“Hold on a second, sir,” said Double O. “You telling me that Charlie tries to kill us, and he gets flown outta here on a chopper, while the rest of us have to dig in for the night?”
“Don’t ask the lieutenant stupid questions,” said the Beach Boy sergeant.
“It’s okay,” said Lieutenant Maxwell. “And yes, that is what I am telling you, specialist. So you better start digging.”
“Shoot.” Double O shook his head. “Maybe I should go fight for the VC. I’d get out of the jungle faster.”
“Keep talking like that, and you’ll get court-martialed out of this jungle,” said Sergeant Cody.
“Maybe I’d rather be in jail back in the States than slogging around in this mess,” answered Double O.
“Hey, Chuck,” Billy called, stepping over to Chuck and Ajax. He didn’t want to get caught up in the trouble Double O’s mouth was about to get in. “Where you digging in?”
“I don’t know yet,” said Chuck.
“How about I dig your foxhole for you,” Billy offered.
“You what?” Chuck asked.
The foxholes were pits as deep as a man, where the soldiers would sleep and keep lookout. If fighting started, they’d have the hole to take cover in and to shoot from. With a poncho stretched over the top, they were almost invisible too. When not walking or fighting, infantry grunts spent most of their time clearing away brush, digging these holes, and then filling them in again.
Digging a foxhole in the jungle mud was the most backbreaking work the army had ever dreamed up. Even Ajax looked at Billy funny, like the dog understood what a crazy offer he’d made.
“I just … you know.” Billy rubbed the back of his neck and looked at his feet. “I figured if I dug your hole for you, next to mine … to say thanks for what Ajax did for me, barking like he did, before the ambush …”
“Just doing our job,” said Chuck, rubbing Ajax behind the ears.
“Yeah,” said Billy. “I know, but —”
“He don’t want to dig your hole.” Double O came over, shaking his head. He’d been dismissed by the lieutenant before he and Sergeant Cody could get into a screaming match.
“I just said that I did,” said Billy. “And I say what I mean.”
“Don’t sound like it to me.” Double O gave Billy the same sideways look that Ajax had. “My mama’s a schoolteacher, and she always told us to speak like a well-aimed bullet. Straight and true.”
“You calling me a liar?” Billy balled his fists.
“Guys, calm down,” Chuck interrupted their standoff. “You’re making Ajax nervous. We got enough going on out here in the jungle without you two getting at each other’s throats. I’ll dig my own foxhole.”
“Nah.” Double O smiled a devious smile. “Billy’s a man of his word. Right, Billy?”
“I am,” said Billy, coolly.
“Except what he meant to say was that he’ll dig Ajax’s foxhole for him. Billy don’t care if you there or not. He just wants that dog in the hole next to him in case there’s a sneak attack tonight. And so do I. So I’ll help him dig, as long as I get to dig in on the other side of you.”
Chuck looked at Billy, and Billy shrugged. Double O was right. He didn’t need to be such a jerk about it, but it was true. What if Charlie tried to sneak up on them in the night? The dog had saved his life with an early warning once already. He felt like his odds of getting home to Nancy Werner were a lot better if he stayed close to Ajax.
Chuck chuckled. He looked back and forth between Billy and Double O. Other guys on other combat patrols had made the offer to dig his foxhole before — these two weren’t the first to feel safer around Ajax — but Chuck had never accepted the offer. He didn’t think he should get special privileges because of Ajax. He was a soldier just like the rest of them, doing his job, following the rules.
But Chuck figured these two guys could use some time to work out their differences, and nothing bonds two people together better than hours of hard labor. Also, Chuck was exhausted. It had been a heck of a day, and tomorrow probably wouldn’t be any better.
While Double O and Billy dug his foxhole, Chuck and Ajax checked the rest of the area for booby traps and then played a rough-and-tumble game of tug-of-war with an old rope tied to a can. Ajax couldn’t get enough of that toy. The wag of his tail and his gleeful grunts made carrying the extra weight worthwhile.
