Sand in the Wind

by Robert Roth

  Forsythe heard someone’s footsteps approaching the rear of the bunker, and all he could think of was ‘Go away. Go away.’ Now the others heard them also, but each man refused to give the challenge. They stared in the direction of Puff, not wanting to break the spell. Only when the footsteps had reached the door did Forsythe speak — not the mandatory “Halt! Who is there?” but instead a resentful “Who’s that?”

  “Commander of the Guard,” came a voice from outside the bunker.

  ‘So what?’ thought Childs.

  The commander of the guard waited outside for the command, “Advance and be recognized!” When he realized it wasn’t coming, he entered anyway.

  Chalice sat thinking, ‘Uh oh, now we’ve had it.’

  As the commander of the guard entered the bunker, a green flare burst in the air above it. He could now make out the distinct outlines of four men sitting upon the shooting counter. They heard him walking around behind them, yet no one took his eyes off the green flare.

  “Who’s on watch here?” asked the fatherly voice.

  Hamilton realized that it was his responsibility to reply, and while thinking, ‘What a bummer,’ he answered, “We all are.”

  The commander of the guard continued to walk behind them. Without saying anything, he placed his hand on the shoulders of each of the four men. Still with their backs to him, they wondered what he was doing. As if in reply to their thoughts, he asked casually, “Where are your flak jackets, men?”

  Again there was a pause before Hamilton answered, “We don’t put them on until we go on watch.”

  “I thought you said you were all on watch.”

  “I mean when we divide up the watch at nine o’clock.”

  The voice said calmly, “You know it’s battalion policy for everyone on watch to wear a flak jacket and helmet.” He received no reply, nor did anyone attempt to put on his flak jacket. After a long pause, he again spoke in a fatherly tone as he walked up and down behind them. “I know you men have seen quite a bit of action, but that’s no excuse for getting careless. Charlie can’t keep this up much longer. It looks like we’ve got this war just about won. . . . How would one of you like to be known as the last man to be killed in Vietnam?” Again no one answered him. “You men make some pretty fine targets up there.” None of them made any effort to climb down off the shooting counter. He paced back and forth behind them a few more times before leaving the bunker without saying another word.

  The men sighed in unison, and Forsythe spoke the thought they’d all been thinking. “I thought he’d never leave.”

  Chalice said, “God, what if it had been Trippitt?”

  Hamilton answered immediately. “We would have gotten our asses kicked, court-martialed, or both.”

  “He wasn’t a bad guy,” Chalice commented.

  Childs gave a sarcastic grunt, then said, “A lifer’s a lifer. The fatherly type can get you killed just as dead as any other type.”

  “Yeah,” Ski agreed, “but if I had to take my choice, I’d take the fatherly type.”

  “Do you think he knew we were Stoned?” Chalice asked.

  “Who cares?” Childs replied.

  Forsythe said, “I doubt it. If he knew what it was like, he’d a been stoned himself.”

  “They all know we blow grass,” Childs cut in. “What do they expect. We never get any time off. We’d go nuts if we didn’t.”

  “What about the Second World War?” Valdez asked.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “They didn’t get any days off and they didn’t smoke marijuana.”

  “Sure they didn’t,” Hamilton replied, “but they sure as hell got drunk a lot.”

  “Not when they were standing bunker watch,” Valdez insisted.

  “That’s different,” Forsythe said. “You’re a hell of a lot better off on grass, sometimes even more alert than when you’re straight. Besides, they were always getting shipped to the rear. Our rear is Okinawa.”

  “There it is,” Ski agreed.

  The men soon lost what little desire they had to talk, and their attention shifted back to the flares exploding in front of them. At nine o’clock, the effects of the marijuana had practically worn off, and Chalice was left alone to begin his watch. Hamilton, Forsythe, and Childs spread out their poncho liners on a little knoll in back of the bunker. Ski and Valdez had followed them, and they were all lying down gazing at the sky when Valdez broke the silence by saying, “If anything happens to me, I want one of you to write to my family.” They all tried to laugh off this remark, but Valdez spoke again as if he hadn’t heard them. “I want you to tell my brother to stay home and take care of my parents, not to join the Crotch.”

