Sand in the Wind (62 page)

The column halted. Chalice felt relieved, thinking they had reached the perimeter. The men in front of him started moving again, but much more slowly. He then realized they had come upon some sort of obstacle. The children began to cry louder than at any time before. He couldn’t figure out what the obstacle was until he reached it — a wide stream. They hadn’t crossed one on the way out to the ville — ‘We’re lost. Shit, we’re lost.’ Their return to camp — which even in his fear and misery had seemed just a matter of time — was now an uncertainty. Disheartened, he held his rifle over his head as the cold water rose within a few inches of his armpits. Peasants bunched in front of him, waiting to be helped across by the Marines. The cries of the children became louder. Chalice knew he’d do almost anything to silence them. Hamilton grabbed the arm of an old woman and placed it around his neck. Chalice saw a figure struggling before him and heard the choked coughs of a child. Its mother had slipped, allowing the panicked child to splash away. She cried out for somebody to help her child just as Chalice reached it. At first the mother tried to grab her child away from Chalice, but was soon content to let him hold it. He pressed the child against his chest with his free hand. It continued to cough and cry as the mother held on to Chalice’s shoulder. The water deepened. He had to sling his rifle and hold the child with both hands. The stream remained at the same depth for twenty yards. Just as Chalice started to think he would never get across, the water gradually began to get shallower. Again there were people bunched in front of him on the opposite side.

Chalice wondered what new obstacle lay ahead. It proved to be the river-bank itself. Extremely steep and covered with hard, slimy mud, no one seemed able to scale it on the first attempt. Finally his turn came. The distance to the top was only ten yards. Chalice decided to try it standing up. Placing his feet carefully, he got halfway up before losing his balance and sliding back down on his stomach. On his next try, he leaned forward, at all times grasping the small tufts of grass that lined the trail. Twice his feet slipped, leaving him stretched out on the slick mud; but the grass tufts saved him another trip to the bottom.

The column halted thirty yards ahead in order to give everyone time to catch up. The men had been exhausted before; now they were close to collapse. All along the column the same two words were repeated again and again — “We’re lost.” The men would have been satisfied to lie down and sleep where they were regardless of the danger. A green flare burst above them. Each man dropped to his knees, knowing that any Viet Cong within a mile already knew where they were, but still refusing to let himself become a target. The purpose of the flare had been to get a bearing towards the perimeter. As soon as it burned out, the men stood up and searched the black horizon for a return flare. Few of them saw it, and those that didn’t became even more disheartened.

The column began moving again — away from the river. The men were relieved, thankful that they wouldn’t have to recross it. Though all the peasants had had time to regain their place in the column, they soon began to straggle back and intersperse with Second Platoon. This made the men more nervous, and they realized there was nothing they could do about it. Many of them ended up with children clutched in their arms as they stumbled forward. Chalice was among these. He held one of the older children against his chest, and felt himself fortunate that at least the child wasn’t bellowing in his ear.

Each man was fearful of losing the column and becoming lost. When someone carrying a child would fall back, a few of the others would pass hirn to keep contact until the column halted long enough for each man to regain his position. In this manner, Chalice found himself among the members of the last platoon. He knew that he had fallen too far behind, but the hope that the column would soon halt and his jaded condition prevented him from trying to regain his place. The man in back of him was continually cursing. Chalice turned and saw that he was carrying the wounded and moaning NVA soldier. The warnings to shut up were far louder than the moans of the soldier. Suddenly, there was a loud splash. Chalice was pushed forward and almost lost his balance. He turned to see the Marine behind him jerk the prisoner from the rice paddy, at the same time saying venomously, “You better shut up, motherfucker, or I’ll throw you down again.”

Chalice blurted out, “Take it easy. You want to kill him?”

The Marine’s tone became even more vicious as he answered, “You’re damn right I do, cocksucker. You wanna fucking carry him?” Chalice made no reply. When the column finally halted, he stumbled back to his platoon. This wasn’t really necessary. The point man had merely halted outside the perimeter to make sure they weren’t fired upon.

