Sand in the Wind

by Robert Roth

  “Nobody skates in the Arizona.”

  “Guess you’re right. . . . Wilcox needs a pair of twelve boots.”

  “Ain’t he the new man?”

  “Sure is — new and dumb.”

  “He must be if you think so,” Sugar Bear said with a smile.

  “Fuck you.”

  “What’s wrong with the ones he’s got on?”

  “Too small.”

  “I ain’t runnin’ no shoe store. He should of taken care of that when he was in the rear.”

  “He should of stayed in the rear.”

  “Was he the John Wayne that blew your ambush three times?”

  “No. That was Fuller, another jerk.”

  “You oughta put ’em both on point. That’ll get rid of ’em.”

  “I should. I’ve only got two point men now — Roads and Childs. I’ve been walking it myself sometimes.”

  “What about the Professor? He’s been around long enough.”

  “Yeah. I guess I’ll start using him, but I hate to have my blooker man walking point. . . . Listen, get me a new pair of boots too — ten, wide.”

  “I’ll try, but you know what the story is: you gotta be an office poag to get anything out of supply. Ski’s been waitin’ a month for a pair of nines. He’s wearing twelves right now.”

  Hamilton stood up and started to leave. “Well, give it a try.”

  By the time he returned to his squad, Hamilton had decided to replace Fuller with Chalice for the listening post. A few minutes before they were to leave the perimeter, Childs told Hamilton he was feeling sick. Wilcox was sitting near them, so Hamilton told him to take Childs’s place.

  Hamilton took the point himself. He led his men to a small patch of brush seventy yards from the perimeter. Less than ten yards wide, the only vegetation on it was some waist-high bushes. He placed Chalice and Wilcox back to back, then he and Payne sat down in the same manner a few feet away. This allowed the men in the listening post to face in four different directions.

  They all remained sitting up until nine o’clock when Chalice took first watch. As he started the second hour of it, he became drowsy and had to continually jerk his head up after it fell to his chest. To prevent this and keep alert, he began shaking his head violently every few seconds. This didn’t help much, so he tried to think of a better way. After rejecting a number of other ideas, he decided to picture a fully dressed girl and then remove her clothing piece by piece. At first this worked, but he soon found himself rushing things, thus making it necessary to keep picturing new girls. After a while he had to start repeating some he’d already undressed. Chalice lost interest in the game and reluctantly decided to think of another method to stay awake. After pondering the problem for a few minutes, he suddenly realized that he’d been wide awake for quite a while and all his thinking had been unnecessary.

  As he thought with amusement about what had happened, Chalice heard a faint sound. He strained to hear it again. Ready to conclude it had been his imagination, he did hear it again. It seemed like the movement of somebody through the rice paddies. He jostled Hamilton awake. Hamilton in turn woke Payne while Chalice shook Wilcox. Wilcox brushed Chalice’s hand away. Not until Hamilton twisted his leg did Wilcox sit up.

  The sound grew louder and louder as Hamilton and Payne, and finally Wilcox and Chalice, arranged themselves back to back. Hamilton called in to the perimeter and reported that they were hearing movement. Tony 5 was on the other end, and he cautioned them not to open fire. The noise grew continually louder. It sounded like at least fifty men walking through the rice paddies towards the listening post.

  Chalice couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He glanced backwards to see if Wilcox was also hearing it. Wilcox’s head lay collapsed upon his chest. He was asleep. Frightened and nervous, Chalice jabbed Wilcox with his elbow. Wilcox grunted sleepily and said, “I’m awake.” Still cringing at these words, Chalice became aware of Wilcox’s heavy breathing. But what could he do? He poked him again. This served only to irritate Wilcox, and after what seemed like an unbelievably loud grunt, he whined in a drowsy voice, “Cut it out.”

  The sound was now coming from the edge of the high ground not five yards away. The sloshing through the water continued, but in addition, Chalice could hear footsteps. His awareness of whoever was there made it seem that they must also be aware of him. He sat motionless, his heightened senses amplifying all sounds, scents, and sights — experiencing at once the fear of the hunted and the thrill of the hunter.

