Sand in the Wind

by Robert Roth

  Chalice walked over to a crevice in the rocks. He couldn’t see in, and was about to put his hand inside when he thought better of the idea. Forsythe came over and pointed the flashlight into the crevice. They could see two aluminum cylinders about four feet high and ten inches in diameter. “What the hell are those?” Chalice asked.

  “Illumination tubes. They’re from the big flares they drop by plane. Here, hold the light while I get them out.” Forsythe removed the first tube. It was full of rice. The second tube contained clothing, some documents, and three Chinese-type grenades. Forsythe handed one to Chalice while referring to it as a “chicom.” It was a C-ration can stuffed with explosives. A hollow wooden handle protruded from its bottom, and a piece of string with a bamboo ring on the end hung from within the handle. The other end of the string was attached to a friction-type detonating fuse within the grenade. Forsythe placed the ring over his forefinger and showed Chalice how the pin pulled out automatically as the grenade was thrown. He then said, “Don’t ever underestimate Charlie. He can kill you with your own garbage.”

  They looked around for a few more minutes before dragging the tubes out of the cave. Kramer had Forsythe scatter the rice on the ground, and two of the men began pissing on it. They found some important looking documents and a diary in the second tube. Kramer looked them over and said, “Well, Forsythe, you found them so you get to carry them. Put them in a sandbag.”

  A quick series of rifle shots echoed from the ridge above. Everyone dived to the ground, Forsythe and Chalice behind the same rock. Forsythe nonchalantly tossed the AK-47 round in his hand while mumbling, “These things look like they can go right through you.” He then glanced above the rock to see if he could spot anything. “Bet he got away.”

  “How do you know he wasn’t the one doing the shooting?”

  “Those were M-16’s. You can tell by the sound. A 16 goes bang. An SKS or an AK goes crack, like a whip. You’ll be able to tell after a while.” Milton, the platoon radio man, had taken cover a few yards away from Kramer. He called over to him, “They got a confirmed, no rifle or chicoms. They want us to move-out.”

  “Looks like he didn’t,” Forsythe mumbled to Chalice.

  Kramer ordered his men to catch up with Third Platoon. For twenty minutes he kept them at a rapid pace, but still they failed to make contact. Overgrown as the trail was, they might have easily missed a fork.

  Kramer scanned the brush apprehensively, knowing that if they approached Third Platoon from any place but its rear, there might be some shooting.

  Milton, who was walking behind him with the radio, tapped Kramer on the shoulder. “Alpha found something they want to check out.”

  The column stopped and Kramer looked back at Milton. “Let’s see what they’ve got.”

  As Kramer approached, Tony 5 walked back towards him. He pointed to some boulders fifteen yards off the trail. “There’s a wire hanging down from one of those rocks.”

  Kramer had to squint his eyes for a few seconds before finally being able to see it. “We’ve got to catch up with Third Platoon. They probably checked it out anyway. . . . Well, okay, but hurry up.” He turned to Milton. “Call the captain and tell him what we’re doing. Pass the word back to Valdez that I want Charlie Squad to stay where they are as rear security, and tell Sugar Bear to set Bravo up as security in front of us.”

  Tony 5 and Hamilton made their way up to the caves. Tony carefully followed the wire into a crevice and called back down to Kramer, “I think we’ve got something here. This wire’s attached to some flashlight batteries, probably a booby trap.”

  Milton received a reply from Trippitt. “The Skipper says okay, but to hurry up.”

  Kramer called to Tony, “Check it out good, but don’t waste any time.” As Kramer approached, he heard Tony say, “Get a load of this baby.” Tony passed a large, green object out to Hamilton.

  Hamilton handed it to Kramer. “It’s a B-40 rocket. They can really do a job on you. They’re Red Chinese, see the writing.”

  Kramer gently ran his hands over it. Tony handed out three more rockets, two mortars, and a box of mortar fuses. Kramer looked over the find, thinking, ‘Good thing we found ’em. Wouldn’t want to dodge this shit.’ He didn’t want his men carrying it either, so he told Harmon to blow it up. Harmon piled the mortars and rockets on a stick of C-4. As soon as he lit the fuse, the platoon moved out at a dead run. The pace had gradually slowed to a fast walk by the time they heard the explosion.

