Sand in the Wind (56 page)

A half hour before dusk, Colonel Nash called together Trippitt, the commander of Echo Company, and all of their platoon commanders. Major Lucas then proceeded to reexplain the plan by the use of his maps. When he finished, Colonel Nash began to speak. “I don’t have to tell you that nearly all the villagers we’ll come in contact with will be hostile to us. Many of them have good reason to be, but that makes little difference now. As you know, the Arizona is a free-fire zone, and they’ve all been warned to leave. For reasons you and I may find hard to understand, they’ve chosen to stay. This may make them subject to random bombings and artillery fire,
but remember,
we’re a rifle battalion. We don’t have the same
privileges.
It’s our responsibility to distinguish between combatants and noncombatants. I don’t care how you feel about these people.

They will be considered noncombatants unless caught in a hostile act. When as today, we find a village giving support to the Viet Cong, we’ll call in a helicopter and evacuate them to the resettlement camp at Due Due.

“There’s no point in making these people hate us any more than they already do. That just makes things worse. I never expect you to risk the lives of your men unnecessarily, but I want to make it very clear that you are responsible for your own acts and also the acts of your men. I’m not appealing to your consciences. I’ve seen it here and I’ve seen it in Korea — when a man becomes worn down, the first thing to wear away is usually his conscience. You can take this as advice or a threat, but make sure you take it.

“One more thing. I hear a lot of talk about confirmed kills. High body counts may be what they want at headquarters, but I’m the only one that has to deal with headquarters. The rest of you have to deal with me. As far as I’m concerned, a talkative prisoner is worth a hell of a lot more than a corpse. This little operation may prove that. I’m not going to start issuing Boy Scout badges for prisoners. The two-day R and R we give is incentive enough. Unfortunately, not many men have gotten them. I want you to remind your men about them. Then maybe they won’t be so anxious to pull the trigger. That’s all.”

Nash looked over his officers, doubting that his warning had been anything more than a waste of time. Seventeen years in the Marine Corps had taught him to place a low value upon words. His main purpose was to state his own views, thus preventing the ignorance of these views from being used by the men under him as justification for acts he was helpless to prevent. As the group dispersed, he doubted that anyone there had related the warning to himself.

Kramer was walking back to his sector when he noticed the villagers quietly huddled together in a hootch under the watch of four armed Marines. He felt uneasy looking down at them, yet something prevented him from turning his head away. The old men and women sat with their heads bowed, enduring this act of degradation with the same stoicism with which they endured their advanced years. The young mothers stared blankly at the horizon. It was the faces of the children that left Kramer most uneasy. Their large eyes stared up at him with the same questioning look he had seen so many times before, but behind this there was a mixture of fear and suspicion that made it clear to Kramer that he was something far worse than a stranger. He would now have been able to turn his head away, but a different face caught his attention. It was that of a young woman. Despite her disheveled and mud-caked hair, she retained a hard pride as she stared coldly up at him. The girl’s face reminded him of an older and more beautiful face — one that he had tried to keep from his thoughts, knowing that he would never see it again.

A helicopter arrived to pick up the detainees shortly after dawn. Colonel Nash immediately ordered his men to move out towards the mountains. After a break for lunch, he switched Hotel Company back to the point. It was still early afternoon when they began sweeping towards a large patch of high ground. Before they got within a hundred yards of it, they came under a burst of sniper fire. All along the formation, men began firing their rifles and blookers as they moved swiftly forward. There was no return fire, but the Marines continued shooting until they reached the high ground. A quick sweep through it revealed a small ville and a dozen peasants. One of them, a little boy, had suffered a serious head wound from a blooker round. He was left behind as they continued the sweep.

When the Marines swept back through the ville, they found the National Police interrogating the villagers. Off to the side, the boy’s weeping mother hovered over him. She kept pleading with the National Police to help her son, but they ignored her. Chalice walked over as soon as he saw this. The sight of the still unbandaged wound and the knowledge that it might have resulted from one of his own rounds sickened him. Adrift in a feeling of guilt and helplessness, Chalice spotted Stoker lying on his back thirty yards away. He ran over and told him about the boy.

Sweat dripping from his face, Stoker gasped, “Wait
 
.
 
.
 
.
 
let me rest a minute.”

“But he’s hurt bad,” Chalice said frantically.

“Wait a minute.
  
.
 
.
 
. I’m beat.”

