the Hill (1995)

by Scott, Leonard B

  They had walked only four hundred yards along the creek when Ty froze. He heard voices coming from around a bend in the stream. Cowboy heard them, too, and cautiously moved up. Both men exchanged glances and smiled at each other. Cowboy signaled for Goldie and Paddy to be quiet and follow closely behind.

  Ten long minutes later, the four men had made it to the far bank and began crawling. The jungle was thick next to the streambed, but farther inland it thinned out, except in spots where the sun penetrated the canopy of branching hardwoods. Ty led them around a thicket of twenty-foot yellow bamboo and stopped. Twenty yards ahead he could see four Vietnamese men and one woman sitting on a log in front of a small thatch hooch. The men were making pungi stakes by whittling sections of bamboo down to razor-sharp ends. The woman was fire-hardening the ends by placing the sharpened stakes onto the coals of a small fire. It was an assembly line, and they had amassed seven large bundles of the nasty weapons. Ty noted that each of the workers kept a rifle within arm’s reach.

  Cowboy crawled up beside Ty and broke into a grin. “We gonna capture all of ’em,” he whispered. “Cover me.”

  Ty began to protest when Cowboy rose to his feet and stepped from behind the bamboo. He took three steps and yelled, “DUNG LAI!”

  Two of the startled men began to run, but Cowboy fired a burst over their heads, yelling, “DUNG LAI! DUNG LAI, ya dumb sonofabitches!”

  The men froze in place and stared with horror at the smoking rifle. Ty and Goldie quickly got up and stood beside Cowboy, who was grinning from ear to ear. “The L-tee is gonna give us R and R for this ’un.”

  Suddenly a soldier appeared in the doorway of the hut and fired a long burst from his AK-47. Ty had seen the movement and was already flinging himself to the ground when the bullets cracked by his head. Goldie screamed in pain and spun around, falling into the shallow stream. Cowboy cussed as a bullet creased his hip and another shattered the plastic stock of his rifle. Ty rolled and fired at the shooter. The bullets flung the VC back like a rag doll jerked on a string. Paddy ran around the thicket to fire but pushed the magazine release instead of the safety. The magazine fell out and hit his knee. He grabbed for another but the woman lifted her weapon, shot him, and swung her rifle toward Ty. Ty ran directly toward her, spraying her and the men who were grabbing for their rifles.

  The woman toppled over the log, and three of the men were lifted or knocked off their feet by the impact of bullets. The fourth ran for a stand of trees nearby but was cut down by Cowboy, who managed to fire his broken M-16. Ty was out of ammo. He was about to reach for another magazine when the woman raised up screaming hysterically and grabbed his rifle. Ty let the weapon go and hit her in the face with his fist. Her head snapped back, showering him like he’d hit a balloon filled with blood. He hit her again and felt her front teeth and bone give way with a sickening crunching, popping sound.

  One of the VC Ty had shot in the legs picked up his rifle and fired wildly. The bullets stitched the log beside Ty as he threw himself over the fallen tree and grabbed the woman’s AK-47. He crawled down the log a few yards before leaping up and shooting the soldier in the head with a short burst. Lowering the rifle to his hip, Ty strode forward, jerking the barrel left and right and firing a round into each body.

  Cowboy grabbed Ty’s shoulder as he bent over a bloody corpse to get another magazine. Ty spun around and jammed the rifle barrel under his neck. Cowboy jerked back and screamed as he shot his arms skyward, “NOOoo, IT’S ME! God, Cat, it’s me.”

  Ty’s eyes focused and he felt pain for the first time. He stared at his friend for an instant, then lowered his eyes to his bleeding hand. The woman’s front teeth had laid his knuckles open to the bone.

  Cowboy lowered his arms and limped toward Paddy, who was choking and writhing on the ground. He had been hit in the chest. One bullet had ricocheted off his ribs and struck his arm, but the other had passed through his chest, collapsing the right lung and lodging in his back.

  The Texan lifted Paddy’s shirt with shaking hands. “Jesus, Cat, come here and help me! He’s got a fucking chest wound!”

  Ty picked up his rifle and inserted a new magazine. He stepped over the log and walked over. He glanced at the wound and kept walking. “Get an airtight bandage on it.”

  He waded into the creek, where Goldie sat in the water holding a tourniquet, fashioned from his towel, around his thigh. Goldie looked up at him with a pained expression. “I never saw him … not till he opened up … it hurts, Cat, really hurts bad. Is … is Paddy gonna make it?”