  An hour passed and they still hadn’t caught up with Third Platoon. The trail led them off the top of a ridge and into a small valley running parallel to it. Trippitt kept on calling up over the radio to see if they’d made contact, so Kramer constantly ordered the point to increase the pace. This had little effect in that they were already moving as fast as possible.

  The brush closed in over their heads providing some shade, but also cutting off what little breeze there was. Chalice found it hard to believe he could be any hotter without the shade. His own rifle thwarted him, tried to prevent his movement, by continually tangling itself in the brush. He felt as if he were swallowing the heavy, humid air instead of breathing it, and his saliva seemed to have turned to paste. From the position of the sun as it burned through the brush, he estimated it was about nine o’clock. But that was impossible! Could there be that many hours left in this day?

  Every mile or so the trail led into some steep-faced rocks, making it necessary for the column to halt while the men helped each other scale them. These pauses were short and didn’t give Chalice enough time to sit down, but he was still grateful to be able to take an unhurried drink. At ten o’clock he finished his fourth canteen and decided to go easy on the last one, hoping they would cross a stream soon so he could refill the others. Forty minutes later he drank the last of his water without knowing the point man had halted the column to fill his own canteens.

  It was shortly after twelve o’clock when Kramer passed the word for the platoon to take a half hour to eat. A few of the men ate cans of fruit, but most of them were too hot and tired. Even if they had been hungry, the bother of opening the cans would have dissuaded them. Some sat up hoping for a breeze they knew had no chance of reaching them. The others lay back on the warm, slimy ground.

  As they started to move out again, Kramer got word over the radio that Third Platoon had taken the high branch of a fork in the trail. He was told to take the lower branch. It led them through the bottom of a gulley. At first, movement along it was easier because there were less large rocks blocking the way. After a few kilometers, they came upon sections where the trail was completely overgrown and they had to push their way through the often thorny brush. Emerging from these thickets, their arms would be covered with scratches and large blotches of blood.

  Chalice struggled to keep pace. The thick underbrush constantly entangled his feet, keeping him off balance and often tripping him. He frequently landed on the sharp edges of his ammo can or on his rifle. If not for the dulling effect of his fatigue, the pain would have been intense. After an hour of unsuccessfully trying to place his feet to avoid falling down, he ignored the underbrush completely and dragged on as if he had spent his whole life falling on his face and getting up again every thirty yards.

  The platoon crossed another small stream, and Kramer had the pace slowed so everybody could fill their canteens. As they did so, the men splashed the cool water on their faces and backs. There was no trail on the opposite bank and the underbrush was thicker than any they had previously encountered. Chalice felt as if it was willfully trying to stop him and only him. His mouth became clammy, and he removed one of his canteens from its pouch as he marched. The sensation of the cool water running down his throat brought some relief; but even before he put the canteen away, his mouth was clammy again.

  As the trail started a steep downward grade, the brush closed in from above leaving less than three feet of vertical clearance. The men experimented with many different positions — plowing
through the brush upright with their hands in front of their faces; bending double at the waist; walking sideways. Soon the trail became slippery causing them to fall to sitting positions on the hard, slimy mud. They would slide downhill a few yards before getting up and falling again a few feet farther down the trail. Only the comfort of repetition made this process bearable. They completely forgot about the pain they were enduring except when glances at their scratched, blood-covered arms reminded them.

  When the trail finally leveled off, they found themselves in a field of elephant grass reaching a few feet over their heads. The farther back each man was, the better the trail he had to follow. The point man had the hardest time, but it was still preferable to the heavy brush they had just come through. Chalice was in the center of the column and found the elephant grass a welcome relief. Occasionally a sharp, quick pain in his hands would cause his whole body to flinch. In his fatigue he ignored this until, more from curiosity than pain, he looked down at his hands. They were crisscrossed with barely bleeding cuts similar to those made by a razor blade. His forearms, which had been covered with blood a few minutes earlier, were now cleansed by his own sweat. A blade of elephant grass slid against the web of two fingers, and he again felt the sharp pain. Drawing his hand towards his face, he noticed a new, clean cut. His mouth broke into a tired smile of recognition.

