Sand in the Wind (55 page)

One night at dusk, Chalice and Hamilton were arranging their equipment in back of their foxholes. It was a full moon, and Chalice remarked that he was glad Alpha didn’t have that night’s ambush.

“Don’t get too happy about it,” Hamilton replied. “It’ll be just as bright tomorrow, and then it’ll be our turn.”

Chalice asked in a depressed tone, “Why don’t we sandbag it?”

“No chance.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t wanna be in the wrong place if Puff or mortars start working out. At least if we don’t sandbag, they know where we are.”

“But if we keep marching all over the place at night, we’re gonna get ambushed ourselves.”

“Maybe, but so far it hasn’t happened. If it does, then Trippitt’ll have to start making the ambushes shorter. I just hope it doesn’t happen to us.” Chalice put on some insect repellent, then handed the bottle to Hamilton. Too tired to do any more talking, he lay back and watched the clouds drift in front of the moon. A cool breeze softly ruffled the brush. There was something very reassuring about the quiet beauty of the night. Unlike the distant and oppressive daytime sky that glared down upon them as they marched, its darkness descended and enveloped them in a cool radiance. It seemed incongruous to Chalice that now, under these conditions, he had developed for the first time a real appreciation for something so unchanging and indifferent as nature. He continued to watch the moon, sensing a harmony in all that surrounded him. Even the sounds of mosquitoes failed to be a bother, and he accepted them as part of something beautiful.

Chalice and Hamilton had been lying silently for a half hour when a distant burst of rifle fire startled them to sitting positions. Neither one of them spoke, both realizing that nearly all of the shots had come from AK-47’
S
. Whispers from the men around them confirmed this, and everyone knew what must have happened. “I hope not,” Hamilton murmured as he headed for Payne and the radio. Chalice followed behind him, angrily mumbling to himself about the “power of negative thinking.”

All over the perimeter, men gathered around radios to listen while Fourth Platoon’s lieutenant futilely tried to make contact with his ambush party. Trippitt called in some illumination flares. Soon the sky glowed with their light. First Platoon was quickly gathered together, and within minutes they were on their way to the ambush site. Trippitt put the company on full alert, but this was unnecessary because no one was even thinking about sleeping.

The men waited restlessly around radios and in their foxholes for what they knew would be bad news. Soon they heard Puff’s propeller-driven engines above them. Flares continued to drop over the ambush site. A medivac helicopter began circling invisibly overhead. One of the men gathered around Milton’s radio asked Kramer if it was all right to smoke. It was Tony 5 who took the trouble to rebuke him. The men heard someone directing the medivac chopper in. They knew this meant at least one member of the ambush party was still alive, otherwise no one would risk a night landing. As the medivac chopper descended, it was met by bursts from AK-47’s. The men could see the Viet Cong tracer rounds streaking through the darkness. The chopper struggled to regain altitude as its accompanying gun ships strafed the area. Again it tried to descend, but sniper fire quickly drove it away. Three more times it tried to land only to be chased away by sniper fire. The gun ships were unable to knock out the Viet Cong positions, so Puff began to spray the area with machine gun rounds. On its sixth try, the medivac chopper was finally able to land. The men who sat watching and listening from within the perimeter felt relieved as they heard the engines of the helicopter fading in the distance. They soon found out that only two of the thirteen men in the ambush party had survived long enough to be medivacked, and later that these two had died aboard the chopper.

Hotel Company set-in early the next afternoon. To the men in Alpha, this meant little. All day their thoughts had concerned the coming night’s ambush. Hamilton walked over to Kramer’s foxhole to receive its coordinates. His men waited restlessly for him to return, telling themselves that the ambush might be called off while knowing it wouldn’t, or comforting themselves with the thought that at least it would be a short one. Hamilton’s expression was enough to tell them that even this wasn’t the case. They watched in disbelief as he traced on his map a two kilometer path to the ambush site.

Ordinarily the machine gun team chosen to accompany an ambush would join it just before dusk, but Skip and Flip reported to Hamilton a half hour early. Hamilton, Childs, and Skip carefully decided upon a route to the ambush site and a slightly different one for their return. They also exchanged comments about those points on their route that offered the most danger.

