The lieutenant signaled for the column to move out.
“Okay, Ajax,” Chuck told his dog. “Let’s get to work.”
As they zigzagged to the tree line, Chuck waded through elephant grass as high as his waist. Ajax vanished beneath it, his leash rising up to Chuck’s hands from a sea of green. It was impossible to see the ground. Survival was a matter of faith now, of trusting his dog to alert him to threats before they could hurt him.
They slipped from the tall grass beneath towering jungle trees and entered the shady confines of the jungle single-file.
Chuck followed wherever Ajax went. If Ajax stopped, Chuck stopped. If Ajax took two steps to the left, Chuck took two steps to the left. And the entire column of soldiers followed him like that, one by one, matching every move. At least, Chuck assumed that they did. That was a matter of faith too. Chuck couldn’t turn around. He kept his eyes on his dog. He simply had to believe that everyone else was behind him, that he hadn’t wandered off. That he and Ajax weren’t all alone.
But there was nothing more lonesome than walking point in the jungles of Vietnam.
Although he knew that he had an entire platoon of soldiers behind him, in front of him, there was only green. The pale green of the elephant grass gave way to the deep green of trees and jungle bushes as the canopy rose overhead, turning the world into an endless emerald maze.
The shadows themselves seemed alive, ink-black monsters ready to swallow Chuck whole. If an attack came, it would hit him first. If Ajax missed a trap, Chuck would set it off before anyone else got there. His life could end before the soldiers behind him even knew anything was wrong. He’d never again smell that clean-laundry smell of his mother’s wash hung up on the line; he’d never again bury his face in the soft fur on the back of his dog’s neck. He’d never do anything, because he’d be dead in the jungle, far away from home. He would exist and then, poof, he wouldn’t.
Every step he took felt like stepping to the edge of a cliff. His belly button tingled. Mud sucked at his boots.
The only way to go forward was to focus on Ajax. The dog stopped every few feet to sniff the air. At one point, he sniffed at the ground and then changed direction, walking to the right and up a small slope. Chuck followed, looking back and pointing so that the message would be passed down the line and someone could stop to investigate the possible booby trap.
It happened again ten minutes later, this time taking them in a wide arc around a cluster of trees. Chuck stopped to squat down and look. He squinted and made out a thin thread running along at the height of their toes. It was one of many lines weaving among the trees like a spider’s web. He stayed still, following the first thread with his eyes, tracking it up a tree trunk to the mossy crook of a branch five feet off the ground.
The VC had hidden a claymore mine under the moss so that when a passing soldier hit the trip wires, it would blow up straight into his face, blasting out a wall of flame and sharp metal fragments, probably tearing the head off the first guy and gravely wounding anyone behind him. And that was just one of the threads. From what Chuck could tell, the spider’s nest was hooked up to at least four other mines in the trees and who knew how many buried in the ground.
Chuck passed the signal down the line.
Ajax moved on, dodging a pit of punji stakes and two more trip wires in under an hour. They must have been close to an enemy position to encounter this many traps in such a small area. Chuck found himself forgetting to breathe, wondering when the first attack would come. Would the VC wait until they set off a trap, or would they tire of waiting and just open fire when Chuck took one step too many in their direction?
He asked himself as he stepped forward: Would this be the step that did it?
Or this one?
Or this one?
He stopped moving. He knew the line would stop behind him. But he just couldn’t get his feet to take another step. After two years, one month, and fifteen days in Vietnam, after hundreds of patrols just like this one, he felt exhausted, a kind of tired that had nothing to do with the ache in his feet or the soreness in his muscles.
“What’s up, Chuck?” Double O whispered behind him. “Ajax found something?”
Chuck didn’t answer, just stared down at the ground in front of him. He pictured a helmet rolling away down a slope, a streak of blood left behind it in the mud. He shuddered at the memory.
Ajax looked back at him, panting. He cocked his head to the side with his big brown eyes wide, curious. He usually gave the signal to stop, after all, not his human handler. This was something new. He walked back to Chuck and pressed his nose against Chuck’s leg, nuzzling at his side. He wanted to keep going. He wanted Chuck to be okay.
