by Robert Roth
Lunch was a repeat of breakfast. When the men returned to the platoon hootch, many of them shoved the equipment off the cots and lay down. Payne tried unsuccessfully to get up a card game. No one seemed to want to move, their faces exhibiting a quiet belligerency. Sugar Bear overheard a few of the men remark that they weren’t going back to their working parties. He was now the right guide, and seeing that they did was his responsibility. To avoid having to make them, he left the hootch with plans to stay away from it for the rest of the day.
Childs was lying on the floor when he suddenly got up and walked over to Forsythe. They were talking with disturbed expressions on their faces when Hamilton joined them. Chalice became curious, and he walked over to find out what was going on. They led him outside before explaining. Childs had suddenly realized that no one in the platoon had any marijuana. They wouldn’t be able to get it in the Arizona, and today was their last chance to do so. “I thought you didn’t blow grass in the Arizona,” Chalice remarked.
Childs gave him a deprecating glance as he answered, “When it’s safe, we do.”
Forsythe explained, “Sometimes we set-in for a few days with H and S Company, or even the whole battalion.”
“We don’t smoke too often, and never at night,” Hamilton added.
“But it’s nice to have around,” Forsythe said, and this was the main reason they wanted it — to know it was there and to be able to look forward to using it if the chance came.
They stood for ten minutes while each man made suggestions only to have them rejected by the others. Finally, Hamilton remarked that it was too bad they didn’t have a patrol through the ville scheduled. “That’s it!” Forsythe shouted. He then explained that they would run their own patrol. At first the others merely laughed at him, but soon they were all making suggestions as to how it should be done.
“We’ll need a radio,” Childs pointed out.
“Payne’ll go,” Forsythe said.
Chalice asked Forsythe why he was so sure, and Hamilton cut in, “Because I’ll kick his ass if he doesn’t.”
It was then a matter of deciding who else would go. They needed a machine gun. Neither Pablo nor Sinclaire smoked marijuana; so it was decided that they would ask Skip and Flip, knowing that if one could be convinced, then the other would also go. Ski was an obvious addition to the patrol. Ramirez didn’t smoke much, but they knew he’d never let them think he was afraid. Roads was eliminated when no one agreed to ask him to go, or even to ask him if he smoked. In a few minutes the entire group stood outside the hootch suggesting other additions to the patrol. Ski went back inside hoping to get two more members. Both Hemrick and Valdez refused, but Appleton overheard Ski asking them and volunteered.
Within five minutes, they were lined up in back of the platoon hootch with all their equipment on. The road bisected the ville just a third of a mile from the base of the hill. After asking him four times if he thought he could find it, Hamilton assigned Chalice the point. Chalice then received some lyrical instructions from Forsythe: “Follow the yellow dirt road. Follow the yellow dirt road.” The other members of the patrol picked this up, and they were all singing it as Chalice headed down the slope. To avoid being spotted, he led them behind the bunkers that lined the hill. The men were all laughing and passing humorous orders back and forth when Chalice motioned for them to halt and get down. At first they thought he was kidding, but when they saw what he had spotted, the men all hit the ground as if under a mortar attack. They lay silent and motionless as Gunny Martin and Captain Trippitt walked by less than ten yards in front of them. After a few minutes, Chalice got up and started leading them towards the road. They remained silent for a while and seemed to be taking the exploit more seriously until Hamilton passed congratulations up to Chalice for the “fearless” job he was doing. Chalice in turn passed the word back that he would have had two confirms if his rifle hadn’t jammed. This returned the men to their previous joking mood, and they passed continuous warnings back and forth about booby traps and ambushes. As they approached the guard bunker at the base of the hill, the men became more serious. They exchanged nods with the sentry, at the same time placing rounds in the chambers of their rifles. Once off the hill, the men retained their serious mood. Knowing the relative safety of the road to the ville, they were mainly concerned about being spotted by a battalion officer. They moved slowly and with the care and precautions customary on a regular patrol.
