Sand in the Wind

by Robert Roth

  “That’s what it sounds like.”

  “No use calling in any fire then.”

  Kovacs was stretched out on the ground nonchalantly lighting a cigarette. He offered the pack to Kramer. “Just be a waste of time.”

  Kramer shook his head at the cigarettes. “That’s what I think. Let’s get out of here.” He turned to Ski who was sitting in front of them. “Tell ’em to move-out fast.”

  In a few seconds the entire platoon was traveling at a dead run, and the sniper fire started again. The trail curved around a small knoll at the top of the ridge. Just as Kramer reached the front edge of the knoll, a loud blast came from the opposite side and some light debris rained down on him.

  “What was that?” Kovacs yelled across the knoll.

  Valdez’s voice rang out, “Corpsman up. Booby trap.”

  Kramer nervously looked around. Seeing he was the only one standing, he began to kneel. The corpsman rushed by him, and he and Kovacs followed. By the time the three of them reached the head of the column, the other corpsman had already split Hicks’s trousers exposing his blood-covered legs. Stung by the sight, Kramer blamed himself. His distress was apparent, and as soon as the corpsman injected Hicks with morphine, he turned to Kramer and said, “It’s not as bad as it looks.” Both corpsmen started wrapping the legs in bandages.

  Kramer turned around to call to Milton only to find himself standing face to face with him. “Call in a medivac chopper and a casualty report.” He then turned to Valdez. “Anyone else hit?”

  “Chief got a scratch on his elbow.”

  Kramer looked towards Chief who was wrapping a bandage on his own forearm. “Any shrapnel inside?”

  “Don’t think so. Just a scratch.”

  “What type of booby trap was it?”

  “Sounded like a frag.”

  As Chief said this, the sniper fire began again. Kramer turned to Milton. “Call in an air strike on that motherfucker. Make sure you get our coordinates right.” He then said to Kovacs, “I really fell for it, didn’t I?”

  “Yeah, he sucked us in. You can’t outguess Charlie all the time.” Kovacs told Harmon to have the men clear an LZ. A few minutes later, Sugar Bear came running up to the corpsmen. “Can one of you guys come over to the LZ? Graham cut his leg pretty bad.”

  Kovacs asked disgustedly, “How’d the asshole do that?”

  “I can’t figure it out. He must of thought his leg was a tree stump and gave it a whack with his machete.”

  One of the corpsmen went to the LZ with Sugar Bear. Kramer told Milton to call in another casualty report before following them. Just as he got there, two broncos — propeller-driven planes with mounted machine guns — roared overhead.

  Graham sat with sweat dripping from his face as the corpsman wrapped his leg. Sugar Bear, Forsythe, and Chalice stood around shaking their heads at him. “How bad did Hicks get it?” Forsythe asked the corpsman.

  “Not too bad. There’s a lot of shrapnel in him, but nothing’s ripped away.”

  “I’d rather have shrapnel in me than rifle lead,” Chalice commented.

  “Why’s that?” Forsythe asked.

  “I’d rather have a lot of little scars than one big one.”

  The corpsman looked up. “Those holes might be little now, but by the time the doctors get that shrapnel out they’ll be plenty big.”

  “Well, at least he gets a vacation,” Chalice remarked.

  “Better than that, he’s got a sure ticket home.”

  A loud burst of machine gun fire from one of the broncos sent Chalice to his knees. While Forsythe looked down at him with amusement, he got back on his feet, saying meekly, “I’m glad they’re not shooting at us.”

  “You should be. Those guys are pretty good. They usually put on quite a show.”

  The broncos proved Forsythe right. They took turns diving in at treetop level and strafing the area — seeming to wait until the last second before banking to avoid crashing into the ridges. As Chalice and Forsythe stood watching, Tony 5 walked up behind them and asked, “You dudes don’t mind helping us clear this LZ, do you?” They joined the rest of the platoon in time to find the area already cleared and the medivac chopper circling.