Colonel Nash was waiting for them as they entered. He arranged for the peasants to be sheltered under the remains of a hootch and ordered a guard placed around them. A few yards away, Nash spotted the red glow of a corpsman’s flashlight. He approached and saw a few men bent over and attending to the prisoner. There was a small wound in his buttocks, and Nash asked, “Is that the only place he’s hit?” A corpsman answered affirmatively. “Well, do all you can for him. We won’t be able to get him on a medivac until morning.” Nash walked back to his hootch without taking the trouble to criticize Trippitt, knowing the uselessness of doing so.

As exhausted as the men were, there was a lot of movement within the perimeter while they searched out their packs and the C-rations inside them. Most of the men hadn’t eaten since the previous evening. Now that they had time, they remembered how hungry they were. Chalice sat contentedly with an open can of franks and beans in his hand. It hadn’t been raining for almost an hour, but now was the first time Chalice became aware of this. Surprised to find himself smiling, he tried to figure out why. Everyone around him also seemed happy. Glad to be within the relative safety of the perimeter, they looked back on a night of fear that had seemed interminable while they were enduring it. Chalice watched with surprise as the glowing ashes of cigarettes made patterns in the darkness. Never before had he seen anyone dare to smoke at night in the Arizona. The men weren’t even bothering to cup their ashes. Even if they had, they could still be court-martialed. Of course if any Viet Cong were around, the noise from within, especially that being made by the crying children, would be a far better guide to their perimeter. But it was still a rule they were breaking. As they looked back on the fear and exhaustion of the night march, they did so with relief, and there arose in them a need to celebrate its end, to say to themselves and those around them, “I’m still alive. They’ll never get me now,” even though by doing so they were increasing the danger of just this. As Kramer watched them, the same feeling prevented him from ordering the cigarettes out. Besides, it was all four platoons, not just his; and he knew the men would soon put out the cigarettes anyway.

A glance at his watch told Kramer it was almost eleven o’clock. He turned to Tony 5 and asked, “Did you arrange for some men to guard the girl?”

“Not yet.”

As Tony rose to his feet, Kramer remembered how pretty she was and he realized that many of his men must have had the same thought as himself. “Make sure you warn them not to mess with her.”

It rained for most of the night, but by dawn the sun was shining and the air was dry. No one woke the men. Morning found them still exhausted and lying on the ground. Through the haze, Kramer watched their listless movements as they slowly sat up — gaunt faces and tattered, mud-covered uniforms testifying to what they had undergone. He found nothing in his past to relate to this sight. There was a sneering sullenness about them, as if they’d been buried alive and had clawed and kicked their way above ground out of sheer stubbornness merely to face again those who had buried them.

Chalice rose to his feet and began walking around the perimeter. The eyes of the villagers followed him as he passed by their hootch. A few yards away someone was standing guard over the blindfolded girl. She had sat in the rain all night, and he wondered if anyone had covered her with a poncho. Some men were standing around the wounded NVA soldier. He lay motionless in front of Trippitt and Martin’s hootch, his knees partially drawn up and pointed stiffly towards the sky. The thought flashed through Chalice’s mind that he might be dead, but Chalice then remembered he’d only been hit in the buttocks and this seemed impossible, at least until he found himself standing over the body. The soldier’s eyes were closed and his features stiffened in pain. He lay in a blood-tinted pool of water. It was obvious to Chalice that he’d been left out in the rain all night, and had died of exposure or loss of blood. As Chalice looked down at the corpse, a voice said casually, “How do you like that, he’s dead?”

“He died happy. I gave him plenty of morphine.”

Another voice said, “I had first watch on him. He was alive when I went to sleep, moaning so loud Martin told me to kick him.”

Someone said gruffly and with conviction, “The sonofabitch did it for spite, stayed alive just long enough so I’d have to carry him all the way back.”

Chalice hadn’t looked up at the faces of those men who had spoken, and he didn’t have to for the next voice, immediately recognizing it as Martin’s. “The sonofabitch must of wore himself out moaning.
  
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. Some of you men get him out of here before he starts to stink.”

Chalice and most of those around him backed away. Two men picked up the corpse and carried it to the rice paddies at the edge of the perimeter. Chalice watched them as they swung the body and counted, “One
 
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two
 
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three,” before flinging it into the water. Again Chalice glanced at the blood-tinted puddle where the body had lain.