The ville was alive with waves of people who streamed along both sides of the patrol giving the Marines barely enough room to move. Hamilton halted the column in front of a stand displaying black-marketed C-rations and other American goods. He arranged his men in a half circle around it for security and told Chalice to see if he could “score.” Chalice approached the counter, but waited until the other customers had left before asking the twelve-year-old boy behind it in a whisper if he knew where they could get some marijuana. The boy casually reached beneath the counter and produced a small package wrapped in newspapers. Chalice repeated the question to make sure he was being understood. The boy unwrapped the package exposing ten cellophane packets of ten joints each. Chalice quickly rewrapped them while asking the price. The boy answered fifteen dollars. Chalice gave him a disapproving look and said, “Numba ten, numba ten.”
The boy remained silent, so Chalice finally told him they’d pay ten dollars. It was now the boy’s turn to reply, “Numba ten.”
After a few minutes of haggling, Chalice got the price down to twelve dollars. Forsythe called over instructions to get three hundred. Chalice did this, at the same time asking Forsythe for some money. Forsythe made a quick collection and approached the counter. As he laid thirty dollars on top of it, Chalice said, “He wants thirty-six.”
Forsythe shook his head admonishingly at the boy who was busy counting the thirty dollars. The boy made no complaint, and Forsythe picked up the package and walked away. They were about to leave when Appleton decided he wanted to buy some liquor. While they waited for him, Forsythe walked over to a boy selling the straw, cone-shaped hats the peasants wore. He bought one, put it on, and walked back to the men. They kidded him as he modeled it for them. Forsythe remarked that he wished he had brought his camera, whereupon Ski produced one out of his pocket. Ski was just about to take a picture when Forsythe stopped him. Forsythe then took out a pack of cigarettes and called a few kids over. Soon he was surrounded by a host of small, outstretched hands. The kids, some of them five and six years old, lit their cigarettes as Forsythe arranged them in front of him. They stood with cigarettes dangling from their smiling faces as Ski focused the camera. Forsythe again stopped him and moved all the kids in front of a stand displaying some brightly colored yard goods. For a few more cigarettes, he got the old woman running it to join the picture. Her husband approached, and he too was bribed into taking part. As Ski snapped the picture, Forsythe stood smiling with his arms around the old couple. They were also smiling, as evidenced by their black-stained teeth. The little kids stood in front of them puffing on cigarettes and making faces into the camera.
Appleton was tasting his liquor when he noticed a peasant trying to drag a spooked water buffalo past the men. “Hey Ramirez, bet you can’t ride that baby.”
“Maaan, I’m from Texas. I can ride anything.”
Before the rest of the men had a chance to coax Ramirez on, he was already headed towards the water buffalo. The animal became even more spooked, shifting its feet nervously upon the dusty road. The peasant pleadingly motioned Ramirez away while being dragged around in a circle. Appleton held up a dollar bill; but the peasant was too busy to figure out what the Marines wanted. When Chalice explained to him, the peasant refused. Soon they were holding up five dollars. This seemingly extraordinary amount of money and his fear of angering the Marines caused him to relent.
Ramirez circled behind the water buffalo. He stared determinedly at its huge gray rump, glanced at the Marines around him, and took off running. Just as he left the ground, the
animal shifted its hindquarters into him and knocked Ramirez flat on his back. Hamilton lunged for the rope and was barely able to jerk the water buffalo away before it could gore him.
Ramirez jumped to his feet and insisted on trying again. Chalice held him by the arm, but Ramirez broke away and leaped on top of the water buffalo. The bewildered animal nervously shifted its feet without trying to throw Ramirez. He sat atop it with his helmet fallen down over his eyes and a big smile on his face. Ski quickly snapped a picture. Ramirez yelled for Forsythe to give him the peasant hat. Just as he held it out and Ramirez reached for it, the water buffalo jerked violently in a half circle and threw Ramirez to the ground.
The crowd of villagers converged upon him, some of them helping the peasant drag away the water buffalo. Ramirez lay unconscious in the middle of the road while Chalice nervously slapped his cheeks. In the meantime, Appleton managed to pour some liquor down Ramirez’s throat. He convulsed with coughs, and they turned him over on his stomach. Spittle and liquor drooled from his lips, and then he puked. Still coughing, Ramirez kept trying to speak and finally managed to say, “I rode him.” He repeated this a few more times between coughs as they helped him to his feet. His legs were wobbly, so Appleton had to hold him up. Their repeated inquiries as to whether he was all right were always met by the same dazed reply, “I rode that motherfucker.”
