Baptism

by Donald E. Zlotnik

  Barnett beamed with pride. He took the remark as a compliment, along with the first time he had heard the master sergeant curse.

  The helicopter ride back to the Recondo School was almost cheerful. Woods sat in the open door and enjoyed watching the people below him and waved back at the kids who waved up to the chopper from the backs of their water buffalo.

  The school commandant and five officers from the Special Forces headquarters were waiting for them when they arrived. The recon team was escorted into a special debriefing room where the contents of the leather pouch were emptied out on a table and counted. There were two hundred and fourteen thousand dollars wrapped neatly in ten-thousand-dollar bundles. A few twenty-dollar and ten-dollar bills were in the bundle, but the vast majority of the bills were new, American one-hundred-dollar notes. The best discovery of all was a small package of receipts from the people who had collected the money and exchanged it for the NVA. One of the receipts was from a large bank in Nha Trang that was obviously a front for the North Vietnamese. The receipt had been made out to the president of the bank. The intelligence team was having a field day with the contents of the pouch; it was also obvious that the NVA major who had been killed had made the collection trip so often that he had become careless, both with the material he carried and with his life.

  Master Sergeant McDonald released the team and left in his jeep. He didn’t tell anyone where he was going. The drive to the military mortuary at Nha Trang airfield was only a few minutes away. He had to know something, and he couldn’t wait until the next day to find out.

  Private Billy-Bob Fillmore was singing a popular Christian ballad in the showers when Woods entered the steamy building. Three piles of clothes were stacked on the benches outside the shower room. Woods placed his towel near the doors and sat down to remove his boots and socks. He entered the shower carrying a bar of soap and wearing the shirt and pants of his camouflaged tiger suit.

  Barnett looked over at his friend and smiled. He couldn’t care less now who saw the cigar scars. “Do you know how to shut this guy up?” He nodded at Fillmore.

  Woods stood under a shower head and soaped down his uniform. “Sounds pretty good to me!” The comment encouraged the Bible Belt Pentecostal to sing louder.

  James glared over at the three white soldiers, especially the one singing Christian songs in the shower. His entry stopped Fillmore from singing, and the tenor left the shower room.

  “Hey, Woods! Did you fucking piss your pants out there today?” James’s eyes matched his mocking voice.

  Woods didn’t hesitate in his answer. “Sure did! It scared the shit out of me!”

  James did not expect Woods’s answer; he thought Woods would deny it.

  “Hey, James!” Barnett yelled loud enough to be heard outside of the shower room. “You sure have a small dick for a nigger!”

  The big black soldier glared at Barnett and took an aggressive step toward him before he stopped himself. “You’re walking dead meat, honkie… dead meat!”

  Barnett tapped Woods on his shoulder and left the showers. Woods rinsed off his uniform and then took it off and twisted the water out of it before joining Fillmore and Barnett in the drying room.

  “He’s trouble.” Woods nodded his head. “That guy hates whites more than you do blacks, Barnett… both of you had better back off!”

  “No one pimps my friends!” Barnett’s words were spoken from between clenched teeth.

  “I can handle myself. It was true!” Woods shrugged his shoulders. “I pissed my pants.”

  “Let’s get some food!” Fillmore ended the conversation by starting to sing another Christian hymn. He looked over at the shower-room doorway and sang louder.

  “You know, you’re not half bad.” Barnett patted Fillmore’s shoulder, and the three of them left together for the mess hall. “Hey, Woods! Do you think Sergeant McDonald will let us go back out in the field tomorrow?”

  Woods slapped Barnett on the back of his head. “You are fucking crazy!”

  McDonald had returned from the military mortuary with the information he needed. He went over to the supply area and checked the weapons that had been taken off the NVA soldiers; none of them had been fired recently. He had enough information to go to the school commandant.

  James left the shower room angry. He had fucked up and knew that he was in big trouble. No one had seen him shoot Taylor, but he had acted too early in the contact with the enemy. He blamed himself, but how was he to know that the NVA wouldn’t fire back at the recon team, or that the rest of his team had been too taken by surprise to fire their weapons. When he had been in a line unit, it had been much easier. If one man opened fire, the whole platoon fired for at least a couple of minutes. It had been easier back then, but now he just had to be more careful.