  Graham and Hicks were loaded aboard seconds after the helicopter landed. As soon as it took off, Alpha Squad led the way back towards camp with Childs at the point. The last slope before the lowlands was quite steep. He had to drag his feet to slow himself. After losing what there was of a trail, he led the men through some thick, waist-high brush. A few yards into it, his ankle caught on a sharp object and he fell flat on his stomach. Childs sat up to rub his ankle and saw what he had tripped over — a two hundred pound bomb. “Hold up. I’ve got a dud two hundred pounder here.”

  Kramer made his way to the front of the column. “Where is it?”

  “Next to your boot.”

  Kramer backed away from the bomb while saying, “Nice work, Childs. I don’t see how you spotted it.”

  “I make it a point to keep my eyes open,” Childs answered, still rubbing his ankle.

  Kramer turned to Harmon. “Have somebody set a charge under it.”

  Harmon called out for a stick of C-4 and a blasting cap. When none was forthcoming, he asked again only to find out that nobody in his squad had brought any. “That’s just fucking outstanding. Instead of leaving it in camp, why don’t you guys mail it home. That way your mothers can send it to you when you need it.” Somebody in Bravo had brought some along, and it was passed up the column. Tony 5 stayed behind to light the fuse, while the rest of the platoon moved out at a dead run. This proved unnecessary because the charge never went off.

  Second Platoon got back to their perimeter an hour before dusk. Alpha had the ambush, and Harmon walked over to Kramer’s hootch to find out the site. Kovacs was sitting in front cleaning his rifle while Kramer looked over his map. “It’s a short one tonight,” Kramer said as he pointed to the map. “Just go straight across the road and set up on the last tree line before the river.”

  As Harmon studied the map, Kovacs said, “Don’t forget the Little People.” Lately they had been taking four Arvins on each ambush, but Charlie Squad had forgotten them the night before. Harmon nodded and left. On the way back to his squad, he looked up at the sky and saw a solid canopy of rain clouds.

  A few minutes before dusk, Harmon ordered Alpha to saddle up. The men moved around sluggishly as they put on their gear. Tony 5 called to Guns Squad, and Pablo and Sinclaire walked over with their machine gun. The men were tired. Aside from some grumbling, they remained silent as they lined up.

  Tony assigned Forsythe the point. Four Arvins were waiting for them at the far edge of the perimeter. Forsythe motioned them into the column. He found the tree line where they were supposed to set in, but it offered little cover and poor fields of fire. Harmon told him to head up the river a little farther. They moved another fifty yards without finding a better location. The front of the column peeled back around and stopped at the original spot. Forsythe and Harmon walked down the river a few yards by themselves. The men waited restlessly, tired and anxious to set in.

  A light drizzle started. Chalice moved to the side to see what was going on. Most of the men in the column were kneeling. Barely enough moonlight glowed through the clouds to outline Pablo’s upright silhouette. He stood in profile — motionless with his machine gun on his shoulder. The rest of the men began getting to their feet. Finding nothing better, Harmon had decided to set in where they were. He divided the squad into two positions, giving a third position to the Arvins.

  Chalice sat down and took out his mosquito repellent. Payne smelled it and stuck out his palm indicating that he wanted some. The sound of the rain as it pattered on the brush became louder, but over it Chalice could hear the Arvins talking in loud whispers. The thought of them giving away the ambush site made him nervous. Someone walking in a hunched position came towards him. “Chalice,” Harmon’s voice whispered.

  “Over here.
”

  “The Gooks are making too much noise. You better set-in with them and keep them quiet.”

  Chalice moved as quietly as possible to the Arvin position. He explained to four sets of smiling teeth that he was going to stand watch with them. Just as he got them quieted, one lit up a cigarette while making a crude effort to cup the match. Chalice pointed towards him. “Numba ten.” The Arvin sitting next to Chalice touched the other’s arm and got him to put out the cigarette.

  They gave Chalice the last watch and he lay back to get some sleep. The rain had just stopped, but at that moment it started again, harder than before. Placing his soft cover over his face, he tried to fall asleep. Though he was completely exhausted from the day’s march, he lay shivering for more than an hour, returning many times from the verge of sleep as rain beat down upon him. His neck sank into the mud and he finally sat up in disgust. Wringing out his hat, he decided to move from the puddle he was lying in. He felt around with his hands and found a small clump of grass to lay his head on. The rest of his body remained in a puddle a few inches deep. The grass tickled the back of his neck while chills ran through his limbs. Changing position every few minutes, he was able to get a little sleep; but the next morning he was more tired than he had been the night before. It was still raining when he got back to his hootch. After taking his clothes off and laying them on top, he crawled in and wrapped himself in his poncho liner. Within minutes he dropped off into a deep sleep.

