Gibson frowned, thinking of the earlier encounter with the arrogant officer. "Brad, what's Dickey's problem?"
"Cousin, he's a Yankee. Whaddaya expect? I believe the boy thinks he got commissioned field marshal instead of loo-tenant. He's supposed to be real smart, but looks to me it's book smart, not people smart. He got a real knack for pissin' people off every time he opens his mouth."
Gibson nodded in agreement. "Well, what about the other officers? What're they like?"
"Major Shane is super, I'm super, you're super, Dickey is an asshole, and Foley is okay. Dave Foley is a West Pointer and is the operations officer and acting executive officer. He came in just before I did and seems to have his shit together when it comes to planning and flying missions. He ain't a field soldier, though. He's strictly a staff type. Foley makes no bones about not liking the infantry. He shoulda been an engineer, but the Academy boys was kinda short on grunts. Foley is smart and knows he ain't no John Wayne like us."
Gibson looked at Avant, shaking his head in bewilderment. "What makes you think I'm a John Wayne type? You don't even know me."
Avant threw his arm around Gibson's shoulder and began walking him toward the motel. 44 'Cause, cousin, ya just left the bush and you're still alive. That's pretty damn good credentials. Plus, ol* Brad is a fair judge of character. I got straight As in jury selection. I read people like a book. When I heard you talkin' to Dickey this morning I knew you thought he was an ass. That means you're a pretty good judge of character, too. Face it, cousin, we're alike. A1U gotta do is loosen you up a bit. You ain't smiled since I metcha. The troops gonna think you're a badass that knows it all."
Gibson stopped in his tracks and backed away from the officer. "Avant, you're unbelievable. You don't know me from Adam and yet you decide I'm John Wayne, got character, and have to smile all the time, for Christ's sake!" Gibson's hard stare broke and he cracked a slight grin. "But you got one thing right. I'm a good judge of character, and Brad, you're the craziest son of a bitch I've ever met."
Avant laughed loudly and tossed his arm over Gibson's shoulder again. "Cousin, we gonna make a helluva team, with me bein' crazy and you keepin' us straight. Damn, this company better watch out!"
Major Shane sat at his desk, waiting. Lieutenants Gibson, Avant, and Foley sat in folding chairs around his desk, with First Sergeant Demand, Childs, and several senior NCOs leaning against the far wall.
Shane glanced at his Rolex GMT Master-0803 hours. The door opened and in strode Lieutenant Dickey. Shane stared at the late officer as he took a seat beside Avant.
Strike two, he said to himself, as he looked back at his scribbled notes.
"Today, at 1300 hours, we receive two planeloads of replacements from the 173rd. When they arrive, we begin a comprehensive training program. Because of officer and expert- ence shortages, we are going to consolidate our training. I will oversee the program, along with First Sergeant Demand, but Sergeant Childs will be in charge of all initial screening and training. Platoon sergeants, along with selected, mature Ranger veterans, will act as trainers and cadre. We are considering all other men students. They will take all training, and they will be thrown out if they can't hack it. Officers will be trained separately by me. First Sergeant is your point of contact for all training equipment, chow, billeting, and vehicle support. What are your questions?"
No one spoke. Shane stood. "Good. We'll have a daily meeting during morning chow to discuss problems and how things are going. Those of you who don't know each other, introduce yourselves. I'm going to the airfield and lay on some bird dogs for officer training. I'll see everyone at lunch." The group snapped to attention as the major walked for the door.
When the major had gone, Gibson introduced himself to Lieutenant Foley, who, Gibson thought, looked out of place with his thick, black-rimmed glasses and bookish appearance.
Foley talked in a squeaky voice, but had a suspiciously strong grip. He also wore a Ranger tab, which told Gibson the man had more character strength than his weak-looking exterior suggested.
Gibson felt a tap and turned around to stare at a bantam black first sergeant who held out his hand. The senior NCO could have been picked out of a crowd as a first sergeant. His frame was small, but his shoulders were broad and powerful. He looked like a boxer, but was dressed in starched-stiff fatigues and shiny black jump boots. His smiling face exposed gleaming white teeth and twinkling eyes. "L-tee, it's good to have a fellow sky-soldier join my Rangers."
Gibson shook hands with First Sergeant Demand, and trying not to show his discomfort in the man's viselike grip, returned the pressure. Demand's eyes showed the pleasure he took in the contest and finally released his hold. "Good, L-Tee, you'll do fine. First Sergeant likes shaking hands with real paratroopers. If you need anything, you see ol' Top."
"It's a pleasure, Top. I'm glad to be here."
Lieutenant Avant took Gibson's arm and walked him to the door, whispering, "Sorry, cousin, forgot to warn you about Top's handshake. He nearly broke my hand the first time I met him."
Gibson opened and closed his stiff hand. "What else haven't you told me about him?"
"You'll see when you eat chow this evening."
Cam Tiem Mountains
Matt Wade stepped out of the jungle and cussed. Before him was a wide, meandering river blocking their route.
The woman came up behind him and sat down tiredly. "Don't even ask. I can't swim that."