  McDonald stood outside of the commandant’s door and took a deep breath; he didn’t know how the lieutenant colonel was going to take what he had to say because even though the officer was a well-qualified member of the Special Forces, he was black.

  The commandant listened quietly to what McDonald had to say. The only emotion he showed was a slight tapping of his finger against his lips when he heard something he particularly found offensive. He waited until McDonald had finished his briefing before commenting, “You have made some good observations, Sergeant, and I tend to agree with you. We have a real problem here!”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “How we handle it is going to be difficult.” The lieutenant colonel was worried. The topic was extremely explosive and could cause a great deal of harm to the American troops fighting in Vietnam. Black soldiers killing whites on the battlefield was a very heavy topic. “We must be sure… very sure.”

  “Sir, Taylor was killed by an M16 rifle. None of the NVA carried captured American weapons. Only one man on my team fired his weapon, and that was an M-60. James was alone with Taylor when it happened and said two NVA carrying M16s ran back through the jungle. I personally checked the area and found only four empty rounds, and they were very near to the spot James had been at. Sir, that’s a lot of circumstantial evidence!” McDonald shifted in his seat. “And when you add in the message on the latrine door…”

  “I know, I know…” The lieutenant colonel stood up and walked over to his screened window. “Just trust me, McDonald, I have to be very sure! I hope you understand how much this bothers me! I’ve busted my ass to make lieutenant colonel, and to be honest with you, I want to wear stars someday. I… I… Christ! How in the hell can he do it!” The officer was in a rage. “Kill his fellow Americans!”

  “I understand, sir.”

  “Prepare a message for the 3rd Brigade Commander over at the 1st Cavalry Division. Detail what we know and I’ll have it sent to him, for his eyes only.” The commandant tapped his lip with his right index finger. “He graduates from here shortly. We won’t have time to do much, and I don’t want to act so fast that he gets away. If he is killing his fellow soldiers, I want his ass to hang!”

  “Yes, sir, I’ll have it ready in the morning.”

  “Oh, McDonald…”

  “Yes, sir?”

  “Private Barnett is going to receive an impact award tomorrow from the 5th group commander… right after breakfast.”

  “Excellent, sir… excellent.” McDonald left the head-quarters building and walked slowly over to the NCO club in the dark. He needed a stiff drink.

  James stood in the shadows and watched the sergeant leave the commandant’s office. His eyes were narrowed into slits.

  Barnett had no idea what was going on at the morning formation. All of them had been told that they would be shipping out early to their units. The 3rd Brigade was still in a big fight in the Ia Drang Valley and was begging for replacements.

  “What do you think the 5th group commander wants over here?” Barnett whispered to Woods as they waited for the colonel to come out of the commandant’s office.

  “Got me. Probably wants to say good-bye or good luck.” Woods
watched the screen door to the commandant’s office.

  “Here he comes,” Fillmore said to the whole group.

  The 5th group commander walked straight over to where the small group of trainees and instructors stood and stopped directly in front of McDonald. A captain followed the colonel, carrying a velvet pillow with a Silver Star Medal pinned in it.

  “Private Spencer Barnett… fall out!”

  Barnett was caught by surprise but obeyed. The colonel pinned the award on the young soldier’s jacket and shook his hand. He stared at Barnett, then spoke. “How old are you?”

  “Seventeen, sir!”

  The gray-haired man nodded and turned to leave, followed by the school commandant. He murmured under his breath as he got into his jeep. “Babies! They’re shipping us fucking babies to fight this war!”

  The commandant saluted and quietly agreed with the colonel.

  The Recondo School graduates who were leaving early for their units had already packed and had their gear lined up outside of their hootches for pickup. Woods saw McDonald walking across the open parade grounds toward them. Barnett scooted up against the building and looked down between his knees. He had hoped on missing having to say good-bye to the sergeant.

  “What’s he carrying?” Woods squinted to see better but could only make out two silver-and-brown packages, one under each of his arms.