As they played, the prisoner tied to the tree watched them closely, his face an expressionless mask. If he was angry or afraid, it was impossible to tell. If Chuck were in his place, he’d be angry and he’d be afraid. The Americans were foreigners here, just like the French before them. Vietnam had been at war for so long, it was a wonder anyone had any will left to fight at all. But that was the problem, wasn’t it?
For the Vietnamese it wasn’t about having the will to fight. This was their country. For them, there was no end to a tour of duty and there was no retreat. They couldn’t just go home, because they were home. The war was their home.
Yeah, Chuck thought, he’d be angry. But the prisoner just stared, didn’t show any emotion at all, and his gaze quickly drained all the fun out of playing with Ajax. Chuck took his dog over to watch Double O and Billy Beans dig their foxholes, and then they all settled in for the long, wet night.
The rain plopped down on the leaves of the canopy above them and splattered on the mud around them. The wind rustled branches and bushes, and everything sounded like an ambush about to start, like the jungle itself was the enemy. Their minds all conjured phantoms beyond their foxholes.
“Tell me the truth,” Billy whispered to Chuck across the darkness. “Did you really volunteer to stay over two years in this mess for a dog?”
Chuck thought a moment, considering how to answer. “He’s not just a dog,” he said. “He’s my partner.”
“He a good dog,” Double O whispered on the other side of Chuck. “But he ain’t good enough to make me stay in this hellhole one minute longer than I need to.”
“I got assigned to work with Ajax in February 1968 with the Fiftieth Infantry Scout Dog Platoon,” Chuck explained. It was so dark out he didn’t even need to close his eyes to picture it. The guys on either side of him listened quietly to his voice, barely loud enough to hear over the plunking rain.
“We guarded outposts and walked point on patrols, searching for booby traps and for enemies waiting in ambush. He was a good dog, and we did our job just fine. I was a short-timer, only had two months left in my deployment, when I was sent with the air cavalry into the Ia Drang Valley.”
Neither Billy nor Double O knew what the Ia Drang Valley was, but they knew that a short-timer — a soldier with just a few weeks left in Vietnam — was usually spared the most dangerous missions. Usually, but not always.
“An entire North Vietnamese battalion came down on us almost as soon as we dismounted in the valley,” Chuck said, picturing it like a movie playing on the darkness in front of his eyes. “They cut us off from our reinforcements and then spent the next two days and nights picking us apart. I took a bullet in the thigh and fell, just as Charlie overran our position. Explosions all around us, the air thick with lead. I saw my buddy Lou lying nearby and I crawled over to him, tried to jostle him. Soon as I did, his helmet fell off and rolled down a little mud embankment. His head was still in it as it rolled away. His body twitched, like it didn’t know it’d lost the most important part. You couldn’t hear your own thoughts over the sound of machine-gun fire and heavy artillery. I saw splinters of bone stuck inches deep into tree trunks, blown there by land mine explosions. Ajax was scared. I didn’t have him on a leash, and he could have run away. It’s in a dog’s instinct to run. Heck, I wanted to run. But Ajax didn’t run. He stayed by my side, standing over me while I lay bleeding in the mud.
“That’s when this little guy came out of the bush, running at me, holding an old rifle, like something from World War I. It had a bayonet on the tip. It looked huge in his hands, much too big for him, and he
lowered it and charged. I knew that was it for me. I was dead. This little man was going to run me through, not even waste a bullet on me. I whispered a prayer; I’m not sure now what it was. I’d never paid much attention in Sunday School. I don’t know if God was listening to me, but I know that Ajax was.
“He jumped between me and the VC, jumped over the bayonet, and took the man down by the throat. I got the gun and used it as a crutch, holding onto Ajax’s collar with my other hand. Ajax led me out of that jungle and back to the landing zone for the medevac chopper. I owe that dog my life. I promised him then that I’d never leave him behind, just like he didn’t leave me. I looked him in those big brown eyes and I promised.
“When my tour was up a few weeks later, I knew Ajax couldn’t leave with me. He’s classified as military equipment, you know? They don’t release military equipment while there’s a war on. But a promise is a promise. So I reenlisted for another six months. Served by his side. The war kept going. Uncle Sam wasn’t ready to let Ajax go, so I reenlisted again. Six more months. And then I did it again after that. I’ve been in-country for two years, one month, and, well, sixteen days now. I guess I’ll keep doing it until the war’s over and Ajax and I can go home.”