  Ty squatted and inspected the wound. “Yeah, he’ll get to read the papers at home, like you will. Keep the pressure on the tourniquet, and I’ll drag you out and fix another one.” He took hold of Goldie’s radio straps and pulled him to the bank. The bullet had passed through the thigh muscle and gone out the back of his leg, leaving a one-inch hole. Ty used his belt to replace the towel and cinched the buckle down tight before beginning to dress the wound. “You were lucky the bullet didn’t hit any arteries.”

  Goldie leaned back on his elbows, his face contorting in pain. “It hurts real bad … God, why’d I stand up!”

  “Cat, I’m losing him!”

  Ty quickly joined Cowboy, who was trying to tie a bandage around Paddy’s chest. Paddy’s eyes were fluttering, and he was wheezing in tortured breaths.

  Ty slapped Paddy’s face and lifted his head. “Relax. You hear me? Quit trying to breathe so fast. Relax and take short breaths. You’re gonna be fine, but ya can’t go in shock on us. You’re going home. Ya hear me? Home. Open your mouth and relax, relax … think about home … relax.”

  Paddy’s eyes stopped fluttering and became focused. Ty patted his arm and checked the plastic wrapper that Cowboy had used to seal the wound. It was airtight and holding. The color was coming back to Paddy’s cheeks.

  Cowboy was shaking so badly that he couldn’t kneel anymore and fell back on his buttocks. “It was stupid! I shoulda never stood without makin’ sure. Jesus, Cat, I hurt Paddy and Goldie.”

  Ty took out his knife and unwrapped the towel from around Paddy’s neck. He split the towel in two and handed half to Cowboy. “Take off your pants and wrap this around that hip wound. You’re losing too much blood.”

  The lanky soldier looked at his blood-soaked pants and stared at Ty. “I’m responsible for all this. I fucked it up, didn’t I?”

  Ty wrapped the other piece of towel around his hand and looked into Cowboy’s guilt-ridden face. “It’s over, forget it.”

  Tears welled up in the Cowboy’s eyes. “But it’s all my …”

  Ty tossed the radio handset to Cowboy and spoke roughly, “Forget it! Call the platoon and get ’em here. Quit worrying about the past and get these two a medevac.”

  Jason sat under his poncho hooch and glanced over his notes, but he wasn’t really concentrating. He was looking busy while thinking. The inspection had been a disaster. The weapons looked a little better, but he could tell that the men hadn’t put much effort into it. So far, nothing was like he had expected. Of the thirty-four men assigned, only twenty-six were in the field. Ramirez had reported two men on R and R, three in the hospital for malaria, two in for clap, and one in with a light shoulder wound.

  He leaned back on his rucksack and wished that the Infantry School instructors had mentioned the possibility of having fewer than the forty-one men he was supposed to have. Instead, they had based all their instruction in tactics, planning, and organization on a full-strength platoon. Three-fourths of what they taught wouldn’t help him. He was on his own, hoping he was doing the right thing, and right now he wasn’t sure he was.

  “Sir?”

  Jason looked up at his first squad leader, Staff Sergeant Taloga,a barrel-chested Samoan who looked as if he had pumped weights all his life. “Sit down, Sergeant. What’s up?”

  Taloga knelt and lowered his head. “Sir, I just want to apologize for this afternoon and the way my men looked during the inspection. We’re better than tha
t. It’s just that we’ve been pretty slack lately. Sir, give me another chance and we’ll show you the best squad in the platoon.”

  Jason felt hope bubbling up in his chest. He had needed a spark, and Taloga was going to give it to him. He was about to respond when Sergeant Ramirez strolled up and smugly held out a piece of paper. “Sir, I wrote a memorandum for the record that states you held an inspection in a hostile environment, jeopardizing the safety of the men. I also wrote that you attacked me verbally in front of subordinates, displaying unprofessionalism and a lack of respect to a noncommissioned officer.”

  Jason sighed. He pointed to the west. “Sergeant Ramirez, I want you to personally take your memorandum of record to the company commander. You have five minutes to pack your shit and get out of my perimeter. You’re relieved for negligence.”

