Guns Up! (20 page)

“He’s an Iowa farm boy, a good kid. He says he has to stick it out. From what I’ve been able to gather, he’s worried more about what his parents think of him than he is about going nuts over here. You couldn’t meet a nicer guy, but I’m going to have to dump him before he gets himself or somebody else killed. It’s up to you if you want to try to help him. You don’t have to.”

“Why me? What can I do?”

“He needs to be around someone who can still laugh. I’m hoping your attitude might rub off on him. Talk to him, see if you can get him to relax.” Lieutenant Campbell’s eyes looked tired. He looked so healthy, so Middle American when I first met him five months ago in Hue City. Day by day he’d grown harder, thinner, and more serious. He didn’t look the least bit like a full-faced college kid now.

“Sure, I’ll do what I can,” I said. He gave me a nod and started to walk away. “Lieutenant?” He turned back around. “Somebody told me you thought Chan and me were Section 8s. Do you really?”

He started chuckling. “Anybody who can laugh through this has to be a little crazy.” His look became more serious. “No. The gunny and I were just joking about how you guys are always cracking up. See what you can do about getting that kind of laugh out of Private Unerstute.”

“Yes, sir.”

A few minutes later PFC Buford Unerstute plodded up
to our muddy position on the side of our small hill. He was thin. He moved slowly, like an old plow horse. A strip of blond hair dipped to his eyebrows from under a helmet that looked too big. His crimson nose was too large for his sunken cheeks. His eyebrows seemed permanently squinched, as if he were straining to see something more clearly. His boots looked at least two sizes too big; in fact, everything he had on looked too big, including his ears.

“I’m sup-po-posed to sit in with you guys.” Unerstute’s stuttering words fit him perfectly. Dickens couldn’t have imagined a shier, humbler, or more instantly likable character.

He reminded me of a basset hound I once loved.

Rodgers looked at him and chuckled. “How did you manage to find utilities that fit that badly?”

Buford shuffled his feet and looked down as he spoke. “I always been odd-sized.”

“Pull up some mud and have a seat,” I said.

He sat down slowly. He started looking around nervously. He smelled like dried urine.

“How’d you get a fire started?”

“We lit up some C-4,” Rodgers said, protecting our coffee from the rain with his helmet.

Buford stiffened. His mouth came open, but no words would form.

“Not you too?” I said. “How long have you been in the bush?”

“Six weeks.”

“Calm down,” Rodgers said. “I couldn’t stand another swan dive into the mud.”

“It takes a few volts to ignite C-4. It’s safe to burn,” I said, but Buford looked like he was still ready to run. “So you’re from Iowa?”

“No. Idaho. Aren’t you scared they’ll see the fire?” I looked around our small hill at the flat terrain.

“We sure aren’t hiding from anybody out here in the
open.” I let a quiet moment pass. “Why did you join the Marine Corps?” I asked.

Buford dropped his head and mumbled timidly, “I don’t know.”

“Unerstute, did the lieutenant tell you where he wants me?” Barnes asked.

“With Swift Eagle’s squad. On the other side of the hill. Go straight across.”

Barnes picked up his pack and rifle. “See you guys later.”

“Tell Swift Eagle I have a can of ham and eggs on the bargaining table,” I said.

Barnes waved. With pack and rifle thrown over one shoulder he sloshed away.

“I’m glad that guy’s gone,” Rodgers mumbled.

“He’s okay. Maybe a little boot, but not a bad guy,” I said.

“He was bad luck,” Rodgers said as he stirred some coffee into the boiling water with the tip of his K-bar.

“Buford, what did you do back in the world?” I asked.

“Just helped out on the farm.” He talked as slow as he moved, drawing out each word almost like an old Southerner.

“Did you play ball?”

“No.”

“Were you into cars?”

“No. Daddy wouldn’t let me have a car. He said I’d just wreck it.”

“Women? Sports? Drinking? What’d you do for fun?”

“I never was much good at anything. I liked to farm and take care of the cows and pigs the most. Momma said it was the only thing I was half good at.”

“Quit lowering your head when you talk. That’s nothing to be ashamed of, liking animals. It sounds to me like your folks were real ego builders. Doesn’t it, Rodgers?”

“Sure does.”

“Why did you join the Crotch?” I asked.

“Daddy said it’d be a poor day when the country let the likes of me defend the family. They all laughed at me and said I couldn’t do it.”

