Finally, mortar fire exploded in the distance. Several guys shouted for joy, and Rick realized he was one of the guys shouting. Illumination flares, hanging on parachutes, floated down, imbuing the sky with an eerie daylight and moving shadows across the jungle. The lights slowly floated to the ground, making the whole world seem inside out. It was as if everything inanimate came to life, and everything alive was ghostly. Rick didn’t know whether the ache in his gut was real or psychological, or whether it made a difference which it was.
For a long time not a single shot broke the silence. The medic moved into the field to Twenty-Twenty, and then the doc and another guy carried him to an area with other wounded. Rick went to talk to him, but the doc had started an I.V. and Twenty must have gotten a shot of morphine, because he didn’t seem to recognize Rick.
Rick didn’t sleep, or maybe he did. Sometimes in Nam you couldn’t tell. At one point when he was definitely awake, the clarity of the stars startled him. The moon had risen over the nipa palms at the edge of the jungle. Smoke from the battle crept like mold through the air. He dozed fitfully, and when the sun rose, the smoke had cleared. Men moved about. Rick was damn glad to see that all the men were friendlies.
Cracker looked at him expectantly, and he realized he hadn’t even fed her or given her water before he fell asleep. Damn. She’d saved his life on the Special Forces mission, and he hadn’t even remembered to feed and water her. He did both now, then pushed himself up.
She started to follow him but stopped to sniff at Tristie, only Tristie wasn’t there anymore. That is, her body was there, but she wasn’t. Cracker whimpered and lay down next to Tristie. She pawed again at Tristie like she always did when she wanted to play with her friend.
“Come, Cracker.”
Cracker obeyed, but more reluctantly than usual. She wanted Tristie with them. But she had to follow Rick. They kept walking until they reached Twenty-Twenty, lying among the wounded. Blood-smell filled the air.
The unit must have run out of stretchers, because some of the wounded lay on ponchos. Twenty-Twenty had a poncho both over and under him. Even though his eyes were closed, he still wore his glasses. He didn’t seem to be breathing. Rick’s own breath caught. He braced himself and squatted down, then took his friend’s hand and knelt with his forehead on the hand.
“What the hell are you doing? I ain’t dead yet,” Twenty-Twenty said.
Rick dropped his hand and scurried to his feet as if Twenty had come back from the dead. His friend tried to push himself to a sitting position. “Lie down!” Rick said.
“She’s gone, isn’t she?” His eyes seemed to be blurry.
“Just lie down, man.”
But Twenty-Twenty pushed onto his uninjured elbow and spotted his dog, her fur matted with blood. He collapsed backward. “I told her to stay,” he said angrily. Rick wasn’t sure whom he was angry at.
“I heard you. We all heard you.”
“I told her to stay!” The intensity of Twenty’s anger was palpable. Rick wanted to say, But she was only trying to help, don’t be angry at her, but then he decided to leave it alone.
“She didn’t stay,” Twenty-Twenty said. “I didn’t teach her right.” Then Rick realized Twenty was angry with himself.
“She was a good dog. You taught her great.”
“I’m going back to the world, aren’t I?” “The world” was what guys called the real world, America.
Rick barely glanced toward Twenty-Twenty’s injured arm, but the glance was enough. “Yeah, you’re going back home.”
“With how many arms? I don’t wanna look. Pick up the poncho.”
“You’re gonna be okay” was all Rick could say. He wanted to look over at Twenty’s wound again, but he already knew. Worse: worse than a Million Dollar Injury. Basically, from the way the poncho lay, it looked like maybe most of Twenty’s arm could be gone.
“You make sure Tristie gets buried properly. Make sure, Rick, okay?”
“I will.” At the firebase the old-timer dog handlers had already set up a graveyard for the dogs who got killed in action or died of jungle diseases.
“I want her epitath to say ‘Sleep well.’”
“All right.”
“I’d already decided, just in case.”
“Yeah, okay.”
“And cut off a piece of my hair and bury it with her.”
Rick took out the knife all soldiers carried and cut off a chunk of Twenty’s hair. He stuffed it in his pocket.