They had reached the valley floor an hour before and made good time through the sparse jungle. Wade thought the road wouldn't be more than a few kilometers away.
He scanned the far side, then looked up the near banks for a place to cross. To the west looked best. "Come on, Ginny, we'll walk up aways and find a place to cross."
The woman looked up, genuinely surprised at his tone of voice. He had spoken without growling.
She put her hand out, and he pulled her up. "We're finally becoming a civil person, aren't we?" she said sarcastically.
Wade just sighed and began walking along the bank.
Four hundred meters down, where the river widened further and had a sand bar in its center, they stopped and Wade took off his boots. He tied the laces together, put the boots around his neck, and began wading out into the muddy water. It only came up to his knees. "Okay, take off your shoes and come on."
He held her hand and they crossed to the sand bar. The water had only come to their waist. Wade released her hand and tested along the other side. The water was much deeper, coming to his chest in only a few steps. Shit!
He waded back and sat down, studying the bank only twenty meters away.
Virginia stood over him. "Forget it, Wade. It's too deep. I can't make it."
Wade's jaw muscles rippled as he clenched his teeth. He'd had all he could stand. "Look, I'm sick and tired of your saying 'I can't'! We've made it this far, and we're gonna keep on makin' it."
"How?" she asked smugly.
Wade stared at her for a moment, then looked at the far bank. "I'll think of something."
The woman shook her head and pulled out the two empty water bags. "While you're thinking, Einstein, you can fill these." She tossed the bags to the sand in front of him.
Wade only glanced at the quart containers, then shifted his gaze back to the river. He stared for several seconds before suddenly looking back at the bags. "Take off your clothes!"
"What?"
"You heard me, get 'em off."
Wade grabbed one of the bags, blew into it like he would a balloon, closed it, and then picked up the other.
Virginia was beginning to think he'd finally gone crazy. Wade looked up after filling the second bag. "Now, or I'll take them off!"
Realizing he meant what he said she began to unzip her suit. "You'd better have a good reas ..."
The sergeant swiftly unbuckled his pistol belt and took off his pants, stopping her in mid-sentence. He hadn't lied; he didn't wear underwear!
She quickly continued unzipping her suit
and stepped out of it.
"Tie a knot at the end of each leg." he commanded.
"Why are we doing this? I don't..."
Wade grabbed the suit away from her and quickly tied the knots, then put the air-filled bags inside the suit and pushed them up the legs to the knots. He then tied the other end into a large knot, waded out into the water, and lay down. The inflated legs supported him like water wings.
He waded back and threw her the wet jumpsuit, then picked up the pistol belt and trousers, placing them around his neck.
"Let's go."
"What about my vest?"
"Leave it." Wade grabbed her hand and waded into the river. They made it a quarter of the way before the water rose to his chin. Virginia was already floating. He pulled her in front of him, directing her head toward the bank. "Kick like hell." He shoved her toward shore.
She screamed "No!" but began kicking with all her strength.
Wade tried to sidestroke but the weight of the vest and pistol belt dragged him down. He took a deep breath and sank.
Virginia made the bank easily and climbed up the slope. "You bastard! You son of a . . ." She turned, looking for him, but he wasn't there. "Wade!"
He broke from the water midway across and gasped in a deep breath before disappearing again.
"Oh my God. Wade!"
She waded out to her waist, crying out for him, when he suddenly popped up in front of her gasping for air.
"Wade!"
She grabbed for him, but he got to his feet and stood up in front of her, taking in deep breaths. She sniffed back tears of relief and put out her hand to help him.
He waved her back. "Hirn around till I get my pants on."
She looked at him in disbelief. What was left that he was afraid she might see? She could hardly keep from laughing as she shook her head at the absurdity and turned around. 4 Wow, we're even, Wade," she said, glancing back over her shoulder.
An Khe Ranger Base Camp
The last truck pulled away in a cloud of red dust, leaving ninety- five replacements from die 173rd. They wore green jungle fatigues and baseball-style hats. They assembled quickly in a ragged formation at the command of Sergeant Gino. Next to the replacements stood a formation of ninety-eight Rangers wearing their camouflage fatigues and flop hats. Childs had directed that they were no longer authorized to wear the black beret until they completed training. Behind the two formations were the platoon sergeants and twelve selected cadre who wore black berets and olive drab T-shirts. Thumper, Rose, and Russian stood in their ranks, having been selected as instructors.
Sergeant Gino centered himself on the formed company and commanded, "Com-pan-ee, A-tench-hut!"
Childs strode from the headquarters building and mounted a small platform of wooden ammo boxes.
Gino saluted smartly. "Company prepared for training."
Childs returned the salute and barked, "Pa-rade rest!"
He put his hands on his hips and surveyed the two formations. "People, my name is Childs. Fm the senior Ranger instructor. My job is to make you look, think, and act like Rangers. In two weeks, those who complete the training will be called Rangers and will be awarded the black beret. No man, regardless of rank or experience, is guaranteed to make it. You must earn the right to be called Ranger. You are now maggots, ragbags, and shit- birds. You 173rd replacements are maggots. You cherries who were in the company are ragbags, and all of you are shitbirdsl My platoon sergeants and instructors are proven Rangers and will be addressed as Ranger.