“Four tours.” Double O whistled in the dark. “You are one loyal Devil Dog, Chuck. Crazy. But loyal.”
“I must take after Ajax then,” he answered.
“Guess so,” said Double O.
“I’m glad you stayed on,” said Billy. “Real glad.”
They fell silent again, listening to the night and trying to ignore their worries. Even though it was pitch-black, Chuck knew that every soldier in the platoon, from the two guys on either side of him to Doc in his tent behind them and the lieutenant across the landing zone, was listening anxiously through the rain and the wind for any sound from Ajax.
A bark could be the only warning they would have of an attack.
In his foxhole, Chuck thought about Lou and Ia Drang. He thought about all those days on point and all those nights just as dark and bleak as this one. Two years, one month, and sixteen days. The only thing between him and seventeen days was the jungle night ahead. He held Ajax close against his chest and listened, just like the others. The night roared around them, but Ajax was calm.
Early the next morning, the chopper came. It touched down on the landing zone and the Beach Boy sergeant hustled the prisoner on to it. Mose climbed on with his arm in a sling and gave the peace sign to the guys staying behind. He was smiling, glad to be getting out of the bush, even though he knew he’d be going back as soon as he was healed.
In under a minute, the helicopter lifted off again, whipping the trees into a whirlwind as it went. The slap of its rotors on the air faded into a memory, and the platoon was alone in the jungle again.
Chuck and Ajax stood with Doc by the foxholes while Double O and Billy filled them in again with dirt and mud.
“Why do they call you Billy Beans?” asked Chuck.
“ ’Cause he a bean farmer back in Nowheresville,” laughed Double O.
“I’m from just outside Minneapolis,” said Billy. “It’s not nowhere.”
“I’m from New York City,” said Double O. “Everywhere else is nowhere.”
“Even here?”
“Especially here,” said Double O. “Now tell the Devil Dog about your nickname. He never gonna believe it.”
Billy blushed. “I got it back at the replacement center in Saigon,” he said. “When they gave me my box of rations, it was all beans, nothing but cans of beans. I couldn’t live on just beans, so I asked the major in charge of the post if I could, you know, trade.”
“You asked an army major about trading beans?” Chuck laughed. He’d never even spoken to a major.
“I did.” Billy laughed with him. “He got right in my face and said, ‘You don’t like beans? You want to trade like kids at the school cafeteria? You want to trade your beans for my brownies, Private, is that it? Or do you think I look like a lunch lady? Do you see a hairnet on me?’ And I said, ‘No, sir, I don’t see a hairnet, sir, I just have too many beans, sir …’”
“And that was that,” said Double O.
“And that was that,” agreed Billy. “The major told the captains and the lieutenants and the sergeants, and pretty soon everyone knew and I was Billy Beans.”
“How about your name, Double O?” asked Chuck.
“I gave it to myself. I’m the black James Bond. Like 007, but so slick I don’t need a number, just the double ohs.”
“Doc’s easy,” said Billy.
“Back home they called me Dozer because I was a bulldozer on the football field,” said Doc.
“Not Jell-O?” joked Double O. “You know, ’cause you a bit jiggly?”
Doc scowled.
“All right, let’s roll,” Lieutenant Maxwell called out. The men pulled themselves together, stuffing supplies back into their rucksacks, shoving food into their faces, and slapping helmets onto their heads. They took formation with Chuck and Ajax in the lead, and stepped off again on their march to the river.
They left behind empty ration cans of beans and meatballs and peaches and one empty can of dog food. The holes they’d filled in quickly turned to mud. The landing zone, the foxholes, and even their garbage would be consumed by jungle in a matter of weeks, and forgotten.
Ajax snuffled at the dirt, paused to lift his leg against a tree, and led them on. They found no other traps and Ajax didn’t alert to any other ambushes. To everyone’s surprise, the day passed without enemy contact at all. It was wet and hot, but they made good time. That night, Billy and Double O dug Chuck’s hole again and again they all spent the night half-awake, listening for a warning bark from the bright-eyed German shepherd.