  “Let go!” Chalice said half asleep.

  “Get up.”

  “Cut it out.”

  “C’mon, we’ve got a patrol.”

  Chalice sat up and saw Tony 5 pulling on his ankle. “Okay. . . . Wait a minute! We had the ambush last night. Bravo’s got the patrol today.”

  “We’ve got one too,” Tony said.

  “What time is it?”

  “Eleven.”

  “How come we got a patrol?”

  “We’ve got to go up and blow that two hundred pounder.”

  “We’ve got to go back up there?”

  “You wouldn’t want Charlie to find it, would you? He could make bucoo booby traps out of that baby.”

  Chalice stood up. Finding himself completely naked, he took his shirt from the top of the hootch. ‘At least it’s dry. . . . Where the fuck are my pants?’ They were lying in the mud beside his hootch. He picked them up with two fingers. ‘Nothing like putting on a slimy pair of pants.’ Buttoning them, he noticed a spot of pus on his forearm.

  Forsythe came strolling over with a big grin on his face. “Good morning.”

  “Shut the fuck up.”

  Forsythe took a step backwards. “Sorry, sir. What’s your problem?”

  “If there’s one thing I can’t stand to see when I get up in the morning, it’s a smiling face.”

  “Oh, excuse me. Next time you get up I’ll kick you in the balls first thing.”

  “Thanks. Anything’ll be an improvement.” Chalice held out his forearm. “What do you think this is?”

  “Looks like the forearm of a hairy fourteen-year-old girl to me.”

  “The pus, stupid.”

  Forsythe grabbed Chalice’s forearm and studied it intently. “Very interesting.” Letting go, he said, “It’s nothing, just a Gook sore.”

  “It’ll go way in a few days?”

  “No, usually takes a month or two.”

  “Are you serious, a little thing like that?”

  “It won’t be so little in a few weeks. You’ll get enough pus out of that to fill your helmet.”

  “Why would I want a helmet full of pus?”

  “Why are you in Nam? Why’d you join the Marine Corps?”

  “Only my psychiatrist knows for sure. You do guarantee it’ll disappear in a few short months? I’d sure hate to have my arm fall off.”

  “It will, everything but the scar.”

  “The scar!”

  “Yeah, look at these.” Forsythe showed Chalice a small purple scar on his wrist. He then rolled up his pants legs, exposing two large purple blotches on his knees. “This country’s got everything — eight out of ten of the original Plagues.”

  “Isn’t there any way I can keep it from scarring?”

  “Sure; bathe three times a day, eat a balanced diet, and get plenty of sleep.”

  “Oh, is that all.”

  “Don’t sweat it. Everybody gets them. You’ll get plenty more before you leave here.”

  “That’s great.”

  Harmon walked by, turning his head to say, “Hurry up and get your gear on so we can get this over with.”

  Once outside the perimeter, the men forgot their irritation at having to go on the patrol. The sky was overcast and the pace slow. They followed the tree line that ran parallel to the road. It was a little less than two kilometers long and ended in a circle of high ground containing a small ville. By following the trails leading away from the ville, they could reach the foothills without crossing more than a kilometer of rice paddies. As they approached the village, Childs talked Harmon into holding up the column so he could get some grapefruit off a tree. The Vietnamese usually picked the fruit as soon as it was ripe, and finding any ready to eat was a rare occurrence. This time they were lucky. Childs threw down eight. Only three were ripe, and these were passed around and quickly devoured. The men moved out with buoyed spirits and a sense of accomplishment. The incident, though seemingly insignificant, endowed the rest of the patrol with a mood of cheerfulness. This mood prevailed even after the mad rush back down the slope after setting a new charge that also failed to explode. Harmon surmised that a batch of defective blasting caps was the problem, so he headed the squad back to the perimeter instead of returning to the bomb. The men knew they would have to come back the next day, but it would be their turn for a patrol anyway. On the way back to the perimeter, even the tedious, often-performed ritual of picking the leeches off their legs was given lighthearted significance by a pool of one dollar per man to be divided between the two men with the most and largest leeches. Ski won half of it with eight, and Payne won the other with a five-inch specimen.