Ajax was ready for anything as long as Chuck was by his side. Ajax didn’t let fear stop him in his tracks, didn’t get lost in thoughts of danger. Ajax just walked until it was time to stop walking, and then he rested and then he did it all over again because that was what was asked of him. And that was what was asked of Chuck too.
He had to be like Ajax. The sooner he got moving, the sooner they could get out of the jungle and get back to base, where it was safe and there was ping-pong and maybe a letter from home. He just had to take the first step. And then the one after that, one at a time, until they were safe.
Ajax nudged him forward with his nose and Chuck took that first step.
“Good boy,” Chuck told his dog.
He took the next step, and Ajax stayed right by his side. He kept stepping and he kept telling himself with each step, “I’m still okay. Just one more. I’m still okay. Just one more.”
Like that, they walked on for an hour.
Suddenly, Ajax stopped. He wouldn’t budge. Chuck tugged just to be sure, but Ajax had planted himself in place.
The hair rose on Ajax’s back. He pressed his paws deep into the earth in front of him and pointed his nose forward. Then he looked back at Chuck. A scout dog wants his master to know when he’s found something. He doesn’t keep secrets. Ajax’s muscles rippled with tension. And Chuck knew: This was it.
They’d found the enemy.
Chuck raised his fist up and the platoon behind him stopped and crouched, their weapons aimed all around to cover every possible direction of attack.
Chuck’s breath felt hot and heavy in his lungs. Sticky like the napalm the air force dropped from their bombers. Liquid fire. His eyes darted through the trees, trying to figure out what Ajax smelled, trying to brace himself for an ambush.
“Perkins, what do we have?” Lieutenant Maxwell and his radioman crouched beside Chuck, whispering. Behind them Double O set his big machine gun on its tripod in the mud and pointed it past them. If the enemy came at the platoon from the front, Double O would cut them down with a rain of hot lead. The private next to him pulled out an ammo can, lifting a glistening belt of bullets at the ready. Each one was as long as a sharpened number-two pencil.
“Ajax alerted,” Chuck whispered to the lieutenant. “By the look of his reaction, we’ve got something ahead. Nothing huge. Maybe four or five guys. Any more and Ajax’d be showing more signs.”
The lieutenant nodded. He waved back at the line, signaling for the second squad to come forward. Billy Beans and the rest scampered to the front of the line, keeping their heads down and their guns ready. Sergeant Cody nodded gravely as Lieutenant Maxwell told him what he wanted. For once Ajax didn’t even bother looking at the sergeant. He had bigger worries.
“Your squad’s up to check it out,” the lieutenant said. “Two teams, left and right flank, see what we’ve got.”
Chuck felt his nerves calming down, even as they prepared to engage the enemy. He was no longer a lone scout creeping ahead through the jungle. He was part of a platoon getting ready for a fight. And he didn’t have to go first into the attack. Ajax had done his job well.
“Good boy,” Chuck whispered right into the dog’s ear, giving him a rubdown along his side. Ajax wagged his tail, pleased with himself, but still his ear
s pointed skyward and his eyes scanned the trees. In this jungle, not even a big German shepherd could let his guard down.
Sergeant Cody picked five guys to go to the left with him and sent four the other way. They broke apart as they walked forward so that the platoon was laid out like a Y, with Chuck, Ajax, Double O and his gun, and Lieutenant Maxwell and his radioman at the intersection. Billy Beans gave Chuck a nervous smile as he passed and broke off in the smaller group to the right. Chuck nodded at Billy, and for some reason he didn’t understand, gave the peace sign, two fingers in a V, like the hippies did.
Billy shook his head and chuckled, but his face turned serious the moment he looked away and focused back on the jungle before him. Somewhere out there, the enemy was lying in wait. Part of him hoped it was nothing, hoped that Ajax was wrong. Another part of him hoped that they’d find the enemy and that he’d get his first kill and maybe get put up for the Combat Action Ribbon. He wished he’d gone with the sergeant’s group. The sergeant was the one who could recommend him for the ribbon. If they got into a firefight, he’d need to do something heroic, something to make sure he got noticed for his bravery.