“You grow up with dogs, Chuck?” Billy whispered in the dark.
“Nope,” said Chuck. “Never had a dog. I always wanted one. That’s why I signed up for the scout dog unit. Figured if my mom wouldn’t let me get a dog, good old Uncle Sam and his army would. And look at me now, huh?”
“I grew up with dogs,” said Billy. “Hunting dogs, mostly. How about you, Double O?”
“Huh?” Double O answered, groggy. “You asking about dogs?”
“Yeah,” said Billy.
“We had subway rats the size of dogs, if that’s what you mean,” said Double O.
“No dogs?” asked Billy.
“There was a junkyard dog near my grandma’s house. Mean beast. Racist too.”
“A dog can’t be racist,” said Billy. “They don’t know how to hate.”
“Oh, you wrong there, Billy,” said Double O. “Everything travels right down that leash, from master to canine. Man to dog. Dogs can be racist if the people around ’em are racist.”
“So you think Ajax don’t like Vietnamese people?” asked Billy.
“I think Ajax doesn’t like anyone who doesn’t like me,” said Chuck. “Race has nothing to do with it.”
“Ah,” Double O sighed in the dark. “That’s easy for you to say.”
“What is?” asked Chuck.
“Saying that race has nothing to do with it. Not your fault, of course. You were born how you were born, just like me, but you can forget about race whenever you feel like it. That’s the white man’s privilege. Not me or the other brothers. Not the Vietnamese. We get reminded that we ain’t the white man just about every day, get it?”
“I get it,” said Chuck.
They fell silent again, listening to the night, thinking about what Double O said.
Chuck was glad to share his foxhole with Ajax, to keep the dog close. Race, politics, all that stuff didn’t matter to the dog. Did he have enough to eat? Was he safe? Was it time to play? The simple questions drove his life, and they all had yes or no answers. Chuck wished everything could have a yes or no answer. There was a reason dogs slept so well, and Chuck figured it had a lot to do with that.
The soldiers woke to the third day of their patrol eager to get to the river and
get airlifted back to their outpost.
“Check yourselves for leeches,” Doc Malloy warned everyone. “You don’t want those bloodsuckers feeding on you all day.” To prove his point, he used his utility knife to pry a fat black leech from the side of his neck. It had slithered onto him in the night and gorged itself on his blood. It hit the ground with a moist plop and Doc squashed it under his boot.
The guys cringed, but they all checked themselves for leeches.
Chuck triple-checked Ajax, who was already panting with anticipation for the day. He loved a walk in the jungle. Dogs didn’t worry about leeches, so Chuck had to worry for him.
“I heard about a grunt up by the Laos border who had a leech crawl right up his privates,” said Billy Beans.
“You sick.” Double O shook his head. “That’s sick.”
“It’s true,” said Billy. “Heard it from my cousin in the Marine Corps. Guy in his battalion saw it happen. The poor sucker had to be flown to Japan for surgery to have the leech removed from … you know … down there.”
Double O laughed. Billy could always be counted on to believe any crazy story he heard. He wasn’t worth getting angry at. Billy was dumb as a brick, but good for entertainment.
They walked for hours. The jungle grew thick with tangled roots and a squad had to come forward to hack at it with their machetes so they could keep going. Ajax led them safely past two more booby traps. They hit the river in late afternoon, and the lieutenant called in the airlift.
“I got some good news for you.” He came over to Chuck and Ajax, smiling. Ajax had his snout shoved into a can of dog food, chowing down, while Chuck leaned against a burned tree stump and watched the river. He stood when Lieutenant Maxwell approached, but he didn’t salute. Enemy snipers could be watching, and they would have loved to take out an officer.
Billy and Double O glanced over, listening in.
“Looks like you’re out of the bush,” said Lieutenant Maxwell.
“Excuse me, sir?” Chuck asked.
“I got orders that you’re flying back to the Fiftieth Scout Dog Platoon today. Too bad. We’ll miss you. You’ve done great work with us out here. Ajax saved a lot of lives. You should be proud.”
Strays Page 4