Chalice scanned the area looking for another corpsman. Instead he saw Kramer standing a few yards away. Chalice ran up to him and said breathlessly, “There’s a kid hurt bad over there.”

“Where?”

Chalice pointed and began running back to the boy. Kramer and Milton followed. A few Marines were now gathered around. One of them had inexpertly placed a bandage on the boy’s head. Even without removing it, Kramer could see the seriousness of the wound. The mother’s anguished face was pleadingly staring up at him as he said, “Get a corpsman! Why didn’t you get a corpsman?”

“Stoker says he’s too tired.”

“Where
is
that cocksucker?” Chalice pointed to Stoker, and Kramer ran over to him. Stoker was still lying down. Kramer kicked off his helmet before saying, “Get up, slob.”

Stoker scrambled to his feet and ran over to the boy. After checking the wound, he said, “He’s hurt bad.”

“No shit,” someone mumbled.

As Kramer watched Stoker fumble with the wound, he couldn’t help but be glad it wasn’t he Stoker was trying to help. Kramer turned to Milton. “Call Trippitt. Tell him we’ve got a badly wounded noncombatant.”

In a few seconds Milton relayed Trippitt’s message, “He says what do you want
him
to do?”

“Tell him it’s a kid and he has to be medivacked.”

A few seconds later, Milton gave Trippitt’s reply. “He says he’s busy now. He’ll be over in a few minutes.”

Kramer mumbled audibly, “What did I expect?” He turned to Tony 5. “Get another corpsman over here in the meantime.”

Ten minutes later Trippitt walked calmly up to Kramer and said, “These brats are always getting in the way.” Kramer remained silent, and Trippitt added, “He’s probably the one that was shooting at us.”

“Who the
fuck
are you kidding?”

Trippitt stood dumbfounded, his lips quivering in an attempt to reply. Before he could, Nash walked up and asked, “What’s going on here?”

It was left to Stoker to answer. “This kid’s hurt bad, sir.”

Nash gave Trippitt an incensed look as he asked harshly, “Why wasn’t I told about this?” Trippitt again found himself embarrassed and speechless. Nash turned to Milton. “Get a medivac in here right away. I don’t want that kid on
my
conscience.” Before leaving, he said to Stoker, “Do what you can till it gets here.”

As soon as the boy had been medivacked, Nash ordered his men to move out. They marched the rest of the afternoon without stopping, and set-in an hour before dusk. Hamilton’s fire team had one of the listening posts, and he was trying to figure out what to do with Fuller when Wilcox walked up to him. “I need a new pair of boots. These are too small.”

Still thinking about the listening post, Hamilton answered, “Tell the right guide.”

“Who’s the right guide?” Wilcox asked.

“Sugar Bear.”

“Who’s Sugar Bear?”

“Oh fuck
 
.
 
.
 
.
 
never mind.
I’ll
order them. What size do you wear?”

“Eleven.”

Hamilton also needed a pair of boots. Wilcox’s were new, and he figured he might be able to wear them. “What size are those you’ve got on?”

“Eleven.”

“I thought you said you wear elevens.”

“I do.”

“Oh, never mind. I’ll order you twelves. Just beat it.”

Hamilton found Sugar Bear rubbing insect repellent on his arms. “How’s our skating right guide?”

“Nobody skates in the Arizona.”

“Guess you’re right.
  
.
 
.
 
. Wilcox needs a pair of twelve boots.”

“Ain’t he the new man?”

“Sure is — new and dumb.”

“He must be if
you
think so,” Sugar Bear said with a smile.

“Fuck you.”

“What’s wrong with the ones he’s got on?”

“Too small.”

“I ain’t runnin’ no shoe store. He should of taken care of that when he was in the rear.”

“He should of stayed in the rear.”

“Was he the John Wayne that blew your ambush three times?”

“No. That was Fuller, another jerk.”

“You oughta put ’em both on point. That’ll get rid of ’em.”

“I should. I’ve only got two point men now — Roads and Childs. I’ve been walking it myself sometimes.”

“What about the Professor? He’s been around long enough.”

“Yeah. I guess I’ll start using him, but I hate to have my blooker man walking point.
  
.
 
.
 
. Listen, get me a new pair of boots too — ten, wide.”

“I’ll try, but you know what the story is: you gotta be an office poag to get anything out of supply. Ski’s been waitin’ a month for a pair of nines. He’s wearing twelves right now.”

Hamilton stood up and started to leave. “Well, give it a try.”