  The scent of Vietnamese body odor came to him. Just as Chalice leaned to the side so his head would be below the tops of the bushes, a Viet Cong soldier appeared not two yards away. Chalice could barely perceive his outline and that of his rifle. He fingered his blooker nervously, knowing that at this range it would do almost as much damage to himself as to his target. The sloshing through the water continued as a second soldier carrying a large sack joined the first. Chalice sat petrified, eyes as wide open as they had ever been in his life. Conscious of his own breathing, he tried to quiet it. There wasn’t any pressure on his back. He carefully turned to see why.

  Wilcox, sitting with his head and chest leaning forward, was obviously asleep. Chalice could even hear him breathing. He quickly turned his head back towards the Viet Cong soldiers. There were now three of them whispering and pointing in front of him. Chalice tried to figure out what they were saying, but soon realized he’d forgotten every Vietnamese word he had ever learned. Hearing Wilcox move his foot, Chalice waited breathlessly to see if he would make any more noise. The sloshing sound continued. Another Viet Cong soldier joined the first three. Instead of waiting behind them, he stepped in front of Chalice who was sitting with his knees drawn up to his chest. Even by raising his eyes as high as they would go, he could see no higher than the closest Viet Cong’s shoulder blades. Suddenly this soldier dropped his bag. It grazed Chalice’s knees before coming to rest on his foot — ‘Feels like rice.’ Chalice became so conscious of his own breathing, he couldn’t understand why the Viet Cong soldiers were unable to hear it. A word from one of these soldiers cut the conversation short. The bag of rice was jerked off Chalice’s foot, and the soldiers began walking back into the rice paddies.

  The sloshing sound became louder as more Viet Cong soldiers paraded in front of Chalice. He continued to sit petrified, but gradually the eerie sense that he was invisible overcame him. Some of the soldiers passed by so close he could have grabbed their arms, and the parade of them began to seem endless. Occasionally one would turn his head back and say something to the man behind him, or a soldier carrying a bag of rice would grunt or sigh. As they continued to pass in front of him, the scene became increasingly unreal. Finally there was a break in the column. Chalice waited impatiently for it to resume. He soon realized that all the noise was now coming from the side of the high ground closest to the mountains. Finding it hard to believe that this unreal experience had ever occurred, no less ended, Chalice remained motionless for a few more seconds. As much from exhaustion as from the knowledge that no more soldiers were coming, he finally let out a sigh and felt his body melt towards the ground.

  The sound of Hamilton’s voice whispering into the radio revived him. Trippitt was on the other end, and his first question was, “How many are there?”

  “About thirty,” Hamilton whispered.

  “Where are they headed?”

  “Straight towards the mountains.”

  “Sit tight and keep your ears open.”

  Chalice turned to Wilcox who was still sleeping. He had the urge but not the strength to jab his elbow violently into his back.

  One of Hotel Company’s ambushes was right in the path of the Viet Cong. Trippitt quickly alerted them. Everyone aware of what was happening waited nervously for the sound of the ambush being sprung. An hour passed in silence before Trippitt concluded that the Viet Cong had somehow slipped by it. He then did what he would have done if the ambush hadn’t been in position, he called in Puf
f. Soon the sky was aglow with illumination flares as Puff sprayed the rice paddies with machine gun bullets.

  Dawn came with no hint as to how successful Puff had been. The main body of the battalion was less than a day’s march from the mountains. Fox and Golf were converging at their base and only six kilometers apart. The Viet Cong platoon had to be somewhere in between. Nash realized that Lucas’s trap had been sprung; and although he had seen Viet Cong platoons vanish before, there seemed no chance of that this time. He called in helicopter gun ships. They ceaselessly patrolled the area between the three elements of the battalion. By ten o’clock, Echo Company had reached a deserted ville. A quick sweep through it uncovered some freshly turned earth. Nash ordered a few men to start digging. One of the shovels caught on something just below the surface and dragged it straight up. When Nash saw the lone, human hand reaching out of the ground, he ordered the hole covered and the men to move out. Puff had done its work.