He hoped he would be brave.
He had no way to be certain how he’d react until it happened. He’d heard of guys who froze up when the shooting started, tough guys who cried and cool guys who just ran away. Billy hoped he’d be a guy who could bring out the best in himself when it mattered. He’d been raised to believe there was no better test of a man than battle. He told himself he was ready to be tested.
The air smelled like mold and rot. His boots were caked with thick mud, he had an itch on the small of his back where sweat was trickling down, and mosquitoes buzzed in his ear and swarmed by his lips and his eyes. He kept having to swat them away. In his daydreams about the valor of combat, there were never this many little annoyances.
He looked around among the bushes and trees for footprints or any signs of an enemy campsite. It made him think about back home, hunting with his dad. The first time he’d ever gone hunting, the rifle had felt so big and heavy in his hands, even though it was just a little .22. His dad had taught him how to shoot, how to control his breathing and aim. How to squeeze the trigger without jerking the gun.
He tried to shoot a rabbit that he saw chewing on some grass — he’d always loved rabbit stew — but when he raised the gun, he couldn’t pull the trigger. He was just a kid then, and the rabbit reminded him of Bugs Bunny. He couldn’t shoot Bugs Bunny. The rabbit got away and his father had looked so disappointed. The memory of the shame made his ears blush.
But his father wasn’t here now, and Billy wasn’t hunting Bugs Bunny anymore.
“Beans!” The whisper cut into his thoughts, snapped him back. The guy behind him grabbed his shoulder and yanked him backward. “Pay attention, will ya? You’re gonna get us all killed.”
Billy looked down and saw that he’d been about to put his foot down on a trip wire. He wished Ajax had come up front with them. He looked at the soldier who’d stopped him, a black guy who hung out with Double O a lot. “Mose” or “Moose,” they called him. Billy couldn’t remember which, or why. The guy had just saved Billy’s life. It was the first time they’d ever spoken.
Billy nodded his thanks, and they stepped over the trip wire and crept forward.
Time stretched out. Every second felt like an hour. It had only been five minutes since they’d split off from the rest of the platoon, but it felt like a lifetime ago. Billy swatted some big, buzzing thing off his ear.
All of sudden, he heard Ajax bark behind him. Billy stopped and looked back at Mose or Moose, who just shrugged. Ajax barked again, furiously, so Billy did the only thing he could think to do. He dropped to the ground.
What happened next happened fast.
As soon as Billy hit the ground, he heard a loud snap. He looked up and saw Mose or Moose stumble backward and fall. The tree behind him seemed to shred apart, and the snapping turned into a roar of machine-gun fire. The jungle lit up.
“Incoming!” someone yelled.
“I’m hit!” Mose or Moose yelled.
“Return fire, dammit!” the sergeant yelled.
Streaks of lightning zipped overhead as Double O unleashed his big gun in the direction of the enemy. Billy could see it tearing through the leaves and branches to his right. He turned in the direction that Double O’s bullets were going, tucked his rifle into his shoulder, and even though he didn’t know what he was shooting at, he opened fire on the jungle ahead of him.
The gun rattled his arm and roared as it spat fire. His blasts added to the amazing thunder of the battle, and Billy stopped thinking about Nancy back home or about getting a medal or a ribbon or shooting rabbits. He just squeezed his trigger and rained hell on whoever had the misfortune to be on the other side of the jungle from him.
A mortar shell crashed into a tree up above, exploding on impact and showering the ground below with sparks and flaming branches. The blue sky showed through in the gap where the treetop had once been.
Billy looked up at the tiny patch of blue, a skylight in the roof of jungle, and he smiled.
It felt good to be alive. He kept firing his gun into trees, and he kept smiling as he fired.
“Hold your fire!” Billy heard someone shouting. “Hold your fire!”
It was Sergeant Cody, his bright blond hair blazing beneath his helmet. Billy could see him moving ahead through the smoke to check out the status of their enemy. The overwhelming U.S. firepower had silenced the VC’s guns, and it was time to assess the damage and count the kills. Billy exhaled a sigh of relief. He’d survived his first firefight … and he’d enjoyed it.