Rick looked out into the field. He couldn’t believe what he saw in the distance: dead bodies, lots of them, beyond the perimeter. Dozens upon dozens of dead V.C. Did that mean they had won the battle? It didn’t feel like they had won.
Cracker sniffed at Twenty-Twenty’s arm. Blood. She lay down, her head resting on her paws, while the medic leaned over to check Twenty-Twenty. Then she followed while Rick and the medic carried Twenty-Twenty’s stretcher and laid him next to a group of other men on stretchers, other men who smelled like blood and guts and dirt. But they were alive.
“What’s going on?” asked Twenty-Twenty.
“You’re goin’ home, buddy. The medevac will be here soon. You’ll be fine. There’s guys a lot worse off than you.”
Twenty-Twenty turned his head away suddenly, crying. “She wouldn’t listen,” he said one last time. “It’s my fault.”
Rick said, “It ain’t your fault.” He looked around. “I think they want to look you over again. You call me if you need anything.” But Twenty-Twenty didn’t answer.
A man who was clearly badly wounded lay unattended. He looked as if he were made of mud. Rick hesitated, then asked someone, “Shouldn’t the medic be looking over that guy?”
“It’s triage, man,” the other soldier said softly.
“His eyes are open.”
“Yeah, but Doc has to work on the guys he can save. That one’s a goner.”
Rick looked again. The “mud man” seemed alert, bizarrely hyper. A poncho covered most of his body. Whatever made the medic determine the guy was a goner was hidden under that poncho. Obviously, it was more than a lost limb. Rick walked over. The sun made the man’s brown eyes hold a glimmer of gold in them. The eyes blinked at Rick. Rick reached for his hand and pressed it. It felt cold.
“Need anything, soldier?” He didn’t even know the guy’s name. As a matter of fact, he probably didn’t know the names of 90 percent of the guys here.
The guy shook his head. He was staring at something. Rick turned to look. It was a bloody thing … a foot lying on the ground. The guy said, “Is that mine?” His feet stuck out from underneath the poncho covering his torso.
“No, you got your legs,” Rick assured him. “Your feet, too.” He hesitated, then lied, “You’re gonna be okay. Dust-off’s coming.” Just as he said it, he heard the choppers in the air. He lied again: “There are guys worse off than you. So you may not be first.”
“That’s okay, take them first.”
Rick lit a cigarette and offered it to the soldier. The soldier opened his mouth slightly, and Rick placed the cigarette in between the poor guy’s lips. He inhaled deeply.
Cracker sniffed at the man, which made him smile, cracks breaking the mud on his face. Rick smiled too.
“Nice dog,” the man said.
“Yeah, she’s great.”
“I got an Australian shepherd back home. They’re sheepherders.” He smiled again.
Then the man shuddered. The life drained from his face, the way light drains from the sky at sunset. But it was weird how the sun still glowed off his eyes. Rick hoped his last thought had been of his sheepherder back home. Rick adjusted the poncho where it had fallen loose.
He walked away, lay down in the grass, and just stared at the sky as two dust-offs arrived to gather the first batch of wounded. Usually the guys would have cheered at the sound, but everybody was so wasted that nobody made a sound. Twenty-Twenty remained, but a medic was looking him over. That made Rick feel a little better—if
Twenty’s arm were really bad, he’d be the first to go. Probably.
Then Cracker actually got up and left him, trotting over to sniff at Tristie before turning to Rick. “Woof!” He walked over and picked up Tristie, unsure where they should wait.
It was odd the way Rick didn’t feel anything. It wasn’t as if his heart and mind were back home or with his buddies or his family or anywhere at all. It was as if all his feelings were simply gone, pfft. No feelings at all. Not for Twenty-Twenty, not for the dead soldier, not for the dead dog in his arms.
He sat down with Cracker and Tristie far away from everybody else. He remembered that not long after the sarge had first suggested he change dogs, he had gone to sit behind a warehouse. His friends had noticed he’d been gone awhile and started calling his name. “Rick! Rick!” But he didn’t answer. He’d just sat there, not really even thinking about much. He felt kind of that way now: Leave me alone, world.