  The next day a small convoy brought supplies and mail. On one of the envelopes, Kramer recognized the nearly illegible handwriting of his brother. The original address was wrong, and the correct one was written over the mark of a large, red stamp. He hurriedly ripped it open and started reading.

  Hi Dave,

  You really got yourself into it this time, didn’t you? I hope everything is okay so far. Write and tell me what it’s like.

  My grades kind of hurt last semester. In every course that I was on the borderline, I got the lower grade. Maybe I could have done better, but engineering would have been a mistake anyway. It’s definitely out now. My classes are crip this time. I’ve been studying hard since the beginning of the semester (two whole weeks), and if I keep it up I’ll come out all right.

  Write Mom and Dad. The last time I was home Mom kept running out to the mail box all morning. It’s a major catastrophe anytime the mailman comes without a letter from you.

  I hope you’ll have some good ideas about how to make a lot of money when you get out. I’m not looking forward to working for a living.

  I’m rooming with four other guys. We’ve moved into this real cool house. This should be a good semester for girls. The football team is supposed to be lousy this year, but I have a feeling they’re going to be all right. Send me some cool souvenirs right away; some rings, beads, or anything cool.

  Don’t do anything stupid. If you’re at some place you can get shot, try and get out of there. Be careful. You know what it would do to Mom and Dad if anything happened to you.

  Danny

  P.S. — Make sure you write Mom and Dad right away. Don’t forget about the souvenirs.

  Although the letter was from his brother, Kramer’s thoughts turned to his parents. He withdrew the stationery from the bottom of his pack and set the pad on his lap. Not knowing the date, he looked around for somebo
dy to ask. Nobody was in less than shouting distance, so he guessed at it. After writing “Dear Mom and Dad,” his pen moved down the page, but he couldn’t think of anything to write. He finally decided to look at their letter for ideas. His eyes caught the section about souvenirs he had sent from Okinawa — a woven silk calendar and a tiny bean with an ivory elephant on top and a hundred minute ones inside. Surprised that his mother hadn’t made a fuss over the elephants, he decided to ask about them. He thought of the trees he had planted just before he’d left home, deciding to ask how they were growing. He remembered to tell his parents not to worry about his brother. After thinking for a few minutes, he began to write about Vietnam. He tried to describe the simple beauty of the country, not mentioning the marks now upon it. As he put his thoughts down, his mind reflected upon a troubling question. After a moment’s hesitation, he ended the letter with the words, “Be home soon. Love, David.”

  Kramer looked up to see Alpha coming in off its patrol. The men dropped their equipment and immediately headed for the right guide’s hootch where they had seen the new supplies stacked. Preston was waiting for them with their mail in his hand. He tried to get them to divide the supplies first, but Harmon took the mail from him and started calling out the names while flipping each letter in the air without looking up. He then divided up the supplies where they were, and left it to the men to carry them back on their own.

  As usually happened when they received mail, each man wandered off alone to read his letter. In a few minutes they would gather into groups, with one member reading parts of his letter to the others. Chalice sat in front of his hootch listening to a small transistor radio when Hamilton called him over, “Here’s some pictures of my girl. I took them just before I left home. Man, I’m so glad they came out. She looks so cool, doesn’t she?”

  As Chalice thumbed through them, he noticed Hamilton’s grinning face looking up at him waiting for an answer. He unconsciously hesitated for a few seconds, then glanced at the pictures again. To him, Hamilton’s girl appeared far less than “cool.” Suddenly realizing an honest opinion was not what the situation required, he nodded his head and said, “Yeah, yeah, real nice.” Surprised at how unconvincing his answer had sounded, he handed back the pictures searching Hamilton’s face for any sign of displeasure. Hamilton, still grinning like a little kid, took the photographs and thumbed through them again.