13th Valley

by John M. Del Vecchio

  “I’ve done some pretty dumb things myself,” Cherry admitted.

  They sat silent again for a long time then Egan told Cherry an anecdote from his high school days. Because of the pauses the story took an hour. “I had a crush on this one lady,” Egan said. “She was captain of the cheerleaders and, Man, she had the greatest legs in the world … and I was a shy mothafucker … One time I take one of the other cheerleaders to a dance and we go parking afterward and I play all sorts of games so I can grab her tits and stick my hand on her pussy … feel her all over … had a great time. Word gets out I’m fast … shy me, fast. I aint never been a fast dude in my life but I don’t give a shit about this one so I grab her all over. Annie with the great legs lets it be known that she wants to go out with me and the next dance is after our last football game … I work up the nerve to ask her. I could talk to her but I couldn’t ask her out … finally I ask her … she’s let everyone know she wants to go with me so of course she accepts. I’m trippin. I don’t know if this is gettin across to ya. I had a crush on her … she was the prettiest girl in my school and I was a funny lookin Irish kid who tripped over his tongue. Annie says she’d go. I almost cream my fatigues on the spot.” Egan paused for a long time. He was not sure if Cherry was listening or if he could even hear him. He was not really sure he was speaking at all. “I take her to the dance and she’s got to sit up on some podium because she’s Queen of the Victory Parade … somethin like that. I’m gettin frustrated … can’t say anything cause I’m shy. After the dance we go out … we’re doublin with this dude who’s our star tailback. We go out to the bluffs … that’s where we always go parkin. He and his honey are gettin it on in the front seat while this lady and I, I’m terrified, we’re talkin in the back seat and I don’t know what to do. Then Annie leans over and begins kissin me and Man, I’m in number-ten shock. Like I can’t respond … Fucked up, huh?”

  Cherry laughed very quietly, so quietly Egan did not hear. He said nothing for perhaps twenty minutes. Then he said, “I did that once too.” Long pause. “Once I had a crush on this chick. I useta walk by her house late at night … shit like that.”

  “I useta do that with Annie,” Egan whispered.

  Ten-minute pause. “One time I’m out cleanin the yard,” Cherry said. “She walked by … she said hi and I turned red. She walked on. Man, I waited til she was outa sight then I ran behind the stores, circled back up the block and came walkin down the sidewalk toward her … like three blocks away. All I could do was smile … she laughs and we walk by each other … Then I circle the buildings again. I think I gotta say somethin to her. I run up the backstreet to her street … sit against a tree and wait for her and she comes walkin up and she looks scared and runs by. I never talked to her once and I was always ashamed when I saw her after that.”

  “Fucked up, huh?” Egan laughed.

  “Yeah,” Cherry said.

  Doc and Minh had gone to sleep on a tiny mound on the valley floor. It was not much of a mound but it had felt drier and softer than the surrounding mud and they had covered it with one poncho, covered themselves with the other and had gone to sleep. Suddenly they both woke and both were burning all over. They felt as if someone were lighting matches on their skin. Doc jumped and jerked. Minh rubbed himself all over. They both jumped up. They were on top an anthill and both of them were covered with ants. The ants bit their legs and backs and stomachs and scalps. The bites burned. There were ants in their boots. It was almost as if the ants had covered them cautiously then on command all began biting at once. It was pitch black. Doc and Minh tried to be silent but the ants were eating them. They pulled their gear away from the mound and stumbled on bushes in the dark. “Au, au,” Minh squealed quietly. “Mothafucka,” Doc cried grabbing his armpits and falling to his knees. They shook out their ponchos. Cahalan and Brooks rose and questioned them and helped them but they couldn’t get away from the ants. Doc sprayed a full bottle of insect repellent on himself. He covered his face. There were ants hiding in the kinks of his hair. He ripped at his scalp. He rubbed repellent into his hair and got it in his eyes and it stung. Minh splashed the repellent on his clothes but that did no good. They could not see the ants to brush them off. They stripped and washed themselves in repellent.

  Sporadically through the night a single ant would sting one or the other.

  The talk of their ladies had set Egan consciously to thinking of Stephanie. He would write her one more time, he decided. One short letter. He would write her in the morning, he decided, but he would think now about what he would say. Relaxing now, he penned in his mind. Can’t get enthusiastic about this war or this country anymore, he imagined writing. It isn’t a good war to stay at or to watch for very long. I’ve been here too long. Shit. I can’t write her that. He closed his eyes and tried to make her appear. He could feel her burning within him. Deep inside all good things burn, he told himself. All things of enough good for one to recognize their existence. Any feeling, if it is strong enough, if it works its way from the mind down to the viscera, is good. That’s where you are, Steph. You are strong enough in me to exist, to move me, to obsess me. Saying those words, saying her name, made him feel very clear-headed and peaceful.