So he just stared straight ahead, numb. Then, suddenly, he felt and thought everything he hadn’t felt just a few minutes earlier. He was so damned glad that he and Cracker were alive. He thought about his mission with Camel. And he thought about Tristie, Twenty-Twenty, the dead soldier with the sheepherder back home, and how it all sucked. It really, really sucked. But he also had another crazy feeling. It all sucked, but it was just so damn real. And the fact that it was so damn real made it suck more, but it also made it suck less. ’Cause this was it. This was the biggest stuff that was ever going to happen in his life. And he’d done good. Whether it was generalist or specialist or applying himself or none of the above, who knew? All he knew, and he knew it, was that he’d done good.
He felt as if his cells physically craved something but that the only way to satisfy them was not to get something, but rather to sob, which he did. He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d sobbed. He thought all the way back to first grade and couldn’t remember sobbing. Oh, he’d shed a tear here and there, but full-on sobbing? Never that he could remember.
He lay down again and waited for the next wave of choppers that would be coming soon to take them back to base.
Cracker moved her snout to his chest. Rick smiled and stroked her long ears. That felt nice, and she could tell it made him feel better. Her ears perked up: more choppers. She stood, and sure enough, in a moment the sky filled with the sound of metal birds. This time the men cheered. Rick seemed invigorated, which in turn made Cracker feel invigorated.
There were only three choppers. The first dropped off supplies and carried away another batch of wounded men.
Rick set Tristie near his rucksack and walked over to the supply drop to grab a couple of canteens of water. He had food in his sack, but he hadn’t brought enough water.
Cracker followed Rick as he walked away and stopped to pour water into his steel pot. She gulped it down. He drank the rest of a canteen in one go. Then Rick looked over the dead field. It looked like nothing would grow there again for a thousand years.
“Rick!”
Rick rushed over to where Twenty-Twenty was just about to be lifted into a dust-off. “What is it?” The chopper blades blasted their hair and uniforms with air.
Twenty-Twenty shouted above the noise, “Make sure about Tristie. Don’t leave her in the field.”
“You got my word. I’ll be contacting you. Take care, buddy.”
“Yeah, you too.” He weakly reached out his good hand, and Rick shook it. “If I don’t make it—”
“You’re gonna make it.”
“—tell my mom I … just tell her the truth. Tell her what it was like. She’d want to know that.”
“You’re gonna make it, man. Quit whinin’! You’re going home. You got a Million-Dollar Injury.” Rick let his eyes fall just briefly on where Twenty’s arm should be.
“I still haven’t looked under the poncho,” said Twenty-Twenty.
“The doc’ll take good care of you.”
“You think? You think he’ll save my arm?”
It seemed like the injured men were obsessed with their limbs. Rick didn’t want to out-and-out lie to his friend. So he said, “They got great doctors. I heard one of them was doing his residency at Yale when he got the letter to serve. They ain’t slackers.” “You’re gonna be lying on the beach in a few months. Send me a picture from Florida. I’ll be just about to DEROS while you’re running around with your girlfriend.”
Twenty-Twenty closed his eyes as a couple of men carried him off. Rick could hear Twenty-Twenty shouting to one of the guys carrying him, “For all intensive purposes, these choppers take you to your death, and then they save your life.”
Rick walked with Cracker back to where Tristie lay with her chest caved in. At least it had been fairly fast. He thought maybe he shouldn’t have given her mouth-to-mouth. Maybe it had just prolonged her suffering. Maybe it was one of those cases where you did the right thing at the wrong time. No. No, he would have done the same for Cracker. If there had been even the slightest chance to save Cracker, he would have tried. He leaned on his pack and waited for the chopper that would take them back.
Cracker sniffed at Tristie again. She knew Tristie was gone, but she pawed at her to come back. She pawed at Rick to bring Tristie back. But they both just lay there. She whined but finally lay down.
Chopper after chopper arrived, and soon there were just a few men left. Rick had to go last because he had dogs and because he wasn’t injured. The army had priorities. Hurt men. Well men. Dead men. Well dogs. Hurt dogs. Dead dogs. Soon no one else was left, and Rick got ready to climb on board the last chopper. The pilot shouted out, “Sorry, we’re overloaded as it is. No room for the dogs.”