  They marched at a reckless pace until two o’clock, when a long and heavy burst of M-16 fire came from their left front. There were also some scattered replies from SKS’s. Fox Company had made contact. Next it was their turn. A burst of sniper fire came from a tree line in front of them. They answered with a deafening barrage of rifle, blooker, and rocket fire. The bodies of two Viet Cong snipers were discovered at the edge of the tree line. They had been dug in, and their actions were obviously suicidal delaying ones to enable the rest of their platoon to escape. Nash realized that there would be no escape.

  He didn’t have to order the pace increased. It quickened by itself, the men pushing anxiously forward like wolves upon an ever-freshening trail of blood. Within an hour, two more Viet Cong sacrificed themselves in payment for the six added minutes it had taken to kill them. Nash received word that Fox and Golf companies had made contact and were heading back towards the rest of the battalion.

  As Echo company emerged from a tree line, they could see and hear a helicopter gun ship firing at the center of a vast stretch of rice paddies. It was joined by three other gun ships. They swung back and forth over the area spraying it with machine gun bullets. A gun ship exploded in the air leaving no doubt as to the fate of its crew, one of whom was sent hurtling away from the rest of the debris, arms and legs flailing wildly. This seemed to incense the other gun ships. They became more daring as they swung on lower and lower trajectories, all the while maintaining a deafening barrage of fire. When the main element of the battalion came within range, the gun ships ceased firing and gained altitude. Small moving specks appeared across the rice paddies as Fox and Golf companies emerged from the opposite tree line. Echo was the first to reach the remains of the Viet Cong platoon. They were met by the sight of fourteen contorted bodies lying in the rice paddies and across the dikes. Hardly any of them had less than a half-dozen gaping wounds from the huge machine gun rounds.

  Nash made his way forward. He could already see a few of the bodies, the water around them taking on a slightly darker tint. Echo Company’s commander stood a few yards away, but Nash stopped short of him. The arm of a Viet Cong soldier lay across a dike. It reached up from beneath the surface of the water, fingers still digging into the gray mud. As Nash stared down, Lucas came over to him and said, “That takes care of that.”

  The success of Lucas’s plan buoyed the morale of many of the men. The Viet Cong had lost their invincibility. No longer were they a force capable of striking at will, yet impalpable enough to dissolve like mist. As Lucas’s plan had proved, they too could die.

  Nash realized that the loss of an entire platoon would cause the Viet Cong to be more cautious. The need for food would again drive them into the lowlands, but in smaller, less conspicuous numbers. For this reason, Nash redivided the battalion into four groups. Three rifle companies worked separately, while the fourth stayed with H and S Company.

  Hotel Company returned to its previous plan of operations. Each night, the platoons set-in together. At dawn they moved out and established a new camp. During the afternoon, three platoons went on separate patrols while the fourth stayed behind with the CP. The first few days were uneventful. Forest’s platoon was the first to make contact. The two confirmed kills they recorded didn’t surprise anybody, but the fact that they were NVA regulars did. Curious why his men had more respect for the North Vietnamese regulars than the Viet Cong, Kramer asked Tony 5 the reason.

  “We lose more men to the VC, but how can you respect someone who runs when the shooting starts? . . . If the VC get you, chances are it’s with a booby trap or a sniper. The only time they attack is at night. They do pull some hairy shit then, but it’s usually done by sappers. The NVA are hard core, like us. They do the same things we do — with less equipment and no air support. When they come at you, they don’t stop; and when you go after them, they don’t run. They’re just a bunch of slanteyed Marines.”

  Kramer still couldn’t understand why the men would have more respect for soldiers that ignored disadvantages such as the lack of air cover and inferior weapons, and seemingly sacrificed themselves to an enemy. “If the VC are more effective, why do the men have more respect for the NVA?” Tony had no clear answer, but he attempted to explain. “It isn’t that they’re not as effective. See, the Gooks are smart. There’s certain things disciplined soldiers like NVA can do better, like attacking in force and laying a lot of fire power on you. Other things the VC can do better, like knowing the terrain well enough to harass the hell out of you with booby traps and sniper fire. If the VC are working alone, they have to do both. Same with the NVA. But when they operate together, like here in the Arizona, each does what he can do best.”

