hill. The redhead pushed ahead and sprinted for the first barracks, but the Indian caught up to him with a surprising burst of speed and slapped the wall of the building first. Both men fell to their knees, out of breath and gasping for air. The redhead finally got to his feet and stood over the small soldier. "I'll beat your ass next time."

The Indian raised his head, looking skyward, then looked at the glaring soldier. "Only if the Lord gives you strength."

The first of the soldiers arrived. "Who won?"

The redhead motioned disgustedly, toward the Indian. The ragbags yelped with joy and raised the victor to their shoulders as the 173rd maggots gathered around their defeated runner. "No sweat, man, you almost beat that ugly shit."

The two groups faced each other, yelling and trading insults, when Childs stepped between them. "At ease! Shitbirds! Get cleaned up and get to chow!"

The groups of men mumbled and walked away, leaving Childs with something very unnatural on his tough face-a grin.

The mess hall rocked as a booming voice filled the room.

"Moooove out, Troop-ar! Eat my good Army chow and mooove out!'' First Sergeant Demand stood by the food line bellowing, "One piece of cake, Troop-ar! You holdin' up my line!" The mess hall was full when the bantam soldier turned toward the dining area.

"Some of you troop-ars not appreciatin' the first sergeant's latrine! You been writin' litde notes on my walls and smokin' nasty cigarettes. You troop-ars keep that up, you gonn be sleepin' in the bunkers! I heard some cussin' in my chow line. Don't be cussin' around yo' first sergeant. I like clean things!" The senior sergeant turned back to the food line. "Mooove out, Troop-ar!"

Major Shane sat at a table with his officers and senior NCOs and noted Lieutenant Gibson's stare at the black sergeant. "L-tee, you'll have to get used to Top when you eat. He always does this. This is his mess hall and he takes great pride in a shipshape camp. Don't use profanity around him and never, never throw any trash on the ground."

Gibson broke his trance from the bellowing man and nodded to his commander, grateful for the warning. Lieutenant Avant nudged him. "I told you Top was different."

Shane leaned back. "Sergeant Childs, how is your program coming?"

Childs motioned to the dining area where men sat eating. "You see anything unusual over there, sir?"

Shane glanced at the men. "No, should I?"

"Sir, take a look at their uniforms."

Shane looked again, but shook his head. "They look alright."

"Sir, you'll notice the camouflage-fatigued ragbags over there, and the green-fatigued maggots on the other side. I think we got us two separate armies."

"We have cammies for the replacements; issue them."

"No sir, not yet. I got a feelin' this is exactly what we need."

Shane looked at Childs strangely, then broke into a grin. He winked knowingly and leaned forward for his glass of tea, but noticed Gibson looking at him as if he wanted to speak.

"Gibson, what do ya wanna say?"

The lieutenant stiffened. "Nothing, sir, except..."

"Well?"

"Sir, I feel I should be with the replacements. They're from the 173rd and so am 1.1 think I should take the same training they are so that I'll have credibility. I'll take off my rank if I need to."

Shane eyed the lieutenant, then looked at Childs, who winked approvingly.

Shane's eyes shifted back to the L-tee. "It's not fair to the ragbags if the replacements have an officer."

Gibson elbowed the shaven-headed officer beside him. "Sir, Fm sure Lieutenant Avant will accept the position of ragbag leader. He is a North Georgia graduate and all."

Avant swallowed a piece of cake. "Sir, it would be a profound honor indeed to show this Aggie what a real leader is."

Shane hid his pleasure with a frown and leaned back in his chair. There was the officer training program to consider. He knew he could train them after Childs's two-week program, but. . .

Childs spoke up. "Sir, I think it's a good idea to have some internal leadership to keep the armies under control. It could get out of hand."

Shane pointed his finger at Gibson. "You are now a maggot."

"Thank you, sir."

Shane then pointed at Avant. "And you're a ragbag."

"An honor, sir," said Avant. "I shall uphold the name with dignity and pursue the ... "

"Get outta here!" interrupted Shane, unable to contain his smile any longer.

First Sergeant Demand rocked back on his heels as the men kept filing into the mess hall. He suddenly came to attention and marched direcdy toward three blacks who had just walked in.

First Sergeant's eyes had narrowed to slits as he approached the first, who was tall and wore his shirt partially unbuttoned, exposing a long, black shoestring necklace with a black plastic closed fist on its end.

Demand stopped four paces from the tall soldier, who stared at him defiandy.

"Boy, what yo think this is-a black panther headquarters?"

"I ain't no boy," said the tall soldier, glancing at his two smiling friends.

"You sure ain't a man, and you ain't dressed like a soldier. I guess you're right-you ain't a boy. You a wimp I A weak, incompetent, malingering pus-say. Now, wimp, you got ten seconds to get that unmilitary paraphernalia off your ftinky body, or the first sergeant's gonna introduce you to his black power fist upside your wimp head, cleart"

The tall soldier squared himself to the glaring sergeant and smirked.