“Your folks?” I asked.

“Them and my brothers. So I took off and did it. They ain’t written me yet. I’m scared. How come you ain’t scared?”

“Bull! I’m as scared as you are,” I said.

“No. I seen you and Chan always laughing. How can you do it?”

“Bull crap, Unerstute. Everybody here is scared. People are different in the way they handle things. I get so scared sometimes I just start shaking. When it gets really bad I start reading the Bible. Honest! See, I keep it right here all the time.” I pulled my wounded Gideon from my chest pocket, unwrapped the plastic around it, and handed it to Buford.

As he took the little Bible from me, my own words rang clear in my head. It was as if for the very first time I realized what was keeping me on solid ground while others seemed to be floundering. I sure did my share of panicking, I thought, but all I had to do to get squared away was talk to the Man and I got by. Not because I laughed, but because I prayed.

“You got a hole in it.”

“Yeah,” I said, feeling dumbfounded by my own revelation.

“Yeah. Shrapnel,” I explained belatedly.

His mouth fell open. It did that every time he was surprised or shocked, and it looked like he remained in a constant state of shock or surprise.

“We went to church sometimes,” he said.

“I went to church all my life from West Virginia to Florida, but I never learned a thing about the Bible. It’s the only book in the world that tells the future. Chan says there’s ten thousand prophesies in there, and it
hasn’t missed one yet. You should talk to Chan. He can show you where to look for whatever problem you got and where God tells you how to handle it. And there’s all kinds of stuff about fear, man. It’s better than doing that!” I pointed to his bloody nubs that were once fingernails. “You should talk to Chan. I’m gonna go get him.”

“Wait a second, John,” Rodgers said. “You got a leech on the back of your neck.” Rodgers bent over a book of matches to protect it from the drizzle. He lit one and touched it to the back of my neck. Buford’s mouth fell open again. A large, slimy leech, fat with my blood, fell to the mud. I stomped it with the heel of my boot. It just flattened out and started crawling away.

“You just can’t kill those things!” I said.

“Saddle up!” someone called from the CP.

“Did somebody just say those words?” I asked.

“Saddle up! We’re movin’ out!” Sudsy shouted from the top of the hill. His radio was already strapped on.

“You better chug your coffee,” Rodgers said. He handed me a C-ration can of smoking coffee. I took my coffee and chugged it.

“We’ll see Chan the first chance we get, okay?” I said to Buford. He nodded yes.

The daily hike was always bad. The weather for these strolls varied from horrible to just awful. For the next three days we thumped foolishly around Dodge City looking for the bad guys. I hoped we wouldn’t meet any, at least not until I got Chan back. Rodgers and Unerstute worried me. The nagging feeling that I wouldn’t make it through the next firefight hung over me like a vulture. I couldn’t shake the feeling that these two would cost me my life. In spite of my own fear, I’d grown to respect Unerstute as much as anyone in Nam just for sticking it out.

In the afternoon of the third day we set up a perimeter on a small ridge on the north side of the Thu Bon River.
As soon as we set in, I went looking for Chan’s position. I found him eating pound cake behind a tree stump.

“Where did you get that?” I asked. He raised one eyebrow.

“It’s about time you visited.” Chan stood up. He offered me a bite of his cake. “You won’t believe my A-gunner.”

“Same here, buddy. I got two guys that scare me to death.” I took a bite and handed it back.

“I have an A-gunner that doesn’t know which end to put the bullets in. He’s a pig farmer from Missouri. He has positively the worst enunciation of the English language I’ve ever heard.”

“Do you know Unerstute?” I asked.

“Yes. I know who he is.”

“He really needs help, Chan. He’s scared to death. He shakes all night long. He gets so scared he just wets his pants all the time. Anyway, the lieutenant asked me to try to talk to him to see if I could calm him down. You need to talk to him about the Bible. You know, show him some places he should read.”

“Sure. Let’s go see him.”

“Probably be better if I send him over to you. That way you can talk to him alone.”

“Okay.” I turned to walk back to Buford.

“Hey, John. Did Sudsy tell you we’re meeting up with the First and Third Platoons?” Chan asked.

“Yeah.”

“Take care of yourself.”

“You too,” I said. I gave Chan the thumbs up sign. He returned it. “And keep the bursts short.”

“You too. Twenty rounds max,” he replied.

“Don’t I always?” I said with a chuckle.