At dusk Hamilton gathered the ambush party together and carefully arranged them in the order he wanted. He walked down the line jostling each man to make sure his equipment didn’t rattle. As he did this to Wilcox, the new replacement, Hamilton’s ears caught a jingling sound. “How come you don’t have your dog tags taped together?” he asked angrily.

“Nobody ever told —”

“Well I’m telling you now. Take one of them off and put it in your pocket.” Wilcox slowly removed his dog tags and chain, then placed them in his pocket. “Listen asshole, what’s the difference if they’re jangling around your neck or in your pocket? Now take one of the fucking tags off and put it in your pocket. Then put the other tag around your neck.”

At first Hamilton watched as Wilcox slowly did this, but he soon lost patience and walked away. Before giving Childs the order to move out, Hamilton again warned those with ammo cans to keep them quiet. As if in answer to this warning, Fuller banged his rifle against his ammo can before he was ten yards outside of the company lines. Hamilton immediately ordered the column back to the perimeter. He walked up to Fuller, and without a word shoved him to the ground and took away the ammo can. Returning to his place in the column with the ammo can on his shoulder, Hamilton again ordered Childs to move out. From that moment until the time they reached the ambush site, not one word was spoken.

The ambush site was a small patch of barren high ground twenty yards distant from a large tree line. With a minimum of talking and movement, Hamilton set-in his men for an L-shaped ambush facing the tree line. At the base of the L, he placed the machine gun team.

They hadn’t been set-in for more than ten minutes when they were startled by a burst from Fuller’s rifle. As their eyes searched in the direction Fuller had aimed, Hamilton crawled over to him and whispered, “What did you see?”

Fuller pointed to the tree line. “Movement, over there.”

Payne was sitting next to Fuller, and he whispered, “I didn’t see anything.”

Hamilton doubted that Fuller had either, but he realized that this was no time to start an argument. Instead, he turned to Payne and told him to radio in that they were moving the ambush. He then told Childs to head to the last tree line they had passed on the way out. Within seconds, the men were on their feet and moving in the direction of the perimeter.

A half hour after they had reset the ambush, Fuller again opened fire across the rice paddies. No one else had seen anything, and Hamilton was barely able to control his anger as he gave orders to again move the ambush. The others also felt like cursing Fuller, but they knew the satisfaction their words would give them would be insignificant compared to the added dangers they would involve. They had been edgy before leaving the perimeter. Now that every Viet Cong within miles knew just about where they were, the men were even more nervous.

At the new ambush site, Hamilton placed himself next to Fuller, and instructed him not to fire unless ordered to. Despite this, Fuller again opened fire twenty minutes later. Neither Hamilton nor anyone else bothered to ask him what he was supposedly shooting at. Payne contacted the perimeter, and Hamilton took the receiver from his hand. Recognizing Kramer’s voice on the other end, he immediately asked for permission to bring in the ambush. Kramer gave it without hesitation.

Hotel Company’s lack of success during the operation was not singular. The other three rifle companies had suffered similar losses with the same absence of results to show for them. Colonel Nash and Major Lucas realized that a change in strategy was mandatory, and information from a
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helped to decide exactly what that change would be. According to this information, the continued American bombings had made it necessary for the Viet Cong to mass and regroup under the protection of the mountain range that formed the southern boundary of the Arizona. Only a few snipers and harassing squads remained in the lowlands. This explained the battalion’s failure to make substantial contact. The Viet Cong had decided to stay in the mountains until they received an expected resupply of weapons and ammunition. By doing so, they remained cut off from the lowlands which was their source of food. Much of the rice at the base of the mountains was now ready for harvest. It was Major Lucas’s guess that the Viet Cong would soon be sending patrols down to tax or buy the villagers’ rice. He decided to converge upon these, paddies from three sides. Fox and Golf Companies were to sweep towards each other along the base of the mountains. Hotel and Echo would accompany Headquarters and Supply Company in a sweep straight towards the mountains. In this manner, the battalion would at least be able to prevent much of the harvested rice from being carried away by the Viet Cong.