Hamilton headed the patrol back to the hill. Ramirez was still dazed, and Appleton had to support him. He continued to babble all the way to the hill. “I’m from Laredo. I can ride anything.”
“Sure, Mex,” Appleton assured him.
“ ‘Mex,’ bullshit! I’m a Chicano!”
“Sure, Ramirez, toughest Chicano in the Marine Corps.”
“I can ride anything.”
Before they even reached the platoon hootch, they found Tony 5 waiting for them. He had learned exactly what they were up to soon after they had gotten off the hill. Chalice cringed when he saw the furious look on Tony’s face, and even Forsythe became ill-at-ease. Tony rushed by Chalice and headed directly for Hamilton, who was now back-stepping with his hands held out in front of him to fend off Tony. Hamilton continued stepping backwards as Tony berated him through gritted teeth. After both of them had made a complete circle around the squad, Tony was finally able to control himself enough to stand in one place. His forearms held tensed in front of him, he almost hissed his words while spittle flew from his mouth. Hamilton assured him that they’d never pull anything like the patrol again, and also that they’d get Tony’s permission before smoking the marijuana.
When they reached the platoon hootch, they found both mail and replacements waiting for them. Of the five new men, Alpha received two. Each rifle squad was supposed to have a squad leader and three fire teams of four men each. Rarely did more than one of Second Platoon’s three rifle squads have enough men to make a third fire team. Instead of the standard thirteen men, Alpha now had eight. The two replacements didn’t even make up for the loss of Bolton, Harmon, and Tony 5. One of the replacements was a pudgy, blond-haired kid from Ohio named Fuller. The other was a slender black nicknamed Rabbit. It was now necessary for Hamilton to rearrange his fire teams. Until they received another replacement, he would have to act as both squad leader and a fire team leader. Payne and the radio would have to remain in his own fire team. Childs had more time in-country than any of the other men in the squad, and he should have been the other fire team leader; but Hamilton figured that Childs would be sent to the rear pretty soon because of his two Purple Hearts. This and the fact that Childs didn’t care anyway, caused Hamilton to make Forsythe the other fire team leader and keep Childs in his own fire team. Forsythe was left with Chalice, Roads, and one of the replacements. Hamilton could see that Rabbit would be quite a bit better than Fuller; but Payne objected to having a “nigger” in his fire team, so Hamilton took Fuller and gave Rabbit to Forsythe.
As soon as he assigned the two new men, Hamilton began opening a large package at his feet. The other members of his squad gathered around him. The first few layers were canned goods, and he gave most of them away. He then picked up a box of candy bars and a dreamy smile appeared on his face as he said, “Almond Joys, wow!” Forsythe reached into the package and pulled out a small box. This drew the same reaction from Hamilton. “Turtles, wow! . . . Let me have one.”
Forsythe drew the box away. “No, save them.” Their eyes met, and Hamilton knew exactly what Forsythe was thinking. There were numerous other types of candy in the box. Hamilton kept less than half of it for himself. He sat thinking about how it would taste that night, when he suddenly remembered his promise to Tony 5.
Hamilton sought him out and asked permission, but Tony again became furious. “Not a fucking chance!”
“But Tony, it may be our last time to smoke for two months.”
“Tough shit! You’re lucky I didn’t stuff that dope up your ass.”
“C’mon Tony, you’ll use just as much of it as I will.”
“Fuck if I will. I’m not smoking anymore.”
“Bullshit.”
“I’m tellin’ you, I’m laying off the stuff.”
“What’s the big deal, just because you’re platoon sergeant?”
“You’re damn right! I don’t want anybody gettin’ an extra hole in his ass ’cause of me.”
“But you’re just as good when you’re stoned.”
“I know that, but I don’t want to give some punk that can’t handle it an excuse to get wrecked.”
“Why the hell can’t I smoke?”
Tony hesitated before saying, “Because Payne is a shitbird and I don’t want him smoking, and because you got two new men.”
“So what? I’ll stick Payne and the new men with Roads tonight.”
“Quit buggin’ me!”
“C’mon, Tony?”
“Oh get the fuck out of here.”
