Sand in the Wind (34 page)

Roads walked up and said in his usual emotionless tone, “Harmon’s burning up. Got somethin’ for him?”

“Do you think it’s from the wound? It didn’t seem that bad.”

“It’s pretty swollen up now.”

“Keep a damp cloth on his forehead. I’ll check Fields’s gear.” He turned to Kovacs. “Guess that settles it. We’ll camp here tonight.”

For more than one reason, but mainly hunger, the men spent a restless night. When morning’s first light filtered through the trees, most of them were already on their feet. They had stood shivering in those long moments before dawn waiting to light up their first smoke of the day. The only cigarettes left were Pablo’s half pack of Luckies and a few Marlboros belonging to Kovacs. They lit one of each and passed them from hand to hand. Kovacs squeezed the last drag out of the Marlboro — half tobacco, half filter —and flicked it on the ground. He walked up to Kramer who was kneeling over Harmon. “How is he?”

“He’ll be all right.” Kramer stood up and walked away, Kovacs following him.

“Lieutenant, maybe I better take the point to make sure we get there.” Kramer nodded. “Harmon’s burning up.”

“He is, eh. Wonder if it’s just the wound.”

“I don’t know,” Kramer answered in a depressed tone.

“I wouldn’t sweat it, Lieutenant. I’ve been around Harmon a long time. He ain’t gonna die from that wound — a round between the eyes, a mortar, sure; but not from that dinky wound.”

“I can’t see it either. I think we better have the men make a stretcher for him.”

In a few minutes the stretcher was finished. No order to move out was given. When the men saw Kovacs put on his pack, they did the same; and when he started moving they followed him. Kramer watched his men divide up the extra gear without any haggling — a very unusual occurrence. He then realized that they couldn’t very well argue about who was going to carry the stretchers. ‘No matter how cheap life becomes, they don’t lose their respect for the dead.’

Even though he didn’t have to use the machete, Kovacs kept the pace fairly slow. The added danger of running into the rest of the company unexpectedly and of being shot by their own men made him especially wary. He’d survived this long. Either Charlie was going to “do the job” on him, or no one was.

Still, Kovacs was nervous, more nervous and for less reason than at any time during the last twelve and a half months. It wasn’t his guts, reflexes, or cunning that worried him. They’d kept him alive so far, and he’d seen enough men die for lack of them. If that was all there was to it, he’d survive, he’d be the last man on earth. But that wasn’t all. Chance stalked him and Kovacs knew it. Arbitrary, moody, capricious — she eyed him like a bitch. He could have been with the rest of the company, but he’d flaunted her, chosen to stay. That’s what scared Kovacs about Vietnam. For the first time in his life, he was responsible for more than just himself. He risked his life for others, knowing that their pathetic luck might rub off on him. Wondering why he had volunteered to stay, he never even doubted he would make the same choice again. Chance was his worst enemy, and Kovacs knew it.

The men marched on tirelessly. Their hunger, contrary to exhausting them, kept their minds off the marching. A few hours later when Kovacs stopped for the first time, everyone thought they were just taking a break. He walked back down the line to Kramer. “Well?”

“Well what?”

“This is it.”

“It is?” Kramer checked his watch. “Yeah, I guess that’s about right. I hadn’t realized we’d been humping that long.” He pulled out his map to check the topography. “Yeah, this is definitely it. Nice work. I’d guess this plateau is about a hundred and sixty yards.”

“We’ll have to sweep it.”

“Looks that way. There’s the back edge.” Kramer indicated it by jerking his head. “Let’s start over there.”

As they moved towards it, a heavy rain began to fall. The water collected on the leaves above them and fell in sheets and rivulets whenever the wind picked up. The short distance through the brush they were previously able to see was now cut in half. As soon as they reached the base of the plateau, Kovacs spotted a cave. The men backed up in a dangerously close group. Pointing to it with his rifle, he looked towards Kramer. “Better check it out.” Before Kramer could answer, Childs — seeing a chance to get out of the rain — volunteered. “Watch out for friendlies,” Kovacs warned.

Childs entered the cave while Kovacs covered him from its mouth. The rest of the men stood where they were. After a few minutes of waiting, they started to grumble. “What the hell’s he doing in there?”

“Probably fell asleep.”

“If I know Childs, he’s looking for chow.”