  Ramirez’s jaw dropped. “You can’t do that! I’ve got ten years in service, and I know the regulations. You can’t …”

  “Four minutes and forty-five seconds,” Jason said, looking at his watch. “You better get moving before the sun sets. Sergeant Taloga, you are now the platoon sergeant. Appoint a new squad leader for the first squad and come see me to plan out tomorrow’s training.”

  “Training, sir?” asked Taloga.

  “Yep, training. We’re going back to basics for the next few days.”

  Taloga surprised him with a grin. “No sweat, sir. We need it. I’ll get the squad leaders together and see what we need to work on.”

  Jason nodded and picked up the radio handset. He wanted to tell Captain Elliott to expect Ramirez. His self-doubt was gone. The second platoon wasn’t going to be a problem child anymore.

  Ty got out of the chopper and motioned for the three new replacements to follow him. He’d been sent in with the other wounded the day before and had had his hand stitched.

  Sergeant Hammonds ignored the rotor’s wind and strode directly toward his point man with a smile. “Good to see you, Cat. I thought you’d be gone for several weeks.”

  Ty was surprised to see the sergeant smiling as if he had really missed him. “They gave me a Purple Heart and I left,” he said. “The REMFs were hassling me. They wanted to put me on detail.”

  Ignoring the much needed replacements, Hammonds threw his arm around Ty’s shoulder. “Come on, I’ve got some hot coffee. Tell me how Cowboy is doing.”

  Ty looked around for Bugs, Caddy, and Silk. He sat down on the edge of the sergeant’s foxhole, preparing himself for bad news.

  “Where are they, Sarge?”

  Hammonds laughed and tossed his head toward the north. “They’re on a watering party.”

  Ty lowered his head in relief. He didn’t want to admit it, but the squad had really become family to him. Waiting in the evac hospital had been a nightmare. All he could think of was returning to his squad and getting back the feeling, getting back in the groove.

  Hammonds glanced at the three bewildered replacements standing a few feet away. “You cherries report to the center of the perimeter and see the lieutenant.” He looked back at Ty. “You know something? Losing you and the others upset the hell out of me. I felt like a real asshole for not getting to know you and the other guys better. I couldn’t sleep worth a shit worrying about … well, you know what I mean. I guess I’m saying things are going to be different.”

  Ty smiled for the first time. “Same here.”

  “Cat, what the hell you doin’ back?”

  Ty turned as Caddy, Bugs, and Silk approached carrying filled canteens. Caddy tossed the canteens aside and hugged Ty. Bugs pumped his hand, and even Silk broke into a smile and offered to shake.

  Caddy cocked an eyebrow. “How were the nurses? Pretty, big-titted, round-assed, willing, what?”

  Ty frowned. “The only ones I saw were officers, and they were bitches to the max.”

  “Damn, too bad. How’s Cowboy?”

  “He’ll be back in a couple of weeks. Paddy and Goldie were sent to Japan. They’ll be goin’ home.”

  Bugs looked at Ty’s hand. “You get your purple?”

  “Yep, a fat colonel gave it to me this morning.”

  “Cool man, you can be a postman now.”

  “What da fuck you talkin’ about, postman? You crazy as Cat,” Silk said.

  “Back off, Silk. I know what I’m talkin’ about, man. You get ten points on a civil service test for being in the Army. You get another ten for being a veteran, and another ten if you get the purple. Cat’s got thirty points going in. He’s got a postman job sewed up.”

  Silk eyed Bugs. “Really, no bullshit, man? That’s cool. They give points for being a bad-assed dock worker, man? How about ten inches of pile-drivin’ dick? Man, if they do, I be the fuckin’ general of da post office.”

  Ty smiled and felt at home as he backed up unnoticed and walked to the hill’s crest.

  Jason shook his head and yelled, “Cease fire! I don’t want anybody firing automatic. I want to see if you can hit the target with well-placed single shots.”

  Private Fontaine rose up from his prone firing position. “Goddamn, sir, put a dink out there instead of a lousy C-ration can, and I’ll blow his head fuckin’ off for you.”

  The other members of the platoon laughed. Jason also smiled—he was about to make his point. “Okay, Fontaine, show us your stuff. Hit the can.”

  The soldier knelt and took aim. The small can was twenty-five yards away on a rice paddy dike. He fired. The bullet kicked up a spout of water a few inches to the right of the can. The men’s laughter made him angry. His second shot hit even lower.