"This company is an elite organization, and we only want the best. Our job is tough, demanding, and dangerous. Those who can't hack the training will be thrown out in a heartbeat. You can quit at any time. All quitters and washouts will be sent to a leg unit immediately. You must obey all our rules and regulations to the letter, or you're out! You must pass all training or you're out You must show enthusiasm and motivation or you're out There are no excuses or appeals. If I say you're out, you're outl"
Childs paused for effect and lifted his head slighdy higher. "All shitbirds wearing headbands, beads, peace medals, and sunglasses and have their hair parted in the middle, fall out to my right. Nowl"
Twenty-two men ran from the formation and quickly formed into two ranks beside the sergeant, who stared at them with disgust.
"You shitbirds smoke pot and do dope. I can smell it from here. You got ten seconds to get in the proper uniform or you're out. One, two, three ..."
The ground quickly became littered with colored bandanas, glasses, and necklaces. Several made no move to take off their "indicators."
"Nine . . . ten! You, you, you, and you, get out of my sight. Report to Headquarters. You're out! The rest of you are hereby warned. If you smoke grass or use dope or ever put any of that shit on again, you'll find yourself on a plane to the stockade. Get back in ranks. Nowl"
Childs waited until they fell back in before putting his hands back on his hips.
"Now shitbirds, the first rules: For the next two weeks, nobody smokes, drinks booze or beer; nobody eats candy or any pogey- bait; and nobody leaves the Ranger camp unless it's official. You will eat only what the mess hall serves or the C rations we give you. You are restricted to the company area. Lights out at 2100. First formation every morning is 0500. Physical training will be twice a day, 0600 and 1630."
Childs pointed to the 173rd replacements. "Maggots, you will draw equipment and weapons immediately following this briefing. You and your equipment will be inspected in two hours."
He then pointed to the other formation. "Ragbags, you will be inspected in one hour. Before I dismiss the company, does anybody want to quit?" Three hands shot up-two from the "rag- bags" and one from the 173rd "maggots." Childs snickered, then bellowed, "Move out, quitters! Anybody else?" No one moved.
"We'll see about that. Pla-toon sergeants, take charge of your shitbirds."
Major Shane stepped back from the window, smiling. "It's begun, Top."
First Sergeant Demand chuckled. "Yes, sir. 01' Childs is in Ranger heaven pushin' them kids. I just hope we don't lose too many."
"Top, I don't care if we only end up with two platoons. At least we'll have dependable men who know what they're doing." Shane walked for the door. "The first three barracks are full of 173rd replacements, right?"
The first sergeant shook his finger at his commander. "Sir, they're 'maggots' now, but yes, sir, they're in the first three and the 'ragbags' are in the next three."
Shane laughed. "Okay, Top. The maggots and ragbags. Damn, I sure hope the brass don't visit; it'd sure be tough explaining nicknames like those. Let's go down and see how they're set up.''
Thumper, helping with the assignment of weapons to the 173rd replacements, stood in front of a group of twenty-five men. "Anybody here that has had experience with the M-60 machine gun, step up to the table."
Five men stepped out of ranks. The first was a lanky, six-foot- tall redhead, whose fair skin was sunburned to the color of a beet. His forearms were tattooed with a panther on the right and a dragon on the left. His face was smooth and covered with freckles, but his lips were thin and held a natural, mean scowl.
Thumper motioned him back. "You look a litde skinny to be humpin' a 60."
The redhead snickered as he snatched up one of the twenty- five-pound guns from the table and expertly disassembled the weapon in thirty seconds, then reassembled it in the same time. He ran a function check then tossed the weapon to Thumper.
"It's got a worn cam roller and the drive spring needs replacing. The hog will jam in the first burst."
Thumper smiled at his error in judgment. "What's your name?"
"Private First Class Woody Stecker. I was a 60 gunner in the Aviation Battalion."
Thumper tossed the weapon back. "Fix it, Woodpecker. It's your gun now."
The soldier held the gun affectionately, but glared at the big man. "The name isStecker.
Thumper shook his head. "You're redheaded and look as hard as woodpecker lips. Yo
u're 'Woodpecker' now. Next man, grab a 60."
Childs began his equipment inspection precisely on time and became a human tornado. Few men were unaffected by his wrath as he strew clothes and equipment all over the dirt road. Childs approached the final soldier and stared into the trembling man's eyes. "Are you shakin'?"
The soldier seemed terrified, but he shook his head "no." Childs backed up a step, eyeing the man from head to foot. He was a short Indian with a huge nose that looked as if it had been broken several times. His face was horribly scarred from acne or chicken pox. A silver cross hung exposed from dogtags outside his shirt. Childs didn't recognize him and knew he had to be one of the cherries assigned to the Third Platoon while at Phan Thiet.
the Last Run (1987) Page 12