  “You got me.” Barnett’s voice gave away his feelings. “I wish he hadn’t come.”

  “Hey! He likes you!”

  “I know. That’s why I wish…” Barnett didn’t finish his sentence before McDonald saw them and walked over.

  “You’re hard to find!” McDonald grinned.

  “Hi, Sergeant. We’re getting ready to leave for Qui Nhon.” Woods did the talking while Barnett continued looking down at his boots.

  “Well, I brought you two something… special.” He handed each one of them a canvas holster and a Browning 9-mm pistol.

  “Holy shit!” Woods was surprised.

  “They have fourteen-round magazines.”

  Barnett took the offered pistol but kept his eyes from meeting McDonald’s. He knew that if he looked directly at the sergeant, he would start crying like a baby.

  “There’s more.” He handed each of them one of the airtight brown packages and waited for them to tear them open. “Well, go ahead and open them! Now, these are hard to come by, but I couldn’t let my two favorite Recondo students leave here without the proper equipment.”

  Barnett started opening his package, but he could feel the weapon inside and started blinking back the tears before it was open.

  “Oh, man! A CAR-15!” Woods spoke loud enough for both of them. “Sarge, where did you get these?”

  “That’s my secret. There are only a very few of them in Vietnam right now… here.” He handed them a folded piece of paper. “Just in case someone wants to take them away from you.”

  Woods opened the paper and saw that it was a weapons-issue slip from the Recondo School for a permanent loan.

  “Well… I’ve got to get back to work.” McDonald turned to leave what was becoming an awkward situation. “New group of trainees coming in…”

  “Sarge?” Barnett’s voice was choked with emotion.

  “Yeah?” McDonald stopped.

  Barnett hugged him. “Thanks.”

  “Shit! Stop that!” McDonald chuckled and grabbed Barnett’s arms. He only hugged harder. “I’m going to lose my reputation as a hard ass!”

  Woods stood there crying along with Barnett. He didn’t give a fuck who saw him.

  The sound of a truck’s engine broke Barnett’s hold on the sergeant’s neck. Woods picked up his gear. Barnett wiped his eyes with his sleeve and went over to his pack and shoved the pistol inside. McDonald watched the men load up on the truck. He waited until the vehicle was pulling away from the building before he used his hand to wipe away the film covering his eyes.

  Woods sat at the back of the truck with the new CAR-15 lying across his lap. Barnett tried smiling.

  “Don’t get yourself killed… hear?” McDonald grinned and watched the truck pull away for the helipad.

  THREE

  The Ia Drang Valley

  The dust seemed to be waiting for any opportunity to jump up from the ground and seek refuge in a human throat or nostril. A man walking between the bunkers would cause a small cloud of the fine, red dust to roll along the ground, but the worst clouds were created by the helicopters that were constantly landing and taking off. An Khe was the base camp for the 1st Cavalry Division Airmobile, and the word airmobile meant hundreds of helicopters.

  Lieutenant Reed sat outside of his hootch trying to clean his M16. He had the weapon disassembled on his poncho, but every time he had wiped it clean, a coating of the red dust covered the parts. It was useless trying to oil the working parts of the rifle. Reed sighed and waited for the dust to settle, and then he quickly brushed the parts off and reassembled the weapon before another helicopter landed. He wrapped the M16 up in his poncho and took it back into his hootch. He hated the dust more than the monsoon mud.

  “That’s almost a lost cause, Lieutenant.”

  Reed looked over and saw his platoon sergeant entering the hootch. “I know, but I try.” Reed sat down on his folding cot. “Have the new replacements arrived yet, Sergeant Fitzpatrick?”

  “They’re due in this morning.” The senior sergeant took a seat on the cot across from his lieutenant and reached into one of the side pockets of his jungle fatigues for his pouch and filled his pipe with the high-grade marijuana. He inhaled a couple of long tokes before offering the pipe to the lieutenant.

  Reed looked out of the screened windows before taking the pipe. He didn’t smoke that often and never smoked when he was in the field, but he wanted to let the men know that he was one of the guys. “I hope they fill up our teams. It’s been quite a while since our platoon has been active in the field.”