  Egan looked about in the silent blackness. He leaned against the radio and felt Cherry’s arm on the box. “I’m sackin,” he whispered.

  “Roger that,” Cherry answered.

  Now Egan dreamed of Stephanie. He could see her. They were in the park. When? It must have been very late. Pigeons cooed. Small birds tweeted. He laughed and danced and laughed again. The boughs of the trees swooshed with the wind in rhythm to his jig. Leaves swirled on the walks in miniature tornadoes. The sun felt warm. She sat there cold. She laughed at his jig. “Come on now,” he sang out. “Aren’t you alive? Can’t you feel the joy of this beautiful planet?” Stephanie sat and smiled and looked pretty. Perhaps she was angry. He had not interpreted it that way then. It’s nice to be free with the breeze, he had thought. To be high with the wind is wonderful but for her it is impossible. What’s the matter with her? What’s going on? Her blood seems to run too thickly through her brain for her to move. Perhaps it is her precision, her preciseness, that won’t allow her to move, to dance, to sing. That’s crazy, he now thought. She had such beauty of movement.

  “Come here,” his image ordered her. She did not move. “Come here,” he pleaded. “Come and love with me.”

  “You’re a fool,” Stephanie said graciously. Daniel heard her say it, heard her now. It had been a bitter thing to say and she looked away sorry for having said it but he had not been aware of her then, except that she seemed unable to move.

  Perhaps he had known it. They both knew he had been too lax this time. He hadn’t written. He hadn’t called. How much time had he allowed to pass, he could not recall. It must have been too much. He had not even answered her letters. I got bogged down in my studies, he told himself. His memory of those last letters was hazy yet he could see excerpts of Stephanie’s beautiful handwriting.

  I feel like you’re right here with me. Oh Daniel, I wish you were here. I really want to kiss you. When are you coming. I’m so anxious. I so want to see you and hear you.

  One letter was a series of overlapping and interlocking sketches. They were exquisite. Faces of children, still lifes of pillows and wine bottles and candles in long slender candelabrums. And eyes. Very fine lines catching every detail of soft and harsh eyes.

  The short letter arrived. This one burned deeply when the words passed through Egan’s mind.

  Dear Daniel,

  I don’t know what your opinion will be but I feel I must tell you what’s been happening to me these past months. Up until today I thought I was very much pregnant. I have been terribly upset—Oh Christ! I don’t even want to talk about it, but everything from suicide to running away has been clogging my head. Trying to make plans to go back to school but not knowing if I could see them through. I suppose you can imagine. I went to a doctor a few wee
ks ago and he said it was too early to tell. The relief of mind I had today was amazing.

  I am going to school. Looked all day for a room but didn’t find one. It’s 1:30. I should be asleep but I had to write you. I tried writing before but I just couldn’t. You know, Daniel, I think you’re more trouble than you’re worth. I’ve been very much alone. It was bad throwing around the thought of pregnancy again.

  Daniel, when trust goes out of love, then love has lost its meaning and is no more. Trust is part of love and freedom and friendship. As trust runs down relationships strain and the habitants become jailed by their fears of each other. Trust is not built on words or pleasantries. It has to be a mutual pact built on sharing and on responsibility. One must give as one receives. One must respect the life of another, and must have that respect returned for trust and love to grow and for one to say and have said of him, “Him I trust. Him I love.”

  I’m sorry about this letter but it’s late—I’m tired—but I knew I couldn’t sleep until I wrote.

  Sometimes I wonder where my mind, my heart and my soul are. Or if they even are. I’m sure they are but blissfulness makes them love to hide.

  Love,

  Stephanie

  I was crazy about you, Daniel said to her in his mind as he lay in the muck of the valley floor. Don’t you see, he tried to explain. I had to go. We were caught up by a world that ran us. That ran over us. I remember saying good-bye to you. You always made me so happy. I think I said to you, ‘Neither you nor I wish to have the things having each other would bring. You’d never have security with me and I’d never feel free with you.’ Oh Steph, I remember saying that. I remember the song that was playing in the car the day I left. We’ll Sing In The Sunshine. To me, it was our song. Stephanie, now my year is over. Oh shit. I’m sorry. I remember you said I hurt you. I wanted to bring you sunshine. Wanted to laugh every day. I hurt you. I don’t think it ever sunk in until maybe just now. Oh God, I’m such a dumb Mick. How long is that? Three years? I’m pretty slow. You’ll have to help me. Can I say it now—I’m sorry if I hurt you.