  “How come you’re talking like that?” Hamilton asked.

  Valdez hesitated before answering slowly and with conviction, “I’m not coming back from the Arizona. Ain’t no way I can make it.”

  They no longer tried to laugh off what Valdez was saying. They knew that they had to convince him otherwise, and their reason for attempting to do so was spoken by Forsythe. “C’mon man, you know what the story is: If you think you’re gonna get it, you will.”

  “There it is.”

  “I know, I know, but I just can’t help it. . . . I know.”

  No one said anything for a few seconds, then Childs spoke. “For Christ’s sake, Valdez, you’ve made it for twelve and a half months. Next Sunday you’ll send home the king of spades. Five days later you’ll take the ace home with you. You said so yourself.”

  “That’s the death card. You said so.”

  “Oh come off it. I was just riding you.”

  “The Gooks think so too, and they oughta know about death.”

  “Jesus Christ! Will you cut it out! What the hell makes you think you won’t make it.”

  Valdez hesitated before answering, “I’ve come too close too many times.”

  Now Hamilton spoke. “We all have. You know that.”

  “That’s not all I know.”

  “All right,” Childs moaned, “where’d you get your information?”

  “In the hospital. . . . When I woke up in the hospital I didn’t know if I was dead or alive, and I didn’t give a shit. . . . I knew if they sent me back to the Arizona, I’d had it.”

  “You hardly got hit,” Hamilton protested, “a few pieces of shrapnel, that’s all.”

  “It don’t matter. I knew if they ever sent me back there I’d be finished. . . . You don’t know what it was like coming back to An Hoa. I thought you guys were still in the Arizona. All the time since then, I’ve been sending home the cards, knowing that my only chance to go home was if the cards ran out before we got sent back there. . . . So close,” he added softly, then gave a slight laugh before saying, “I came so close.”

  Forsythe repeated what he had said before, knowing the truth in it. “Listen Valdez, you can’t think that way. If you do, you’ve had it.”

  “I can’t help it. I just can’t help it.”

  Childs said, “Well, don’t go back.”

  At first Valdez ignored Childs’s suggestion. In all the time he had been worrying about the Arizona, Valdez had never considered doing something to keep himself from returning. Still not taking the suggestion completely seriously, he asked, “How do you suppose I could manage that?”

  “Ask Kramer,” Hamilton suggested.

  Valdez shook his head. “I can’t ask him. Maybe if Lieutenant S was still—”

  “It wouldn’t make any difference,” Childs cut in. “Trippitt’s the one that has to decide, and he wouldn’t let you leave ten seconds early. . . . Why don’t you tell them you’re sick?”

  “I don’t wanna do that. Besides, it ’ud look kinda funny going over to sick bay tomorrow morning.”

  “Who the fuck cares what it looks like?” Childs asked.

  “I do!”

  “It’s better than looking dead.”

  Forsythe became irritated. “Lay off him, Childs. . . . Listen Val
dez, what if you had something real obvious like a broken leg?”

  “A broken leg? What —”

  “It doesn’t have to be your leg, maybe just your finger.” Valdez didn’t reply. “Well, how ’bout it?”

  “Quit asking me dumb questions. How am I gonna get a broken finger?” Up to this point, Valdez actually had no idea what Forsythe was getting at; but' he suddenly realized, and even in the darkness Childs and Forsythe could see the whites of Valdez’s eyes as they shifted nervously between them. Valdez could not make himself answer the question, so Childs said harshly, “If you’re so scared, let me do a job on you.”

  The word “scared” was a mistake. “I can’t, man. It wouldn’t be right.”

  “Sure it would,” Childs insisted. “You owe it to yourself.”

  “There it is,” Ski agreed.

  Valdez remained silent, so Forsythe finally said, “They’re right. You owe it to yourself. Anyway you can get out of it, do it.”

  “You mean I wouldn’t be letting you guys down?”

  “Fuck no!”

  “Hell no!”

  “Are you fucking serious?”

  “But I’m a squad leader.”

  Childs was getting impatient. “Who the hell needs you?”