  The point eventually located a well-defined trail. They followed it for over an hour before stopping at a small stream to fill their canteens. Just as they started moving again, the hot, stagnant air around them exploded with numerous bursts of rifle fire. Chalice heard a few of the men say “16’s” or “ours,” but he hadn’t been scared or even excited by the shots anyway. He was too exhausted for either emotion. The firing continued. It seemed to be coming from above and ahead of them in the direction where Third Platoon was likely to be.

  The pace of the column accelerated to a dead run. After only a few minutes, the front elements reached a high clearing and joined up with Third Platoon. As the rifle fire continued, the call “Ammo up” echoed down the column. Chalice just stood there trying to catch his breath until Forsythe shoved him and he realized what he was supposed to do. He ran clumsily down the trail, passing and bumping into members of his platoon. Spotting the machine gun, he dashed towards it only to fall on his face ten yards short. As he struggled to get back to his feet, Pablo said in a calm voice, “Take it easy, Professor.”

  The shooting had stopped. Chalice looked up and saw a few of the men laughing. He felt like an idiot until he noticed that the smiles were friendly. Realizing the humor of the situation, he also began to laugh. Sinclaire walked over and took the ammo can. Appleton helped him to his feet while saying, “You don’t have to kill yourself for anybody, Prof.” They were in a rocky clearing above a thirty foot cliff. As Chalice stood on the edge of it, a welcome breeze rushed against his face, the first one he could remember that day. He scanned the clearing, seeing nothing. Kramer called the rest of the platoon up and set them in positions along the edge of the cliff. Pablo and Sinclaire had their machine gun set up in Chalice’s position, and he asked them what had happened.

  “We’re on top of a big cave.” Pablo took a reed from his mouth and pointed down to the clearing with it. “About ten Gooks took off running just as Third Platoon got here.”

  “Did they get any?”

  “They think they wounded a few, but no confirms. They’re sweeping down there now to look for blood trails.”

  Milton called Kramer to the radio. The captain was with First and Fourth Platoons. They had already started back down the mountains when they heard the shots, and they wanted to know what had happened. Trippitt told Kramer to head back as soon as possible. Third Platoon hadn’t found anything on its sweep, and had already started moving down towards the lowlands. Kramer passed the word for Second Platoon to do the same with Alpha at the point.

  When Childs had finally broken a path to the plateau below, he found himself standing directly in front of a huge cave. He and Forsythe talked Tony 5 into asking Kramer if they could check it out. Hesitant at first, Kramer finally agreed. Childs, Forsythe, and Hamilton went in while the rest of the platoon sat scattered in front of the entrance.

  Chalice leaned back against a rock. He had become dizzy on the march down from the ledge, and now welcomed the rest. Hearing excited voices coming from inside the cave, he was too tired to go and see what was happening. The mouth of the cave was about twelve feet high by six feet wide. The ceiling heightened to almost twenty feet at its rear. There were twelve hammocks, some of them hanging in tiers of two and three. Tony 5 entered to hurry his men, and came back out with an armload of loot — documents, clothing (including two brassieres), cans of food, AK-47 rounds, a straight razor, and over twenty pounds of rice. Kramer had a fire built in front of the cave, and anything lacking intelligence value was burned. More men entered the cave while others carried out armloads of loot.

  Valdez shouted to the men inside, “For God’s sake, let’s get out of here before dark.” Other men voiced agreement, and Kramer checked his watch. He called to the men in the cave, but finally had to go in himself to get Forsythe and Childs.

  Bravo led off with Bolton at the point. When Chalice saw this, he mumbled, “Look at the legs on that freak. He’s six feet at the waist.”