  “They graduated three men from the Recondo School early, and we should be getting eight more after their field exercise is completed.” Fitzpatrick took another long toke from his pipe. He was beginning to feel the effects of the drug. “Simpson’s got his hands on some good stuff here.” He handed the pipe back to the lieutenant.

  “Yeah, but I’ve got to meet the replacements…” Reed waved aside the offering.

  Fitzpatrick leaned back on the cot and rested his head against the plywood wall. “I hear one of them earned a Silver Star when he was on his training patrol as an impact award, and the general is upgrading it to a Distinguished Service Cross.”

  “A DSC?” Reed didn’t even try hiding the jealousy in his voice.

  “He supposedly zapped nine NVA, and one of them was a major!” Fitzpatrick was impressed, and his voice showed it. “I could use him on my team.”

  “Arnason has first pick from the replacements.” Reed glanced over at his platoon sergeant, knowing that he was trying to pull a quick one over on him. “Let’s keep it fair.”

  “Sure, Lieutenant, sure…” Fitzpatrick grinned. “I was just trying to form a good team, that’s all.” The last two words were slightly slurred. The sergeant was getting high.

  Lieutenant Reed stood up and adjusted the tops of his jungle fatigues in his boots. “I’ve got to see the company commander about our mission in the Ia Drang.” Reed looked over at his platoon sergeant with a flash of contempt in his eyes. He hated the sergeant’s vices, and there were many of them, but the man was a superb soldier in the field. “Are you going to be here or at your hootch?”

  Fitzpatrick stretched out on the empty cot. “I’ll wait here for you, Lieutenant.”

  The Brigade Recon Company commander had his back to the bunker entrance when Reed entered the command post. A half dozen blue pins were stuck on the map, surrounded by twenty or thirty red pins. The captain was posting more sightings of enemy units on the map with the Brigade S-2 officer.

  “Damn, sir! It looks like the whole Ia Drang Valley is full of NV
A!” Reed joined the officers.

  The captain spoke without looking at his lieutenant. “The 1st Brigade has taken a number of casualties. LZ X-Ray was almost overrun last night, but the cav troops held them off in hand-to-hand combat.”

  Reed felt the fear grip his stomach. It was times like this that he wished he would have stayed at Georgetown University and gotten his master’s degree. He had enjoyed ROTC training and had even tolerated the harassment from the powerful antiwar movement on campus when he wore his cadet uniform; in fact, it was the harassment that had forced him to take airborne and reconnaissance training during the summers.

  “If the 3rd Brigade is committed to the fight, your four recon teams will be inserted south of the Ia Drang River to the rear of the Chu Pong Massif… here.” The captain pointed to the large, flat plateau that straddled the South Vietnamese–Cambodian border. “They say there are two NVA regiments in the battle and that they’re being resupplied from the Massif. The division commander wants to know for sure.”

  “Yes, sir.” Reed swallowed. “I’m still short men.”

  “Not anymore.” The captain nodded toward the company headquarters hootch. “You have three replacements waiting for you over in supply… they’re drawing their equipment.”

  “Great, sir!” The words lacked enthusiasm.

  Woods, James, and Barnett all sat on their packs in the supply tent. The structure was built out of two-by-fours and plywood with a GP large tent stretched over it to make it waterproof. Heat hung under the tent about head high. The strong odor of mothballs and preservatives identified the supply area, and the odor coming from the canvas tent almost drew the breath out of the new replacements’ lungs. Barnett frowned and scooted over closer to the rolled-up, shady side of the structure.

  Sergeant First Class Shaw sat behind the gray desk and read the weapons-issue slip from the Recondo School for the sixth time. He was pissed. Two of the new replacements carried experimental models of the M16 called CAR-15s. The weapon had the same firing mechanism as the M16, but the design changed in the telescoping stock and the round hand guards and shorter barrel. The flash suppressor was fatter and longer, also. What the CAR-15 looked like was a shorter, easier-to-handle M16. Shaw had heard that some of the new weapons were in-country, but only special units of the Special Forces were issued them for evaluation. How these two replacements had gotten hold of them was a mystery.