On the march to the mountains, H and S Company traveled between Hotel and Echo, these two rifle companies alternating the point. Two members of the Vietnamese National Police were sent in to assist the operation. It was their job to interrogate the peasants and weed out Viet Cong sympathizers. Since any Vietnamese who risked his life by staying in the Arizona was considered a probable Viet Cong sympathizer, the National Police had never been known to use much restraint with these peasants. Among the Marines who had seen them operate, their efficiency was sometimes questioned, but never their ruthlessness.

Hotel Company had the point on the second day of the march towards the mountains, and it was then they came upon the first inhabited ville. 318

A thorough search uncovered four large caches of rice buried in huge earthen jugs. This alone was enough to feed the villagers for a year. Because he knew that rice was harvested four times a year, Trippitt immediately assumed the surplus was destined for the Viet Cong. While the search continued, he called for the National Police to interrogate the villagers. Only two hours of daylight remained, so when Colonel Nash heard about the rice, he decided to set-in for the night around the ville rather than rush the search.

Headquarters and Supply Company dug in at the center of the village. Echo and Hotel arranged their foxholes in a circle around it. After the men had finished digging their holes and eating, many of them returned to the center of the ville. They found the National Police interrogating a young woman while the rest of the villagers sat huddled together a few yards away. So used to seeing nothing but old people and mothers, the Marines were surprised by the attractiveness of the young woman. Chalice stared at her intently, finding it impossible to associate her with the enemy that had been constantly harassing them.

Suddenly the policeman doing most of the interrogating began to shout. The young woman stared at the ground, refusing to look at him. When he again began to shout, she did look up, and with obvious hatred. The interrogator’s hand sliced across her face, knocking the woman to her knees. At first stunned, she finally raised her head and exhibited the same hate-filled stare. The interrogator grabbed her arm and began dragging her along the ground. Her long, black hair flailed wildly as she tried to get to her feet. The second interrogator grabbed her other arm, and they both dragged her towards a mud hole.

Chalice stood dumbfounded — wanting to help her and wondering why no one else attempted to do so. He was unable to take his eyes off her until he heard someone chuckle. Glancing at the face of the Marine standing next to him, he wondered what sort of person could see anything humorous in what was happening. Not until he noticed that most of the men around him were smiling did Chalice begin to question his own reaction. A quick glance back at the girl cut this questioning short. The interrogators were holding her head beneath the muddy water as she struggled to free herself. Each time they allowed her to raise her head and breathe, their questions would be met by the same obdurate stare.

“Professor, don’t take any pictures. They don’t like it.” Chalice didn’t recognize the face of the man who had said this. He quickly looked back towards the girl, his dazed mind surprised that someone from another platoon had known his nickname. The interrogator began holding the girl’s head under water for longer and longer intervals. Suddenly Chalice realized what the Marine had said to him. Ski had asked him to try and fix his camera, and Chalice hadn’t even been aware that he was holding it. An idea flashed through his mind, and the feeling of helplessness left him.

Chalice pushed his way to the front of the crowd and aimed the empty camera at the girl. No one seemed to notice him, so he took a few steps forward. One of the interrogators then waved him back. He ignored this gesture, and immediately a few of the men behind him urged Chalice to put away the camera. He continued to aim it anyway. When the girl was finally allowed to raise her head from the water, she was coughing violently and the obdurate stare had left her face. The interrogators again waved Chalice away. He refused to put the camera down, so they jerked the girl to her feet.

As they shoved her towards the rest of the villagers, she noticed Chalice holding the camera. Her hostile expression numbed him. For a second he actually considered trying to explain his actions to her. A couple of the men made critical remarks to him, but the rest cared little and the crowd dispersed. The shock of the woman’s stare soon wore off, and a faint smile appeared on Chalice’s face as a feeling of potency took hold of him. He hadn’t moved and was still staring at the mud hole when he heard Pablo’s voice behind him. “Maybe you shouldn’t have done that, Professor. They might have found out something to save one of our lives.” These words were spoken softly and without recrimination. There had been no assuredness in Pablo’s tone, and even the sense that he wasn’t sorry Chalice had done it; but there was obviously the desire to make Chalice aware of exactly what he had done. For a second Chalice wondered how Pablo had known, but memories of dead and wounded Marines drove this question from his mind. No longer was Chalice sure he had done the right thing.