“Let him look. I’ve only eaten three crackers in the last two days.” Childs walked back to the men shaking his head. “Nothing?” Kramer asked.

“Uh, uh.”

Kramer noticed Tony 5 trying to shield Harmon’s stretcher from the rain. He asked Childs, “Is there another entrance?”

“A small one.”

Kramer motioned towards the cave with his head. “Let’s go in for a while.”

The opening to the cave was rectangular — about three feet wide and four feet high. The cave itself was almost circular and about twenty feet in diameter. A small hole in the ceiling enabled a steady stream of rain to enter. The water dropped along some large rocks and ran out another opening at the base of the wall without draining onto the floor.

The men placed Harmon’s stretcher in the rear, and those of the two corpses in front of the opening. After some shuffling around, they arranged themselves against the walls. “Running water, all the comforts of home,” Forsythe joked.

“Charlie’s home, not mine,” Childs added.

“Is everybody out of chow?” Kramer asked.

Most of the men nodded their heads or answered “Yeah.” Pablo looked through his pack. “I’ve got two crackers and some jelly.”

Roads held up a small tin. “Peanut butter.”

Kramer flipped a can into the center of the cave. “Fruitcake.”

“Where’s Fields’s and Bolton’s packs?” Kovacs asked. The men looked at each other with discomfort. Payne stood up and tossed a pack at Kovacs’s feet.

“That’s Fields’s.”

“Who’s got Bolton’s?” Kramer asked.

There was a pause, then Tony 5 said, “Left behind, I guess.”

“That’s great,” Kovacs commented while searching through Fields’s pack. Tossing two cans to the center, he said, “Fruit salad and date pudding.” Pablo and Roads then tossed their food onto the center of the floor. Kramer said, “We’ll need a chef. Childs, I guess you’re drafted.” Childs walked to the center of the cave. “It only hurts the first time.”

“Not much food for thirteen men. See what you can do.”

“Could be worse,” Childs mumbled.

“How?” somebody asked.

“Could be fifteen.” A few of the men looked around, but nobody was really shocked — nothing Childs could say would shock any of them. Besides, he was right.

Childs played around for a few minutes dividing up the food, but even
he
couldn’t make it come out to more than a mouthful per man. By the time they were done the rain had let up a little and Kramer asked for a green pop-up — the proper signal to designate a position as containing friendlies. The men fumbled in their packs and came up with three red pop-ups — the signal to designate enemy in your area. As Tony 5 mentioned that Bolton had two in his pack, Chalice came up with a green star cluster. Kramer took it and Kovacs followed him out of the cave. They walked far enough away from the cave so as not to tell the Viet Cong exactly where they were. “Never get through the canopy,” Kovacs commented. “If they aren’t on this plateau, they’ll never see it.”

“Probably won’t even see it if they are.”

Kovacs took the top off of the aluminum tube and placed it on the bottom. He banged the bottom down hard on the palm of his hand. There was a loud swoosh followed by five green flares bouncing among the tree branches and falling back to the ground.

“Maybe. No harm done anyhow.” Kovacs then noticed a large welt on Kramer’s neck. “What’s that?” he asked pointing to it.

Kramer touched the welt gently with his fingers. “Nothing. Got nicked in the ambush.”

“Did Harmon eat that food?”

Kramer shook his head. “He was sleeping. Wasn’t gonna wake him up for that.”

“How is he?”

“His temperature might be down a little. I gave him some dope. We’ll get him out okay. If the rest of the company doesn’t show up today, we’ll head back tomorrow. We should be able to make it in two days.”

“Without any food?” Kovacs asked.

“What do you think?”

“Yeah, shouldn’t be much of a sweat. With a little luck, we might even find some sort of fruit tree.”

“That’s pretty optimistic for you.”

“I’m getting short. Just a couple more weeks. Living through over twelve months of this bullshit’ll make an optimist out of anybody.”

“Quite a confession.”

“It ain’t really true. I just can’t see myself dying because of an empty stomach. Let Childs walk the point. That sonofabitch can smell food a mile away.”