  SIGNIFICANT ACTIVITIES

  THE FOLLOWING RESULTS FOR OPERATIONS IN THE O’REILLY/ BARNETT/JEROME AREA WERE REPORTED FOR THE 24-HOUR PERIOD ENDING 2359 20 AUGUST 70:

  DURING THE ENTIRE DAY SPORADIC FIGHTING WAS REPORTED BY THE 2D AND 4TH BNS, 1ST REGT (ARVN) IN THE FIREBASE O’REILLY AREA. ENEMY LOSSES INCLUDED 250 ONE-HALF POUND SACHEL CHARGES, 100 82MM MORTAR ROUNDS AND FIVE CREW SERVED WEAPONS. ARVN CASUALTIES WERE TWO KIA AND NINE WIA.,

  THE 7TH BN, 402D INF CONTINUED OPERATIONS IN THE VICINITY OF FIREBASE BARNETT ON THIS DATE WITH ONLY LIGHT CONTACT. AT 1427 HOURS THE BATTALION COMMANDER’S C & C HELICOPTER SPOTTED FOUR NVA IN THE OPEN. ARTILLERY WAS EMPLOYED RESULTING IN TWO NVA KIA. AT 1710 HOURS A HELICOPTER FROM D COMPANY, 101ST AVIATION BN RECEIVED .51 CALIBER MACHINE GUN FIRE WHILE DEPARTING FROM FIREBASE BARNETT. ONE US SOLDIER WAS WOUNDED. THE AIRCRAFT RECEIVED MINOR DAMAGE.

  AT 1830 HOURS FIREBASE BARNETT RECEIVED 19 ROUNDS OF 61MM MORTAR FIRE, SEVEN IMPACTING WITHIN THE PERIMETER. ONE US SOLDIER WAS WOUNDED. COUNTER BATTERY FIRE WAS EMPLOYED WITH UNKNOWN RESULTS.

  CHAPTER 28

  21-23 AUGUST 1970 CAMPOBASSO

  The sky yellowed and stood still. Alpha froze. No one seemed to breathe. Then the mist began to move, to roll, to twist. Lightning split the heavens, flashbulbed the mist. Thunder burst like great artillery. Rain fell heavy, hard, in close thick drops. Alpha moved.

  Egan led off. Cherry walked his slack. 1st Plt followed, then the Co CP, 2d Plt in the protected middle and 3d at rear security. The column moved quickly beneath the dawn storm, moved northwest then north to the river’s edge. The move began three days and nights which lost Alpha in a blurring haze of time and space and rain. The recent past dissolved. The near future never approached. Black nights passed to dark gray days almost without distinction. Alpha scrapped with the NVA—small running firefights, ambushes, pursuits. The actions mingled with non-action, became encased in hardened empty dullness, in glass-eyed madness.

  “Fuck it,” they repeated a thousand times. “Fuck it. Don’t mean nothin. Drive on.” The mantra of the infantry.

  “Got it,” Cherry said. He had stripped in the cold rain, tied the rope about his waist and had slipped into the river. They were 800 meters west of the knoll at valley center. The frigid water chilled him and softened his oozing sores. He was barely cognizant of the chill and the sores. He focused his eyes and mind on the north shore. Artillery rounds exploded 200 to 500 meters downriver. Mortar rounds impacted randomly upriver.

  “Go for it,” Egan whispered. Cherry dove.

  1st Plt was spread on line at the river’s edge, a meter inside the vegetation. All eyes were on Cherry breast stroking silently against the rainswell waters, or on the north bank shrub mist searching for movement. Asses were in three inches of cold rain mud.

  “This is fucked,” Jax whispered to Doc. “This mofuck division fucked up.”

  “What he pushin fo?” Doc shook his head woefully. “What fo, Mista?”

  “L-T gettin fucked up,” Jax said.

  “He pushin too hard,” Doc said. “He becomin a lifer. I can’t believe it, Bro. He aint nevah goan leave.”

  “We’s all gowin die here,” Jax said painfully. “We’s all gowin die.”

  “Why, Mista? Why?”

  “Asshole.” Egan joined Doc and Jax in the grass. He raged quietly not perceiving their mood.