The first sergeant took a step closer, speaking softly. "You got your hands full fighting dinks. I don't think you wanna complicate your life and try out the first sergeant." The broad-shouldered sergeant's stare was cold and cutting. He whispered almost in- audibly, "Five seconds, wimp."

The soldier's eyes nervously shifted back and forth. He turned slightiy, glancing at his friends, who wouldn't return his look. The men around them backed up quickly. He looked back at the small, muscular man before him, who, no doubt, meant exactly what he said. His hands shot up for the necklace.

'Now, button up your shirt, boy. They gonna think yo queer.''

The first sergeant's eyes shifted slowly to the other two black men, both of whom quickly took off their necklaces and began buttoning their shirts.

"Moooove out, troop-ars! You holdin' up my line!"

Rose sat across from Russian staring at his food and feeling sick. Russian looked up after eating his meat loaf. "What is wrong, Rose?"

Rose shut his eyes wearily. "Man, I ain't run in months and my stomach is saying 'fuck you.' "

The Czech took Rose's food tray and smashed the meat loaf into mush with his fork, then mixed the meat with the mashed potatoes. He pushed the tray back. "You must eat small bites and drink water or you will become weak."

Rose shook his head and leaned back in his chair. "I can't, man. Don't feel like eatin' nothin'."

Russian stood and walked around the table and sat down beside the black soldier. He picked up a spoon and held it toward Rose. "You will eat or you not leave. You must have strength for tomorrow. Eat!"

Rose sighed and took the spoon. "Man, you're worse than my mama."

Seated behind Russian in the corner of the mess hall were the Ranger cadre team sergeants who were the experienced junior leaders of the company. Thumper had been asked to join them to represent Wade.

Sergeant Zubeck, an athletically built six-footer who was team leader of 2-1, sat at the head of the table and leaned back in his chair. "Childs is in complete charge of the training program and wanted me to tell you he has total confidence in our ability to train the men. He's giving us the authority to kick out any man who shows he's weak or gives us any back talk. He said if we say a man goes, he goes."

Sergeant Selando, a half-Mexican and team leader of 1-3, snickered. "Then you can kiss a third of them good-bye. We had a bunch that barely made the run today. Wait till tomorrow when they're sore and tired."

Thumper leaned forward. "What about the guys from the 173rd? How much should we expect them to know since they've come from regular line units?"

Sergeant Zubeck rolled his toothpick to the other side of his mouth. "Thump, we gotta assume they don't know much. They've come from just about every unit in the 'Herd' and all have different levels of experience. Most of the young line dogs only do as they're told. They're not used to thinking on their own. Most can't read maps or talk on the radio with the right procedures to call for helicopter or artillery support. What they do have, though, is time in the bush. They know how to move, shoot, eat, sleep, and live in the field. That alone makes them better than cherries who are scared to death the first couple of times out.

"We'll teach them the Ranger basics and build on expertise later. The ones you're looking for are those that can think on their feet and catch on quick. Don't waste your time on weakies and dummies. There isn't time to train 'em. If you see one with a weakness, correct him immediately. If he improves, watch him a little longer. If he doesn't improve, toss his ass out right and concentrate on the others."

As Thumper thought about Robbins's torn body, he knew he would give no mercy to any student, and the doubts he had about his abilities as a trainer dissolved. He had the experience to do the job and he would do it. He vowed to himself that no student of his would die like Robbins.

Sergeant Zubeck rose from his chair. "I don't know about the rest of you, but I'm hittin' the sack. Tomorrow is gonna be kick- ass, and I wanna be the one who's kickin'."

Thumper left the mess hall and walked down the road toward his barracks, but suddenly changed direction. He had to satisfy his curiosity. As he opened the door to the replacement maggot barracks, he was met by blaring music from a cassette player.

"Give me a ticket for an airr plane ..."

Sitting on the closest bunk beside the cassette player was the reason Thumper came. The man's eyes were closed, and he was singing along with the music.

Thumper had been watching Woodpecker all afternoon, convinced that the surly redhead would have quit before the run. He had constandy complained and given smirking, indignant looks to all the Ranger cadre. It was obvious to Thumper that Woodpecker had an attitude problem and wouldn't make it... at least it had been obvious until Woodpecker had raced the Indian.

When Stecker opened his eyes, he showed no surprise at seeing the big, bereted soldier staring at him, and he kept singing.

Thumper bent over and pressed the4 'stop" button.4 'How come you raced the ragbag?"

Stecker picked up the cassette player and pushed the rewind button. "'Cause nobody beats Woody Stecker, especially no cherry."

"He beat you," said Thumper with a half-smile.

Stecker looked up with a scowl. "This time he did. Next time he won't."

Thumper saw his opening and attacked. 4 4You mean you're gonna stick around for a next time?"

Stecker tossed the cassette to his pillow. 44Yeah. I'm gonna whip his ass, and then I'll . . . uh . . . "