  “So why are the NVA any better?”

  “Well, because — It’s hard to explain. You know how they tried to make us in boot camp? Well that’s how the NVA are — hard-core motherfuckers.” Tony realized he wasn’t getting through to Kramer, and he added almost in exasperation, “They know how to stand up and die.”

  Kramer now understood what Tony was trying to say, but this conflicted with things he had heard about the Viet Cong sapper squads. They had the reputation for being able to penetrate any Marine perimeter, regardless of its defenses, and of doing so with nothing on them but chicom grenades and satchel charges to be used for blowing up certain planned targets. “But what about the sappers?”

  “They’re different. There ain’t anybody as hard core as the sappers, but how the hell can you respect a crazy man trying to kill himself and you along with him? They’re not regular VC, anyway. They got more training, like us and the NVA. Instead of staying in the same area, they move around a lot and do their specialty.”

  While Tony 5 was speaking, Ramirez, who had returned from the hospital on the supply chopper, approached Kramer to get the coordinates for the ambush Charlie Squad was to go on that night. The site was two kilometers from the perimeter, and Kramer couldn’t help but feel guilty as he pointed it out on the map. He watched Ramirez walk away, wondering if it was his turn to lose an ambush party. As soon as Milton relayed the message that Charlie Squad was leaving the perimeter, Kramer sat down by the radio. He waited in the darkness until Ramirez called in and said that they had made it to the site. Only then did Kramer try to get some sleep.

  The next day Second Platoon drew a short patrol. Alpha was to be the lead squad, so Kramer sent for Hamilton and his point man. Kramer and Tony 5 were already looking over the map when Childs and Hamilton arrived. Kramer traced the route on his map for Childs. It was almost a straight line and involved sweeps of only two areas of high ground.

  Childs set a rapid pace through the rice paddies, and the platoon reached the first patch of high ground before two o’clock. A quick sweep through it revealed nothing, so Kramer ordered a twenty minute break. From where they rested, the men could see the next patch of high ground to be swept. It looked exactly the same as the first, and they were anxious to be done with it and return to camp.

  Again the platoon moved out at a fast pace. The sky was a brig
ht blue. Small, billowy clouds drifted across it, affording some occasional shade. For a change, a strong breeze was blowing, and most of the men were relaxed enough to enjoy it. When the platoon approached within three hundred yards of the high ground, Kramer arranged his men on-line and ordered them to sweep towards it. He watched with satisfaction as they obeyed this order.

  Kramer hadn’t written home in two weeks. He was thinking that this evening he would have time to do so when a great swarm of birds floated up from the tree line. Drifting higher, the swarm expanded against the bright blue sky. His own feet anchored in mud, Kramer followed their flight, shared their freedom.

  “THE BIRDS! THE BIRDS!” Tony screamed. “Prep-fire the tree line.” Startled, Kramer glanced at the tree line, then at Tony 5. It seemed impossible that Tony could get so excited. Bewildered, eyes darting nervously, Kramer tried to figure out what was happening. “PREP-FIRE! I said. PREP-FIRE!”

  Suddenly Kramer realized that it was he Tony was shouting at, that neither Trippitt, Nash, nor anyone else was around to give the orders — that he, Kramer, was in charge. Now even more nervous, knowing he had to do something, Kramer shouted, “Rockets, work out!” His own voice and the swoosh of the rockets gave him confidence. He ordered the laws fired. Even before this was done, the crackling sound of AK-47’s came from within the tree line. Tony had been right. The orders he himself had given had also been right. Bullets from the tree line splashed all around the formation. The prep-firing had caused the ambush to be sprung prematurely. A tracer round burned a glowing red path a few feet above Kramer’s head, increasing his excitement instead of scaring him. A line of men, under his command, was rushing forward in the face of fire. It was he who had given the order. The crackling of AK-47’s continued, but was all but drowned out by bursts from M-16’s. The deafening confusion of sounds both numbed and exhilarated him. A quick glance to his side revealed Chalice loading and firing his blooker with mechanical precision. The rounds from it arched beautifully before dropping and exploding just within the tree line.