  “What do you mean by that?” Valdez asked angrily.

  Forsythe tried to calm him. “Take it easy, man. You’d be going home in less than two weeks anyway.”

  Valdez hesitated before saying with nervous excitement, “Okay, okay, hurry up.”

  Childs immediately began to scramble around on the ground. “What are you doing?” Forsythe asked.

  “Looking for something to use.”

  “Use my rifle butt.”

  “No, I need something harder.”

  “Harder!” Valdez exclaimed. “What’s he trying to —”

  “Just take it easy,” Forsythe insisted.

  “Harder?” Valdez repeated.

  Forsythe motioned to the engineers’ hootch in back of them. “Go up there.”

  Childs scrambled to his feet and started running. They could hear him as he fell and got up again. They then heard the clanging of tools, followed by the noise of Childs running back towards them. Before he was even in sight, Valdez called out nervously, “What’d you find?”

  “A saw.”

  “A saw!”

  Childs fell to his knees in front of Valdez. “Take it easy, man. It’s just a hammer.”

  “Just a hammer!”

  “Will you relax. I ain’t gonna hit you in the head.”

  “You’re fucking right you ain’t.”

  Childs held up the hammer ready to use it. “Just on the finger.”

  In an instant, Valdez drew his hands up to his chest and leaned away from Childs. “Wait a minute. Just wait a minute.”

  “For what?” Childs asked impatiently.

  “He ain’t gonna hit you with all his might,” Hamilton cut in.

  “Besides, he’s the weakest guy in the platoon,” Forsythe pointed out. Childs raised the hammer threateningly. “Who says so? I could knock your fucking hand off.”

  It was now Valdez who said, “Take it easy, man.”

  Childs became angry. “Let’s get this abortion over with.” There was a few seconds’ silence before he added in a calmer tone, “C’mon, put your hand down.”

  Valdez slowly lowered his hand to the ground, then instantly drew it away. “You ain’t gonna hit me hard, are you?”

  “Hell no, not half as hard as I’d hit Forsythe.”

  Forsythe couldn’t resist saying, “That’ll be the fucking day you ever get near me with a hammer.”

  “What do you mean?” Valdez asked nervously.

  “I’m only kidding.”

  “Well don’t kid around.”

  Childs said impatiently, “If you’d put your hand down, I'd be able to get this abortion over with and start on Forsythe’s head.”

  Valdez put his hand down and Childs aimed the hammer. “Not too hard now.”

  “Hell no, just a tap.”

  “Just a tap now,” cautioned Valdez.

  The instant Childs raised the hammer, Valdez drew his hand away. “Wait a minute!”

  “For what?” Childs asked disgustedly.

  “I changed my mind.”

  “How come?” Hamilton moaned.

  “It’s a chicken-shit thing to do.”

  Childs banged the hammer on the ground. “Jesus Christ! I thought we settled that.”

  “Well I changed my mind. I’ve stuck it out this long. I’m not gonna turn yellow at last.”

  “Who’s turning yellow?” Forsythe asked. “You owe it to yourself.”

  “There it is,” Ski agreed. “It’s either a little job by Childs, or a big one by Charlie.”

  Hamilton cut in, “What’s worse, going home with a sore finger, or going home in a box?”

  Childs held out the hammer. “Don’t be an idiot. If you don’t let me use this, you’re a dead man.”

  Valdez began to look at the situation logically. “Maybe not. I only gotta last eight days.”

  Childs really began to lose his patience. “Goddamn it! You said yourself you were a dead man if you didn’t.”

  “Maybe not. I’ll be careful,” Valdez’s voice indicated he was having as hard a time trying to convince himself as he was those around him.

  Childs dropped the hammer disgustedly and lay down, at the same time saying, “Cries for an hour, then changes his mind.”

  “Who was crying?”

  “Ski, it must have been Ski.”

  “You’re gonna get your wise-ass face pushed in.”

  Forsythe was now irritated with both Valdez and Childs. “Cut the shit, will ya?”

  “I can’t see what the big deal is, one lousy finger,” Ski commented.

  “What about your parents? How are they gonna feel if you come home dead?” Hamilton asked.