  “What’s happenin, Bro?” Doc asked.

  “Rope’s goina drown Little Brother in the blue feature. Assholes. Shoulda never sent him across. Nobody could swim that shit.” Cherry was approaching mid-stream, pulling, snapping into a short glide, pulling, working like mad, making no discernible progress through the main current.

  “Dis fucked,” Jax repeated.

  “Fuck it,” Egan snarled.

  Cherry exerted, inched toward the north bank. The current was forcing him downstream, the rope holding him in the on-rush. He reached, pulled, extended, pulled. All of 1st Plt watched. Pull, they cheered him silently. Pull. Cherry’s frogkick clapped, his arms pulled, he shot forward a foot, glided, the current pushed him back ten inches, he stroked again. Past mid-stream, toward the north bank, the current fell off. He reached, pulled, reached the bank. Up. Out. Disappeared into the land of Leech Row. Egan stripped off everything except his fatigue pants. He plunged into the river with his and Cherry’s M-16s and pulled himself across on the rope. Mechanically 1st Plt converged on the rope, waded into the river and pulled. Cherry returned to the water as lifeguard and guide, then Egan assisted and then Brooks.

  “I didn’t know black men could swim,” Egan nudged Cherry over Brooks’ back, all three fighting cold riverwater swell to stay in place.

  “They can’t,” Brooks laughed looking quickly from Egan to Cherry. “I’ve got Dago blood in me. The oil keeps me up.”

  Then they were up and out and Alpha was again moving quickly, moving, spraying insect repellent on the leeches, rain diluting the repellent, leeches sucking, boonierats bitching. “Fuck it. Don’t mean nothin. Drive on.”

  Alpha followed a streambed north. It was hardly more than a watery shallow gutter in the valley floor yet it afforded two advantages. It was lower than the surrounding earth giving them a natural protective, concealing trench. And it made the going easier. Woody brush and vegetation choked both streambanks. Branches bridged the narrow trench at three, four, five feet. Only grass grew in the streambed, grass and leeches. Thighs and legs swished through the grass re-saturating fatigues and boots with every step. Moneski led Alpha north 150 meters through the tunnel then emerged east into a thicket. Alpha inched across the valley floor crossing trail after trail, red balls, and an engineered road with traffic signs that Minh said warned enemy logistic and supply troops against loitering. Alpha moved east 700 meters to another dense thicket, a thicket across the river from the knoll, 150 meters north of the swollen river.

  “Man, this is so thick, we could stay righ
t here,” Egan told Brooks. “Nobody could touch us. They couldn’t attack into this shit. With a halfdozen OPs en LPs, we could wreak havoc down here.”

  “No way, Man,” Bill Brown shook his head.

  Brooks smiled. Egan asked Brown, “Why not? Think about it. If they were set up in a thicket as thick as this shit, could we attack them? Ya can’t walk in here. Ya can’t move up on anybody in force.”

  “Like Br’er Rabbit,” Doc chuckled nastily from behind. “Doan throw me in the briar patch. L-T, doan throw me up in them hills.”

  “It may be possible,” Brooks said. He had already decided. He called a halt.

  Alpha was in the middle of an elongated network of NVA supply trails. Brooks ordered them to circle up, slip in and hide: Let the morning and the rain come.

  Alpha hid. Morning came. The rain continued. The position was a low area, a large shallow pit, surrounded by a natural earthen berm and cloaked beneath a variety of very dense vegetation. The CP set up near the center of the pit and the platoons manned the berm. Brooks had the word passed, “We’re staying until tomorrow.” The boonierats dug in quietly. They carved small hollows and trenches under the thickest brambles or bamboo clusters. Quarters were close. Two of every three men slept, slept soggy, rested, prepared for the day and night to come.

  Like all Americans they could not resist giving their location a name. Their base NDP came to be known amongst them as Campobasso. It was Cherry who came up with the name. In Italian Campobasso meant low field or possibly base camp. Cherry did not tell the L-T or Egan or any of his boonierat brothers that Campobasso was his maternal grandparents’ hometown. He simply suggested the name and it stuck. The name fit. It was easy radio-ese. Alpha used it. Cherry loved it.

  “What do you think, Pop?” Brooks whispered to Pop Randalph.

  “Don’t know, Sir,” Pop answered in his high hoarse whisper.

  Brooks sat cross-legged, draped with a poncho, his notebook and his maps across his lap. “Three tours? Why Pop? What makes you keep coming back for more?” The L-T’s voice was barely audible.