  The pace was slow at first, but the more experienced members of the platoon were worried about getting caught in the mountains after dark and they frequently shouted for it to be increased. Bolton heeded them. While he was able to lope along with ease, most of the other members of the platoon were moving at full speed. They followed a dry stream bed. The brush around it was light and only knee deep. This would have made movement easy but for the pace. The stream bed narrowed to a sharp V at its bottom, making the footing precarious. The sometimes steep downward grade added to the difficulty.

  Chalice began to get dizzy. The weight of the ammo can hanging to one side made matters worse. He struggled to keep pace with the man in front of him and also to retain his balance. All along the column, men were continually falling, Chalice more often than anybody else. He became progressively dizzier after each fall. Skip warned him to keep up a number of times before finally passing him. As a matter of pride, Chalice tried to regain his position. After a few minutes he gave up and concentrated merely on keeping pace. When he fell again, Flip passed him saying, “I gotta stay with my gunner.” As Chalice made it to his feet, Forsythe rushed by and picked up his ammo can without saying anything. This further hurt his pride, but the relief he felt from not having eighteen pounds of metal banging into his side kept him from asking for it back. He staggered forward, just as dizzy as before but better able to keep up.

  The frenzied pace continued until they reached the valley floor. An hour of sunlight remained, hardly enough time to get back to camp before dark. Kramer passed the word to break into two columns. He also told the point to slow the pace. Chalice dreaded walking through the paddies, but he noticed that he wasn’t as dizzy as he had been in the mountains. He was further relieved when he saw that the other members of the platoon looked as tired as he felt.

  Instead of cutting across the paddies at an angle and moving straight towards camp, Kramer took advantage of some scattered high ground and headed his men directly for the road. When they hit it, Chalice found himself loping along with little effort while those around him were dragging their feet. A feeling of confidence ran through him. Then he noticed Forsythe carrying his ammo can. Catching up with him, he said, “Sorry, man. Let me take the ammo back.”

  Forsythe handed it to him. “Don’t sweat it. You’ll get used to this shit.” They reached their perimeter a half hour after dark. As they passed by the smiling Arvins, numerous sneering comments were made: “Have a nice day, Gook?” “Their fucking country, and we do all the dirty work.” “Bet you motherfuckers were worried we weren’t coming back.”

  Chalice slipped off his magazine pouch and flak jacket. With a forgotten sense o
f freedom, he stretched out on the ground and took a long drink from one of his canteens, then mumbled, “Let’s see; started with five, filled five the first time, four the second, got one left. Holy shit! Thirteen.” Chalice got up to urinate but found he didn’t need to. He called to Forsythe, “Thirteen canteens of water today, and I can’t even take a piss. . . . That’s a lot of sweat.”

  As Kramer lay in his hootch, he wondered if he would have quit if he hadn’t been the lieutenant. He then wondered what kept his men from quitting, and finally said to Kovacs, “They’re a humping bunch of motherfuckers.”

  “Yeah, they don’t know how to quit.”

  Milton walked over to them with a piece of paper in his hand. “Here’s the ambush position. I just got it over the radio.”

  “The ambush!” Kramer sat up and took out his map. He figured the coordinates, then looked at Kovacs. “It’s only a klick and a half out.”

  “Yeah, the Skipper’s really got a heart.”

  “Who has the ambush tonight?”

  “Bravo.”

  “Send someone to get Sugar Bear. . . . No, fuck it! There won’t be any ambush tonight. Trippitt can go on his own ambush if he wants to.” Kramer flipped the map away and lay back down.

  The next morning Chalice awoke to find his left arm a little better. The weight of the ammo can had caused its strap to dig into his shoulder during the march. Standing watch that night, he couldn’t lift his arm more than a few inches away from his body. He now sat in front of his hootch massaging it as Forsythe crawled out. “What was all that yelling about?”

  “They caught Payne cheating at cards again. Why the hell do they keep playing with him if he cheats all the time?”

  “They all cheat. That’s why I never play. It’s just that Payne doesn’t cheat as well as the rest of them.”