  “After waiting twelve and a half months for you,” Forsythe added.

  This last comment had an effect on Valdez, and he asked somberly, “Do you guys really think I should do it?”

  “Hell yeah!”

  “Yes!”

  “What do you think I got this hammer for, to commit suicide?”

  “Okay, I’ll do it,” Valdez said with conviction.

  His hand was already on the ground. Childs drew the hammer back slowly. A flare exploded above the hill. When Forsythe saw Valdez grimacing with his eyes closed and the look of concentration on Childs’s face, he couldn’t keep from laughing. Childs also began to laugh. Valdez quickly drew his hand away, and he too began to laugh. Hamilton and Ski joined them, and soon they were all rolling around on the ground in hysterics. It was a while before they sat up, ready to start again. Each man tried to be serious, but every few minutes one of them would lose control, precipitating muffled laughter from the others. Childs finally said impatiently, “C’mon, let’s get it over with.”

  Valdez was still laughing as he said, “Okay, okay, I’ll do it.” He placed his hand down. Just as Childs was about to strike, he again drew it away and brought on another round of laughter.

  Finally, Forsythe said the only thing he could think of that might stop the laughing. “What about your family? Who’s gonna take care of them if you get killed?”

  The laughter stopped immediately. Valdez placed his hand on the ground. As Childs aimed the hammer, they could again hear each other’s muffled laughs. It wasn’t until the hammer was already on its way down that Valdez drew his hand away, at the same time exclaiming, “There’s the insurance money!”

  Forsythe asked seriously, “How long do you think that’ll last?”

  “Yeah, most of it’ll go for taxes,” Childs lied.

  “Really?”

  “Sure, it’ll put them in a higher income tax bracket.”

  Even though he realized Childs was lying, Valdez placed his hand down. “Okay, I’ll do it.” Before Childs could raise the hammer, Valdez drew it back again. �
��Wait a minute. There’s no hurry.”

  They finally got him to put his hand down again, but this try ended in the same laughter as the others. After some harsh words, it was decided that Forsythe would hold Valdez’s hand in place. By the time Childs raised the hammer, they were all laughing again and Valdez jerked his hand free. Impatient and irritated, some of their anger was real as they berated Forsythe. It was finally decided that both he and Hamilton would hold Valdez’s arm. As they did so, everyone became completely serious, and Valdez cautioned, “Just a tap.”

  “Okay, just a tap,” Childs agreed.

  They were now weary of the entire effort and anxious to get it over with. Each man remained completely serious. Hamilton and Forsythe leaned forward, placing as much weight as possible on Valdez’s arm. Childs aimed the hammer with the care worthy of a surgeon. Ski held his breath as he watched. Childs put the hammer down and started fumbling with his shirt.

  “C’mon,” urged Valdez nervously.

  “What are you doing?” Hamilton asked.

  “My glasses fogged.”

  Childs heard someone trying to control a laugh. He knew that he’d better act fast. Quickly replacing his glasses, he grabbed the hammer. The laughter became louder. Childs nervously swung the hammer down. As soon as he heard it hit the ground, he knew he had missed.

  This last failure was too much for the others. They collapsed in hysterics. During those brief intervals when they were able to control themselves, they directed angry curses at Childs. As stupid as he felt, even Childs had to laugh. One by one the men sat up. Too exhausted to be really abusive towards Childs, they did their best. None of them had the strength or patience to try again, and their only consolation was that at least it was over. Childs accepted their rebukes silently. Valdez leaned forward on his hands to get up and leave. The sound of the hammer’s dull thud was followed by an anguished but muffled scream. While Valdez writhed on his back in pain, he was somehow able to kick Childs in the crotch. Now there were two moaning figures on the ground, and three hysterical ones above them. Chalice came running out of the bunker, nervously asking what was going on. No one had the ability nor desire to tell him, and the only words spoken were those of Valdez. “Childs, you motherfucker, you crippled me. . . . I’ll kill you. My hand is destroyed. . . . Oh, God it hurts. . . . Thanks, Childs. Thanks. . . . I should kill you. God it hurts. . . . Thanks, man. Thanks.”