“Two dogs ain’t gonna make a difference,” said Rick. “The dead one weighed only fifty before she lost blood.”
“Can’t risk all these human lives for a dog, dead or alive.”
Rick just stood there. “All right, can you take the live one and I’ll stay behind?”
“Sure. We’ll send another bird right out.”
“Go on, Cracker, get on the chopper.” But Cracker wouldn’t budge. He picked her up and threw her on. She jumped right off. He tried again. Same result. “Get on the chopper!” he screamed at her. She pressed against his legs. “All right, stay with me, you crazy dog.”
Rick watched the whirring blades move into the distance. He heard a gunshot from behind him, and he fell to the long grass to hide. “Down!” he cried out to Cracker. She obeyed immediately. But he didn’t hear anything more. Still, he didn’t move. He kept thinking of the way Camel had become a statue. He lay like a fallen statue, the tall grass wavering around him.
He knew Charlie would come out to police up any ammo or food the G.I.s had left behind. As he listened for every small sound that might mean the enemy was near, he didn’t and couldn’t understand what he was doing here in Vietnam. And then he had a flicker of realization. The flicker grew stronger. He was here to be doing exactly what he was doing: taking his friend’s dog to a proper burial. That meant more to him right now than whipping the world.
His body involuntarily shuddered as he saw Cracker’s ears go up in alert. For a moment he thought they were both about to die. He breathed very slowly through his nose, not his mouth, so as not to stir even the air around him. Then he heard it: the whomp-whomp-whomp of the chopper blades. He shouted for joy.
Eighteen
THE CHOPPER HAD COME JUST FOR THEM. THE PILOT looked curiously at them as they climbed aboard. “Did you really stay just for the dogs?” the pilot called out over the sound of whirring blades.
“Yeah!” Rick called back. “Thanks for coming.”
“It’s my job.”
Rick laid Tristie down, then set his gun and rucksack beside her. Down below he saw something he hadn’t seen before: leafless trees where American defoliants had killed off the forests. Spooky.
He looked at Tristie. If someone had told him a couple of years ago that he would risk his life for a dead dog, he would have laughed. He lay
back. He felt weird in his chest, like his fatigue was not just in his muscles and brains, but even in his internal organs. It was as if even his lungs were exhausted and needed rest. He had the shakes but wasn’t sure if that was because of the vibrating helicopter. He didn’t usually feel like this in a chopper.
Cracker felt worried. Rick seemed unhappy, and her pal Tristie was dead. She sniffed at Tristie. She knew where Tristie had gone. It was to another place. Once, Willie had owned a fish, and it went to another place too. Of course, that was because Cracker had knocked it out of the water with her paw…. Anyway, Tristie would be okay in the other place, but it made Cracker sad that she was gone. She vaguely remembered walking down the aisles of a dog pound back in Chicago among all those doomed dogs. Some of them jumped wildly up and down, yelping to be saved, but many were so depressed, they just lay at the back of their cages and didn’t move. She wondered why Willie had taken her there. The way those depressed dogs had lain in their cages, not caring whether they stayed in this place or went to the next place—that was the way Rick seemed now. He seemed like he just didn’t want to move or think or feel or do anything at all. He seemed like he didn’t care if he was alive. She stood on top of him and looked straight down at his eyes, touching her long nose to his short one. He smelled strong today. She whacked his chest.
“Owww,” he said, but he smiled, so she whacked his chest again. “Ow, you crazy dog.” Then he sat up and hugged her hard around her neck. “You crazy dog. You crazy dog.”
Even Willie had never hugged her like this before, so desperately. It was as if she were saving his life or something, just by letting him hug her. She stood very still and let his hug sink in throughout her body. He rubbed his head on her head. She kept staying very still. He seemed to like that, and staying still helped her feel his hug better. She was disappointed when he let go of her.
They sat looking out the doorway together at the green, overgrown world below. When the chopper landed, she jumped out and waited while Rick threw down his sack, picked up Tristie, and climbed out. Rick thanked the pilot, who promptly took off, maybe to another battle and more dead and wounded.
Cracker! Page 14