  Jason held up his hands, quieting the laughs and snide remarks. “What you’ve seen is what most of you do when you shoot. You’ll be close, but you won’t hit the can. Fontaine, what is the zero of your weapon?”

  “Zero? Aw hell, sir, that’s basic training shit. I don’t know.”

  Jason motioned Fontaine to join the others. “I’m going to tell you men the truth. I don’t know a damn thing about these new M-16s. I fired an M-14 in basic and never qualified on the 16. This is for my benefit and probably just a refresher for you all. Bear with me. We’re going to put some C-ration boxes out twenty-five meters and zero all our weapons. Remember to zero. Shoot three times trying to keep a close grouping. If you’re off target, move the windage and elevation knobs the required number of clicks to bring the shot group into the center of the target. I want every man to know the number of clicks it takes to find your zero and write it on his helmet cover so he won’t forget it. If we miss a can at twenty-five meters by three inches, we’ll miss a man at fifty yards by a foot. First squad, you put up the targets.”

  Sergeant Taloga stepped up to him as the men were loading their magazines. “I saw you messin’ with Fontaine’s rifle this morning when he was still sleeping. You didn’t happen to add a few clicks of elevation to his sights, did you, sir?”

  Jason smiled. “Prior planning can prevent or help poor performance. I needed him to miss.”

  Taloga grinned. “You don’t play fair, do you?”

  Jason arched an eyebrow. “Nope.”

  25

  Ty smelled it first, the dusty smell of grain. The light, warm wind carried the distinctive odor like a warning. Crouching down, he looked left, then right, and froze. He knew he was dead if there was a soldier at the other end of the green tunnel. He lifted his eyes only a fraction and gasped. An orange tongue from the end of a rifle leaped directly toward him. The AK bullet passed a fraction beneath his ear and hit the rim of his helmet, knocking the steel pot from his head. He reeled backward and frantically clawed the ground for cover as a second bullet thudded into the ground beside his boot. Caddy didn’t see the muzzle flashes of the sniper but fired a round in the direction of the shots.

  Ty crawled toward Caddy and leaped behind a large above-ground root just as the trail behind him lifted and disappeared in a brown-black cloud. The shattering explosion knocked him over, and he cried out from the intense pain in his eyes and ears.

 
Caddy was thrown to the ground by the blast. He picked himself up and ran into the debris cloud as Hammonds and Bugs sprayed the sides of the trail with automatic fire. He grabbed Ty’s collar and dragged him up the trail away from the choking dust and black smoke.

  Ty lay stunned, his head feeling as if it were going to explode. He could see, but his eyes stung as if they were sunburned and covered with gritty sand. Hammonds was apparently talking to him. He could see the man’s mouth moving, but he could hear nothing but a steady ringing.

  Hammonds screamed again. “MEDIIIIC! Goddamn it, Doc, come on! MEDIIIC!”

  Doc Weaver ran down the narrow trail and slid in beside Ty like he was sliding in to home. He took one look at his face and pulled out a canteen.

  Out of breath from running up the trail, Lieutenant Jenkins knelt beside Hammonds. “What’s the situation?”

  Hammonds motioned Caddy to him. “What the fuck happened?”

  “I saw Cat get down and then heard an AK open up,” Caddy said excitedly. “Cat jumped back and crawled to me, and the trail behind him went up like …”

  Ty sat up and squinted. The ringing in his ears was almost gone but was being replaced by a strange crackling noise. He looked around and realized he must have passed out.

  Doc Weaver knelt in front of him and smiled. “How’s the head?”

  Ty nodded and tried to stand up, but he suddenly felt woozy. Weaver helped him to sit back down. “Take it easy, you passed out on me. You were a little too close to the 105 round they had rigged to blow us all away. You’d been any closer, your eyeballs would have popped out like marbles.” Weaver motioned at the thatch huts beside them. “Just twenty yards behind the hooches is the trail we were on. Looks like you led us into a VC rice-storage area. The L-tee called the CO, and he flew in a little while ago. He’s tickled pink and is promising us all an in-country R and R.”

  Ty tried to talk, but he felt as if a dentist had gone wild with novocaine inside his mouth. Weaver turned him around and propped him up so he could see the fire. The squads had stripped to the waist and were throwing bags of rice on top of a raging bonfire that sent up a black cloud through the single canopy. Standing beside sacks of rice was Jenkins and the company commander, who was smiling like a Cheshire cat.