“It’s all right then?” Hamilton asked before leaving. Tony made no reply.
Chalice, Hamilton, Childs, and Forsythe sat quietly on top of the bunker’s shooting counter, their legs dangling over the front edge. The only movement was the occasional passing of candy from hand to hand as they stared across the valley, waiting silently for the popping of the variously colored illumination flares. It was a common understanding among the men of Second Platoon that if all the men in a bunker had been smoking marijuana, no one would be left alone on watch until the effects had worn off. For this reason, they had smoked the first joint a few minutes after sunset, knowing that by nine o’clock it would be all right to leave one person on watch. Forsythe held the still unlit second joint in his hand as he scanned the area around the bunker. Something told him not to light it yet, and a few seconds later he heard approaching footsteps. Chalice was the first to speak the challenge. “Halt! Who is there?”
“Three fucking guesses,” replied the now familiar voice of Valdez.
Ski was with Valdez, and the first thing he asked for was one of the joints. Forsythe turned around, and with his body lying across the shooting counter and his head hanging inside the bunker, he lit the second joint. After taking a drag, he passed it to Ski.
Hamilton’s voice asked dreamily, “How come you guys aren’t on watch?” Ski was trying to pass the joint, but Valdez refused it saying, “No man, not tonight.”
“C’mon,” Ski insisted, “this is just what you need.”
Again Hamilton asked, “How come you guys aren’t on watch?”
“What’s wrong with him?” asked Forsythe, referring to Valdez.
“He’s got short-timer’s jitters,” Ski replied.
In a serious tone, Valdez said,“Wait till you get ’em. It won’t be so funny.”
“That right, man?” Forsythe asked.
“Hey, how come you guys aren’t on watch?”
“That’s right,” Valdez answered. “Sunday I mail the king of spades home.” His tone became more reflective as he added, “The ace goes home with me on the plane.”
�
�That’s the death card,” Childs interrupted. “Ask any Gook.”
Valdez’s anger was real as he replied, “Your death card if you don’t shut the fuck up.”
Forsythe tried to calm him. “Take it easy, man. . . . Maybe a few tokes ’ud do you some good.”
“Hey, how come you guys aren’t on watch?”
“No man, leave me alone.”
“Whata ya eatin’?” Ski asked Childs.
“Almond Joys.”
“Pass me one.”
“No.” Ski reached over and took what was left of the candy bar from Childs’s hand.
“Wait a minute! Listen!” Hamilton commanded. Everybody froze in silence as they listened intently for the sound Hamilton had heard.
“I don’t hear anything,” Forsythe whispered.
“Of course, I didn’t say anything yet.”
“Huh?”
“What?”
“I’m gonna . . . ask . . . a question.”
“Shit.”
“I don’t fucking believe it.”
“Okay Hamilton, ask your goddamn question.”
“How come you guys aren’t on watch?”
“Because we’re squad leaders,” Valdez answered.
“Oh, that’s right! You’re Bravo’s squad leader now, aren’t you, Ski? . . . Wait a minute! I’m a squad leader too.”
“Yeah, but you’re dumb,” Childs cut in.
Valdez said irritably, “We’ve got nine men in our squads. You got eight.”
“Oh . . . wait a minute! You shoulda had five-man watches.”
“But we didn’t,” Ski replied. “Nine months in the bush and this is the first time I didn’t have to stand lines, and probably the last too.”
While Ski had been talking, Chalice said, “Puff the Magic Dragon, I think he’s gonna work out.” They all looked in the direction Chalice had pointed. Two huge illumination flares designating corners of Puff’s grid square had already been dropped. They watched intently as the other two burst over the Arizona. Waiting for the machine gun tracer rounds, they were now able to enjoy the calming effect of the marijuana. Then it appeared, a bright red dotted line, seemingly created out of nothing but the blackness of the sky — manmade lightning. This same sight that he’d seen so many times before, hypnotized Chalice as always; and he said to himself, ‘So beautiful, like a thousand falling stars.’ Then the muffled staccato of the machine guns that created it reached his ears, seemingly as an afterthought of whoever it was that had been capable of such an act of beauty. They all continued to watch for those brief seconds when the red line of fire would cut the darkness in half.