By the time he returned to his squad, Hamilton had decided to replace Fuller with Chalice for the listening post. A few minutes before they were to leave the perimeter, Childs told Hamilton he was feeling sick. Wilcox was sitting near them, so Hamilton told him to take Childs’s place.

Hamilton took the point himself. He led his men to a small patch of brush seventy yards from the perimeter. Less than ten yards wide, the only vegetation on it was some waist-high bushes. He placed Chalice and Wilcox back to back, then he and Payne sat down in the same manner a few feet away. This allowed the men in the listening post to face in four different directions.

They all remained sitting up until nine o’clock when Chalice took first watch. As he started the second hour of it, he became drowsy and had to continually jerk his head up after it fell to his chest. To prevent this and keep alert, he began shaking his head violently every few seconds. This didn’t help much, so he tried to think of a better way. After rejecting a number of other ideas, he decided to picture a fully dressed girl and then remove her clothing piece by piece. At first this worked, but he soon found himself rushing things, thus making it necessary to keep picturing new girls. After a while he had to start repeating some he’d already undressed. Chalice lost interest in the game and reluctantly decided to think of another method to stay awake. After pondering the problem for a few minutes, he suddenly realized that he’d been wide awake for quite a while and all his thinking had been unnecessary.

As he thought with amusement about what had happened, Chalice heard a faint sound. He strained to hear it again. Ready to conclude it had been his imagination, he did hear it again. It seemed like the movement of somebody through the rice paddies. He jostled Hamilton awake. Hamilton in turn woke Payne while Chalice shook Wilcox. Wilcox brushed Chalice’s hand away. Not until Hamilton twisted his leg did Wilcox sit up.

The sound grew louder and louder as Hamilton and Payne, and finally Wilcox and Chalice, arranged themselves back to back. Hamilton called in to the perimeter and reported that they were hearing movement. Tony 5 was on the other end, and he cautioned them not to open fire. The noise grew continually louder. It sounded like at least fifty men walking through the rice paddies towards the listening post.

Chalice couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He glanced backwards to see if Wilcox was also hearing it. Wilcox’s head lay collapsed upon his chest. He was asleep. Frightened and nervous, Chalice jabbed Wilcox with his elbow. Wilcox grunted sleepily and said, “I’m awake.” Still cringing at these words, Chalice became aware of Wilcox’s heavy breathing. But what could he do? He poked him again. This served only to irritate Wilcox, and after what seemed like an unbelievably loud grunt, he whined in a drowsy voice, “Cut it out.”

The sound was now coming from the edge of the high ground not five yards away. The sloshing through the water continued, but in addition, Chalice could hear footsteps. His awareness of whoever was there made it seem that they must also be aware of him. He sat motionless, his heightened senses amplifying all sounds, scents, and sights — experiencing at once the fear of the hunted and the thrill of the hunter.

The scent of Vietnamese body odor came to him. Just as Chalice leaned to the side so his head would be below the tops of the bushes, a Viet Cong soldier appeared not two yards away. Chalice could barely perceive his outline and that of his rifle. He fingered his blooker nervously, knowing that at this range it would do almost as much damage to himself as to his target. The sloshing through the water continued as a second soldier carrying a large sack joined the first. Chalice sat petrified, eyes as wide open as they had ever been in his life. Conscious of his own breathing, he tried to quiet it.
There wasn’t any pressure on his back.
He carefully turned to see why.

Wilcox, sitting with his head and chest leaning forward, was obviously asleep. Chalice could even hear him breathing. He quickly turned his head back towards the Viet Cong soldiers. There were now three of them whispering and pointing in front of him. Chalice tried to figure out what they were saying, but soon realized he’d forgotten every Vietnamese word he had ever learned. Hearing Wilcox move his foot, Chalice waited breathlessly to see if he would make any more noise. The sloshing sound continued. Another Viet Cong soldier joined the first three. Instead of waiting behind them, he stepped in front of Chalice who was sitting with his knees drawn up to his chest. Even by raising his eyes as high as they would go, he could see no higher than the closest Viet Cong’s shoulder blades. Suddenly this soldier dropped his bag. It grazed Chalice’s knees before coming to rest on his foot — ‘Feels like rice.’ Chalice became so conscious of his own breathing, he couldn’t understand why the Viet Cong soldiers were unable to hear it. A word from one of these soldiers cut the conversation short. The bag of rice was jerked off Chalice’s foot, and the soldiers began walking back into the rice paddies.