Childs pointed to the cross. "Get rid of that, ragbag."
The Indian's eyes widened further as he spoke in a whisper, "I can't."
"What?"
"I . . .1 cannot. I am a believer and it is a symbol of truth."
"Bible-thumper, I said, take it offl"
The soldier, looking skyward, whispered a prayer and shook his head again.
Childs reached up to grab the chain. But the young Indian's hand shot up, grasping the sergeant's wrist in a death grip. "The Lord called me to the Rangers. Please do not take the cross."
Childs stared into the brown, pleading eyes and released the chain, stepping within inches of the soldier's face.
"You keep the cross, Preacher, 'cause you got guts. But, if you ever grab me again I'll knock your ass to kingdom come. Your gear better be squared away or you're gonna need a congregation to pick up all your shit." Childs tore through the soldier's equipment, inspecting everything twice. He finally tossed down a two-quart canteen and grabbed the starded man's arm and dragged him to the front of the formation.
"You ragbags see this ugly Indian? Whatever he's preachin', you'd better listen, 'cause he's the only one that's got his gear squared away. I'll be back in one hour to reinspect, and if you ain't straight, I'll make believers outta you"
Childs turned to the small Indian. "Preacher, you're now the chief of this tribe of ragbags. Square 'em away."
Highway 1 Cam Tiem Mountains
Virginia Wolinski fell to her knees on the hard-paved road and touched the hot surface as if it was gold. "We made it! We really made it!"
They'd only traveled an hour after leaving the river before finally stumbling onto Highway 1.
Wade stood on the shoulder of the road with his hand up to block the sinking sun's glare as he scanned both directions.
"We might be too late to get picked up by a convoy."
"What?"
"The convoys don't move after three, so they don't get caught on the road after dark. This is VC country."
"But surely we can ..."
His head turned suddenly and he stared up the road again. "What is it?" she said.
"A ride."
A minute later Wade flagged down a small, three-wheeled, Lambretta pick-up. The driver, an old Vietnamese man with brown, wrinkled skin and wisps of long gray hair hanging from his chin, stared at the couple as if they were aliens. Wade quickly inspected the vehicle. In the pick-up bed were dozens of one-foot eels and other assorted rotting fish.
Using what little Vietnamese he knew, Wade talked to the old man, who knew a few English words. Lots of hand signs filled in the story. The old man had taken a full load of fish and eels to market in Xuan Loc, ten miles distant, and was returning with the unsold. He had thought Wade was a robber, but now, as he realized that all the couple wanted was a ride, he grinned broadly.
Wade took Virginia's arm and motioned her toward the pickup bed. "Get in, and let's get outta here."
Virginia took one look at the eels and yanked her arm free from his grasp. "No way, Wade. I'm not getting in there with those things!"
The sergeant rolled his eyes and sighed. "Look, Lady, take a look inside that cab. There's no room for both of us. Hell, there's barely room for me. These Lambrettas are nothing but motor scooter's with a chassis."
"Wade, I'm not getting in the back. I'll ride up front with the gentleman and you ride in the back."
The sergeant lowered his voice and turned his back to the driver. "Lady, for all I know, that oF man could be VC and takin' us to his friends. I gotta ride up front and cover him so he don't try no funny business, you understand?"
Virginia looked nervously at the old Vietnamese, then back at the eels. "But... Oh, God, I hate you for this, Wade."
She climbed reluctantly onto the back bumper and held her nose as she stepped gingerly into the slimy bed. "Wade . . . I. . . I'm going to be sick."
The sergeant hopped quickly into the cab before she changed her mind and motioned for the old man to go.
"Wade? Wade?
The driver jerked the vehicle forward, knocking Virginia back screaming.
Ten minutes down the road Wade looked back at the woman, glad he was in the front and away from the horrible odor of the fish. The vehicle's man-made wind was keeping the stench in the back. The old man was chattering away in a high singsong pitch as if the American understood every word he said. The woman looked at him pleadingly, but Wade kept smiling and nodding to keep the old man happy.
TWenty minutes later the vehicle slowed. Wade could see a cluster of clapboard huts along the road just ahead. He'd seen many such "rest stations" while on convoys. They were nothing more than thrown-together shacks that gave a few farmers a chance to sell black market Cokes and cigarettes to GI truck drivers during piss breaks. Some "stations" were more elaborate than others, offering everything from candy to prostitutes for an exorbitant sum.
The old man pulled off the road to the jubilant welcome of three barking dogs and a small, smiling boy.
The vehicle had barely stopped when Virginia scrambled over the tailgate and ran to a small table holding stacked cans of Cokes and beer. Wade yelled, "Hold it," but it was too late; she grabbed a Coke can and was immediately struck by a long branch of bamboo. An old woman stepped out of the hut, scolding her in high-pitched Vietnamese, and raised the stick for another blow.
The driver barked out to the old woman, but she struck the auburn-haired American anyway.
Virginia ran to Wade, still holding the Coke. "Stop her, Wade!"