“Yeah, right.”

An hour later Sudsy showed up looking for Unerstute.

“He’s talking to Chan,” I said.

“He’s moving back to the chief’s squad. Tell him to get over there when he gets back.”

“Are we getting Barnes back?” I asked.

“No. It’s just you two.”

“Oh good. I’d hate to get used to too much sleep every night,” I growled sarcastically.

“What’s up, Suds?” Rodgers asked.

“We’re meeting First and Third Platoons on the other side of the river in about an hour.”

“Sixty days left, and we go on an operation now.” Rodgers looked into the sky as if he were angry with God.

“I wish you’d quit worrying about being short. You’re starting to make me nervous,” I said. “We better get ready. Here, start cleaning the gun. I’ll go get Buford.”

I walked around the perimeter. Every man in the platoon seemed to be cleaning a weapon. I found Chan showing Buford something in the Bible. Buford’s face looked almost relaxed for a change. The strained lines of stress across his forehead had actually eased away, at least for the moment. He looked up at me as I got closer.

“Did you tell Chan what I told you about my folks?” he asked, as if accusing me.

“No.”

“You swear?”

“Yeah,” I said. “Why?”

“You swear on the Bible? Both of you?”

“Yes,” Chan said. “He never said a word about your folks. It’s God. He does things like that.”

“What’s this all about?” I asked.

“You told me how scared Buford was, so I wanted to show him that one of the bravest men in history was scared to death and wrote this prayer to the Lord. Here, I’ll read it.

“The Lord is my light and my salvation;

Whom shall I fear?

The Lord is the defense of my life;

Whom shall I dread?

My adversaries and my enemies, they stumbled and fell

Though a host encamp against me,

My heart will not fear;

Though war arise against me,

In spite of this I shall be confident.…

Do not abandon me nor forsake me,

O God of my salvation!

For my father and my mother have forsaken me,

But the Lord will take me up.”

Chan closed the Bible and looked up at me. I didn’t know what to say. Buford’s eyes were misty.

“I don’t know, man,” I said. “It sure sounds like a setup, but I swear it isn’t. I didn’t say a word about your folks to Chan. I think you just got the word from the Man.”

“Honest, now?” Buford’s voice cracked. “You guys wouldn’t lie about it, would you?”

“No way,” Chan said.

“I don’t mean to change the subject, but you’ve been put back in Swift Eagle’s squad, and I think we’re moving out soon.”

“Okay. We’ll be done in a minute,” Chan said.

I walked back to Rodgers in a trance. I’d always believed in God, but after all, He’d never said, “Hey, John. Here I am.” I felt a little spooked and a lot glad about it. I knew Buford would be okay. Before I could tell Rodgers about it, some fool shouted, “Saddle up!”

We crossed the cool golden Thu Bon River and humped two klicks south. There the terrain flattened out into large fields of brown and green elephant grass and old unworked rice paddies. I turned my collar up and pulled my hands inside my sleeves as the point man led us into the ten-foot-tall grass. A breeze swept across the giant field, making it look as soft as a calm, undulating ocean, but each blade of this wave could cut a man’s skin
as quickly as a razor, and the slightest cut would be infected within hours.

We finally broke through to a soggy brown clearing. There, in a large perimeter, sat the First and Third Platoons.

Rodgers tapped me on the shoulder and pointed to a mortar team. “Even Weapons Platoon is here. I don’t like it.”

“Saddle up! Saddle up! Saddle up!” The order ricocheted around the perimeter. We marched straight through the soggy clearing and into another field of elephant grass. The other platoons linked up to our rear. I thought about the mortar men behind us and how glad I was not to be carrying one of those heavy mothers. We crossed another clearing and into a waist-high field of elephant grass.

An occasional island of trees or group of shrubs dotted the landscape. Swift Eagle led his squad left, pulling away from the column and fanning out. Then Corporal James’s squad followed. The entire Second Platoon spread out on line, sweeping across the field of saw grass. I held the gun at my hip. No one said a word. I felt anxious. I wanted a drink but I didn’t dare reach for a canteen. Two hundred meters ahead a row of tall trees stood out in the flat terrain.

Huge dark rain clouds rolled in from behind the tall trees. Swift Eagle cupped a hand around his mouth, shielding his voice from our front, and called past me to Lieutenant Campbell fifteen meters to my right, “I smell smoke!”