Nash had sent for Trippitt, and as he watched him approach, he regretted having to speak to him. Trippitt also had no desire to see Nash, but to his surprise he was greeted indifferently and no mention was made of the previous day’s mistake. “I’ve already sent for a medivac chopper and one to evacuate the detainees.”

“Won’t need the medivac, sir. The Gook’s dead.”

Nash looked up in surprise. “But I thought he was shot in the ass?”

“He was stiff as a board when I got up this morning.”

Nash slowly shook his head as he replied, “Can’t understand that.”

“Well, they got three of my men.”

‘Wonder if he knew their names.’ After a long pause, he said, “No patrols today. Tomorrow Echo Company relieves you. You’ll set up a few klicks away.
  
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. Major Lucas has the details.” As Trippitt started to leave the hootch, Nash added, “Check your men’s feet. Make sure the bad cases get sent in with the detainees. Have the others keep as dry as they can today.”

Kramer stood a few yards away from the detainees. He didn’t want it to seem as if he were staring at them, but he found himself taking quick glances in their direction. They sat huddled together beneath the hootch, their faces now more weary than frightened. Someone spoke to him, and he recognized Nash’s voice even before he turned around. “Nothing to be proud of, is it?” Kramer shook his head. “I guess they can’t be any worse off at Due Due. At least there they won’t have to worry about the bombs.” Nash walked towards the villagers and Kramer followed. A very old man with a white beard on the tip of his chin sat at the edge of the hootch. Kramer watched as Nash nodded to him and the old man nervously returned the nod. “I guess this old timer’s seen just about everything
 
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most of it bad.” Nash pointed to a primitive hoe the old man held beside him, then opened his hand for the old man to place the hoe into it. Nash turned to Kramer and asked, “If they came for you and said, ‘I know you’ve never been more than a few miles away from your hootch in your whole life, but we’re taking you away from here. You can bring one thing.’ If they came and told you that, what would you bring?”

“I don’t know.”

“It wouldn’t be a hoe, would it?”

Kramer stared at the hoe. It had a bamboo shaft with a hand-carved wooden blade tied to it by a vine. Even its battered condition helped to give it the appearance of a time-forgotten relic. “They say these people are lazy.”

“You listen long enough, and you’ll hear them say just about anything.” Nash returned the hoe to the peasant, then added, “All they need is to be left alone
 
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by the Communists too.”

Echo Company relieved Hotel Company the next afternoon. The men knew it would be a long march to their new camp. Fear of again being caught in the open at night made them anxious to get started. The day’s rest had done little to heal their feet, and by the time they set-in, many of them could hardly walk. It was Third and Fourth Platoons’ turns to go on ambushes, while First and Second drew listening posts. Trippitt had been making the ambushes shorter, but this night he chose to send the squad from Fourth Platoon almost two kilometers outside the perimeter. Unfortunately for the men in the company, the ambush was successful. A squad of NVA soldiers walked right in front of it only to leave five of their dead behind. Because of this, Trippitt decided to use the perimeter for another night, and to send out two additional ambushes instead of the listening posts. While a few of the squad leaders were tempted to sandbag them, none did. It would have been better if they had. The squad from First Platoon was itself ambushed on the way to its site. One man was killed, and three others wounded. Because it was too risky to call in a medivac so far away from the perimeter, they had to carry their dead and wounded back to the camp.

Every few nights the perimeter had been coming under heavy sniper fire, and the men were extremely nervous about the chopper giving away their position. Shortly after the medivac took off, these fears proved justified; but in a manner few of them expected. The perimeter came under attack from a rapid barrage of blooker rounds. It had been weeks since this had happened, and their fear of the Phantom Blooker had gradually waned until he was rarely mentioned. During the barrage, they had plenty of time to recall past encounters with him, and these memories involved deaths and injuries. First light broke over the mountains three hours after the barrage had ended, and it found the men of Hotel Company tired and shaken, feeling as if a mysteriously granted reprieve had suddenly been revoked without warning or explanation.