The sergeant grabbed the stick but also snatched the can from Virginia and handed it back to the woman, who smiled, exposing a dark, red mouth full of betel nut.
The small boy tugged at Wade's trousers. "You numba one GI, you souvenir me cigarette?"
Matt smiled, knowing the boy was the mouthpiece for the old couple. Kids picked up the GI language quickly and did most of the dealing.
"Don't smoke, kid, and don't have MPC. We cheap Charlie."
The boy's smile vanished. "You fucking numba ten, Joe!"
The driver spoke to the boy, obviously wanting to know what was said and listened to the boy as he pointed disgustedly at the two passengers.
The old man stiffened visibly and spoke quickly to the boy.
Virginia whispered to Wade. "What's happening?"
"It seems we're not wanted since we don't have money."
"But I've got money."
The boy pointed an accusing finger at Matt.
"You numba fucking ten. You ride with Papa-san and pay no mon-nay. Papa-san say you no tell him you no have mon-nay!"
Wade put his hand out to Virginia. "Give me the MPC."
"Huh?"
"The money, lady."
Virginia unzipped her vest pocket and withdrew a small, soggy wad of the military payment currency script. Matt's eyes widened in disbelief, as did the boy's. She had three twenties and a ten in the small, colored notes.
"Ginny, we could buy the whole place with this. Why're you carrying so much?"
"Mad money. Can I have a Coke now . . . and some food?"
Wade took a twenty and handed it to the wide-eyed boy.
"You give papa-san for ride and tell him take us to Phan Thiet now."
The boy held up the money excitedly and talked quickly with the old man, who showed no emotion except shaking his head and then spoke in a higher pitch.
The boy shook his head at Wade. "Papa-san say he no can go Phan Thiet now. It too late. ARVN shoot him, think maybe he VC. You stay. Girl come morrow, she give you short time. You stay, drink beer, chow down big time."
Wade sighed, disappointed, but nodded toward the boy. "We drink and eat, leave tomorrow. You have C rations?"
"Bucoo, Joe, cost you this money, okay."
"Okay."
Minutes later the couple sat in the floor of the hut with a stack of C rations. Virginia had just opened a can of beans and franks and wolfed down a large bite when Wade snatched the can from
her.
"Slow down! You wanna get sick? Eat slowly and chew your food a long time before swallowing. Your stomach hasn't had food in awhile and needs to adjust. You shouldn't have drank those two Cokes so fast, either."
Virginia rolled her eyes and began chewing in slow motion.
The boy walkedNin, tossed down the several ponchos and poncho liners that Wade had requested, then sat beside Wade and touched the hair on his arm. "You kill bucoo VC?"
Wade took a bite of chopped ham 'n' eggs and shook his head.
The boy stroked the hair in fascination and looked at the woman.
"You have same same?"
Virginia pushed back her sleeves, exposing her fair skin.
The boy leaned over, inspecting her fine hair, and smiled. "You same same me." He then looked at her chest. "Bucoo boobs. You have baby-san?"
Wade hid his grin and raised his brow, waiting for the response.
Virginia pushed down her sleeves self-consciously and folded her arms across her breasts.
"No, I don't have a child, I'm just. . . well, I'm ..."
"American," said Wade, nonchalandy taking another bite.
"Yes, American. American girls have . . . we . . . well, we ... "
Wade smiled at her discomfort and pulled the boy over to him.
"American girls are bigger than Vietnamese. They get bucoo fat drinking bucoo Cokes." The boy eyed the woman arid then the two empty cans laying beside her. He nodded in understanding.
Virginia glared at Wade and took a laige mouthful of beans. The boy looked up at Wade. "GI lady boom boom same same Vietnamese?"
Wade coughed to keep from laughing and nudged the boy. "Get some more Cokes, kid."
An Khe Ranger Base Camp
At exacdy 1630, Childs stepped up on the ammo boxes and faced the formation of bare-chested men who were ready for physical training. He shook his head and sighed. "Shitbirds, IVe been around the world, two state fairs, a carnival, and seen ducks screw, but I've never seen anything like you. The inspection was a joke. You shitbirds have violated one of the major rules of the Rangers-attention to detail. You must pay attention to detail in order to survive. Well, I got somethin' for you. This little run we're goin' on is designed to clean out the cigarettes, booze, candy, and dumb-ass Anybody wanna quit before we begin? Too bad. Left face! Forward, harch! Doubletime, harch/"
The formation of men was led by Thumper, who was to ensure they kept a steady, eight-minute-per-mile pace. Childs ran along the side of the formation with the platoon sergeants. Thumper led them down the hill to the perimeter road for one mile, then turned them around and started back. The men ran silendy, not singing the traditional Airborne cadences. When a soldier tried to sing out, Childs would yell "Shut up!
Five hundred meters from the Ranger camp, Childs began hollering, ''Only five hundred meters, girls, then it s over!99 He yelled again as they got closer, "We're almost there, it's almost over!"