Kovacs took most of the squad on a sweep of the plateau. Kramer and Milton remained behind, each alternately staying with Harmon and guarding the mouth of the cave from a short distance away. The rest of the squad finally returned, soaking wet, without having seen any sign of the company. Staying inside the cave was risky enough, so Kramer decided not to add to the danger by building a fire. He placed two men on watch outside the cave. The rest of the squad took off their wet clothes and sat around naked, wrapped in their poncho liners. Childs — his sense of humor working overtime — started describing the most delicious meals he had ever eaten and was only stopped after numerous threats on his life. Milton sat fiddling with the radio. When Kramer asked him if he thought he could fix it, he replied, “Not a chance. Just fucking around.” There were five cigarettes left, and it was decided that they’d be saved for special occasions. While Childs was cleaning his rifle, the bolt went home and smashed his thumb. Everyone, him excepted, agreed that this was a special occasion.

As the hours wore on, the men became moodier. Sinclaire commented that he was going to beat up every hippie in sight when he got back to the States. One or two of the men mumbled agreement. Not wanting to miss the opportunity, Childs mocked him in an exaggerated southern drawl. “Don’t forget you won’t have your M-16.” Sinclaire answered with a diatribe against those “peace creeps back home.”

“Were you drafted?” Childs asked.

“
No,
I enlisted.”

“Well, what the fuck are you complaining about? You got what you asked for.”

Chalice kept waiting for the argument to end. Knowing that most of the squad probably sided with Sinclaire, he debated whether to get involved. Finally, more in hopes of ending some of the inane comments than anything else, he asked Sinclaire, “Do you think we should be in Vietnam?”

“Sure,” answered Sinclaire, astonished at the stupidity of Chalice’s question.

“Why?”

“To stop the Communists.”

“To stop them from what?”

“From taking over this country.”

“What the hell do you care?”

Chalice heard some mumblings of agreement, and Forsythe repeated the question. “Yeah, what the hell do
you
care?”

“We’ve gotta stop ’em somewhere, and I’d rather do it here than back home.”

Childs stood up and slunk toward Sinclaire while making furtive glances around the cave, then asked in a loud whisper, “Do you mean to say that if they win here they’re gonna get in their little boats and come take over the United States?”

“Hell yeah,” Sinclaire answered with conviction.

Payne yelled out, “He’s right, they’ll push us as far as we let them.” Childs turned toward Payne and said in mock horror, “You mean they’ll take over our whole country? Brooklyn? South Philly? Disneyland?” Hamilton spoke up in an excited voice. “That’s it! They’re going through all this bullshit because they want Disneyland. If we don’t stop them here, in ten years Mao will be riding the monorail.”

The laughter encouraged Childs. “Mickey Mouse’ll speak Chinese.”

“You’re making a joke out of this whole thing,” Sinclaire protested.

“You’re making a crusade out of it.”

Kovacs spoke up in a poor imitation of Sinclaire’s southern accent. “They don’t want Disneyland. What they really want is our white women.” Kovacs’s remark brought quite a few laughs. Although it went unnoticed, one of them belonged to Roads.

Sinclaire started to say something, but thought better of it and remained silent. Payne felt obligated to continue the argument. “What about the Geneva Convention?”

Chalice saw an opening. “What about it?”

“They double-crossed us. You can’t trust ’em.” Sinclaire and a few of the others voiced agreement.

“How?” Chalice asked.

“By starting the war.”

“The Geneva Accords divided Vietnam into two parts, but they also provided for a national election in 1964. We knew we’d lose, so
we
double-crossed
them
and didn’t hold it.”

“We’d a won.”

Tony 5 cut in, “C’mon Sinclaire, how many times have I heard you say all these fucking Gooks are Communists?

“We wouldn’t a lost.”

“
Bullshit!
” Chalice said. “We couldn’t even win an election in South Vietnam.”

“You sound like one a them protestors.”

“I was,” answered Chalice.

The men stared at him with surprise. “You shitting me, Professor?”

“You were a hippie?”

“Were you ever on the news?”

Chalice felt his admission had been a mistake. “I’ve been against this fucked-up war from the start. I had just as much right to make my opinion known as the people who favored it.”

“What are you doing here instead of Canada?” Tony chided, more to make the irony of his position apparent than to personally embarrass him.

“I don’t go for that flag-burning bullshit,” Kovacs cut in contemptuously.

Seeing the futility of the discussion, Chalice became defensive and lost all desire to continue. “I never burned any flag. Besides, a flag’s a piece of cloth. Nobody dies when you burn a flag.”