Mose — that was the guy’s name, not Moose, Billy remembered — kept crying out. “Medic! I need a medic here!”
Doc Malloy scrambled through the trees and knelt down beside Mose, speaking comforting words to him and checking out his wounds.
“I think you’ll be all right,” he told Mose. “Bullet went clear through the flesh of your arm. Didn’t even hit bone.”
“Is it bad enough to get me out of ’Nam?” Mose asked.
Doc shook his head and patted Mose on the shoulder. “Sorry, brother. You’ll be back in action in a few days.”
Mose shook his head and sighed. “Charlie can’t even shoot me proper. I’m never gettin’ outta this war.”
“We’ve got a blood trail!” the sergeant called from up ahead. “We need Ajax!”
Chuck and Ajax came tearing through the underbrush. The dog was panting like crazy and pulling Chuck forward. Double O was right behind.
Billy followed because he figured, how often do you get to see a scout dog hunt a person down?
When they reached Sergeant Cody, he was standing over a small puddle of blood on the jungle floor. It was already swarming with ants.
Chuck pointed, and Ajax stuck his nose right into the spot, snorting and pawing at the ants and pulling in quick bursts of air to get the scent.
“Ajax,” Chuck said, and Ajax looked right up at him, his eyes wide and his jaw set. “Get him! Get him!” Chuck commanded, pointing into the jungle.
Ajax bounded off, both back legs pumping together, leaping over obstacles as Chuck hung on to the leash and followed right behind him. Billy Beans, Double O, and the sergeant followed too.
The lieutenant ordered Doc Malloy to go after them so he could look at the enemy’s wounds if they caught him. He said that a prisoner could be an important source of intelligence, whatever that meant.
“Stay right behind me,” Chuck called back. “There could still be booby traps out here.”
Billy and Double O took care to step only where Chuck stepped, but Doc Malloy was about ten yards behind and struggling to catch up. He cursed under his breath as he picked his way through the jungle, doubting every step.
“Hurry up, Doc!” Chuck called back. “Ajax waits for no man!”
“I’ve always been a cat person,” Doc panted as he caught up with the group
standing in a semicircle around a small hole in the ground. Their guns were pointed down at the opening.
“Yeah, but I’ve never seen a cat do this,” Chuck said, and unclipped Ajax from his leash.
The VC dug tunnels all over the country, a complicated network of holes and tunnels, some of them big enough to be underground bases and hospitals, others barely big enough for one person. They used the tunnels to move around unseen and to hide weapons and food. They used the tunnels to disappear after an ambush, but there was no disappearing when Ajax was on the trail. They didn’t dig tunnels deep enough to escape his nose.
The dog pounced on the small hole, wiggling his body inside and growling. Seconds later, they heard a scream as Ajax backed out of the opening, his tail rigid, his legs straining. When he got farther out, they saw that he held a man’s forearm in his jaws and was dragging him up to the surface.
The man was screaming and struggling, but there wasn’t enough room for him to bring his other arm around to push Ajax off. Not that he could have, anyway.
“Don’t you dare hurt my dog,” Chuck said as he pressed his boot down on the man’s shoulder. Once he was half out of the hole, Chuck commanded Ajax off, and Sergeant Cody hauled the Vietcong soldier the rest of the way out. Double O and Billy kept their guns trained on the guy, but the fight had left him the moment he saw the Americans towering over him with their weapons. The ground where he’d been dragged was painted with blood.
Doc bent down and went to work immediately. The man didn’t make another sound, just looked up at Doc with fear in his eyes.
“Will he live?” Lieutenant Maxwell had caught up with them and stood behind Doc, watching him work.
“We need a bird to medevac him out of here, but he’ll live,” said Doc.
“All right,” said the lieutenant. “Let’s clear a landing zone. Sergeant, have second squad do it, while the others get their foxholes dug around the perimeter. We’ll spend the night here and medevac the prisoner out in the morning. Tie him to that tree over there.”
Strays Page 3