He allowed the formation to climb halfway up the hill only one-hundred meters from the barracks before stopping them. "Shitbirds, I got a littie surprise for you! A-bout face! We're gonna do it again! Doubletime, harch!"
The formation had lost no one on the first run, but by the time they reached a half mile, twelve men had fallen to the side.
Childs stopped the formation and faced them toward him as he stood on a rise, stalking back and forth with hands on hips.
You just learned a lesson, shitbirds! Don't ever let your mind think it's over! If you were on a mission and had to run to a helicopter pickup zone and found you couldn't use it, you'd have to run to another PZ-and another until you finally got picked up. A Ranger must never think something's over. It ain 9t never over till the fat lady sings at your funeral! You see them wimps that fell out? They let their minds beat them! They're the ones you'd have to carry on a mission 'cause they thought they couldn't make it! Shitbirds, remember this lesson. It's all in your heads! You have to drive on and push through pain. You must toughen your mind as well as your body."
Childs pointed to the camp a half mile away. "You shitbirds walk on back and cool down before chow. And remember, it ain 9t over till the fat lady sings! Move out!"
The formation of men began walking back to the camp, except for a lone soldier in camouflage fatigue pants who began jogging. Childs recognized him immediately; it was the small Indian he'd inspected earlier. One of the men yelled out, "Show 'em, Preacher! Us ragbags is bad!"
The Indian passed by a group of maggot replacements that jeered at him. "That's one ugly Indian, man!"
"Ragbags ain't shit!"
A ragbag yelled back, "You 173rd maggots are wimpsl"
One of the 173rd replacements broke into a run and easily caught up to the Indian and passed him.
"Go, maggot!" hollered the 173rd replacements, encouraging their group's competitor.
The Indian increased his pace and took back the lead, to the cheers of the ragbags. The replacement maggots began hollering and screaming for their man to catch up. Thumper watched in disbelief, for the replacement that had run to catch the Indian was the tall redhead, Woodpecker.
Childs stood on the rise, watching not the runners but the screaming men who seemed to find identity in the names 'maggot' and 'ragbag.' "I'll be damned," he thought as they hollered and ran to see who would win.
"Move it, maggot!"
"Go, ragbag, beat his ass!"
The two runners ran neck and neck up the hill. The redhead pushed ahead and sprinted for the first barracks, but the Indian caught up to him with a surprising burst of speed and slapped the wall of the building first. Both men fell to their knees, out of breath and gasping for air. The redhead finally got to his feet and stood over the small soldier. "I'll beat your ass next time."
The Indian raised his head, looking skyward, then looked at the glaring soldier. "Only if the Lord gives you strength."
The first of the soldiers arrived. "Who won?"
The redhead motioned disgustedly, toward the Indian. The ragbags yelped with joy and raised the victor to their shoulders as the 173rd maggots gathered around their defeated runner. "No sweat, man, you almost beat that ugly shit."
The two groups faced each other, yelling and trading insults, when Childs stepped between them. "At ease! Shitbirds! Get cleaned up and get to chow!"
The groups of men mumbled and walked away, leaving Childs with something very unnatural on his tough face-a grin.
The mess hall rocked as a booming voice filled the room.
"Moooove out, Troop-ar! Eat my good Army chow and mooove out!'' First Sergeant Demand stood by the food line bellowing, "One piece of cake, Troop-ar! You holdin' up my line!" The mess hall was full when the bantam soldier turned toward the dining area.
"Some of you troop-ars not appreciatin' the first sergeant's latrine! You been writin' litde notes on my walls and smokin' nasty cigarettes. You troop-ars keep that up, you gonn be sleepin' in the bunkers! I heard some cussin' in my chow line. Don't be cussin' around yo' first sergeant. I like clean things!" The senior sergeant turned back to the food line. "Mooove out, Troop-ar!"
Major Shane sat at a table with his officers and senior NCOs and noted Lieutenant Gibson's stare at the black sergeant. "L-tee, you'll have to get used to Top when you eat. He always does this. This is his mess hall and he takes great pride in a shipshape camp. Don't use profanity around him and never, never throw any trash on the ground."
Gibson broke his trance from the bellowing man and nodded to his commander, grateful for the warning. Lieutenant Avant nudged him. "I told you Top was different."
Shane leaned back. "Sergeant Childs, how is your program coming?"
Childs motioned to the dining area where men sat eating. "You see anything unusual over there, sir?"
Shane glanced at the men. "No, should I?"
"Sir, take a look at their uniforms."
Shane looked again, but shook his head. "They look alright."
"Sir, you'll notice the camouflage-fatigued ragbag
s over there, and the green-fatigued maggots on the other side. I think we got us two separate armies."
"We have cammies for the replacements; issue them."
"No sir, not yet. I got a feelin' this is exactly what we need."
Shane looked at Childs strangely, then broke into a grin. He winked knowingly and leaned forward for his glass of tea, but noticed Gibson looking at him as if he wanted to speak.
"Gibson, what do ya wanna say?"
the Last Run (1987) Page 13
