Fallen Angels

by Walter Dean Myers

  “That’s his problem,” Peewee said.

  “If he don’t pick up his body count soon,” Sergeant Simpson started to get up, “it’s going to be your problem.”

  Chapter 5

  The talk about us going to Hawaii was stronger than ever. Me and Peewee decided to save our money and have a blast in Hawaii. I also thought about taking some courses at the University of Hawaii.

  I got a letter from Mama at mail call. Peewee got a letter from his girlfriend, but I don’t think he liked it. He crumpled it up and threw it in a butt can. Then he got it out again and reread it.

  “Peewee, my mother says you shouldn’t eat any native food over here,” 1 said. “She says it’ll give you the runs because of the heat and everything.”

  “Where was she when I needed her?” Peewee answered. He had spent the better part of two days on the crapper.

  “How was that wine, anyway?”

  “How I know?” Peewee turned over on his bunk to face me. “The only other wine I had in my damn life was some Bird back home.”

  “How old you got to be in Chicago to drink?” “Old enough to carry some money to the man,”

  Peewee said. “What else your moms got to say?” “You wouldn’t be interested,” I said.

  “How you know?”

  “You want to hear about how her feet swell up when she walks?”

  “My mama’s feet used to swell like that,” Peewee said. “She went to four doctors, and they couldn’t do shit for her. Then she went to a mojo lady who gave her something to soak her feet in.”

  “That work?”

  “Yeah, she can walk all day now.”

  “My mother’s a Baptist,” I said. “She wouldn’t go to a mojo lady.”

  “My mama’s a Baptist, too, but she what you call a sore-feet Baptist. Your feets get sore enough, those mojo ladies start looking pretty good.”

  Walowick came in pissed off because some motor pool guys were over from Chu Lai to play poker and one of them was smoking pot.

  “You know what this guy is?” Walowick was stripped down to his drawers and helmet. “A damn white hippie.”

  “A what?”

  “A hippie!” Walowick said.

  “Yeah, but you said he was a white hippie before,” Peewee said.

  “Well, he is white,” Walowick said.

  “All hippies is white,” Peewee said.

  “No, they’re not,” I said. “You got to come to New York, and you can see some black hippies.” “Everybody in New York is white,” Peewee said. “Perry is from New York, and he sure ain’t white.” “Yes, he is, he passing!”

  “You know, we had something like you back in Galesburg,” Walowick said. He spoke carefully, as if he wasn’t sure of the language. “We cut it up and put it in formaldehyde.”

  “Didn’t that leave your daddy lonesome?” “What’s that got to do with my daddy?” “Nothing, Walowick,” I said. “Peewee’s just running off at the mouth.”

  “He’s a crazy dude,” Walowick said. He got his towel and went out to our makeshift showers.

  The next day we got a new film in. It was something about how Julie Andrews wasn’t going to be pushed around anymore. We watched it once and then we watched it again with the reels mixed up, just to be different. Johnson wanted to get the kids from the village up to the base, but a captain said we couldn’t do that, so Johnson and a guy from Delta Company worked on a way to get a generator down to the village so we could show the movie to them.

  For two days we didn’t do anything. Nothing. We didn’t have any formations, patrols, nothing. Beautiful.

  A new supply of insect repellent came in. Lieutenant Carroll said that it was good for making Molotov cocktails. Peewee wanted to know how come he was thinking about making Molotov cocktails when we had all the explosives in the world right in camp. Good point.

  Lieutenant Carroll was a decent kind of guy. He talked a lot about Kansas, which is where he was from. His parents had a farm near Hays and his father was proud of him being an officer in the army. He’d told us that, about his father being proud of him being an officer, twice. It was like he didn’t know what to make of it.

  For Sunday chow we had roast beef, mashed potatoes, peas, carrots, carrot cake, and milk. We seemed to be having that quite a bit.

  After chow we put the television on, but nothing was on. Nothing at all. All we got was static. Brew wrote a letter to President Johnson saying that if he wanted us to fight, he’d better send us some good televisions, and we all signed it. Then we threw it away.

  Then we watched the movie again without the sound, and we all had parts to play in it. That was the best showing of the movie, especially with Peewee as Julie Andrews.

  We listened to the news on radio and heard about peace talks in Paris. There was a lot of talk about how we were kicking the living crap out of the Communists, too.

  “Turn that up loud as you can,” Peewee said. “Make sure them Congs hear it.”

  We heard stories. Stories about fighting in Dak To, and down south in Pleiku, but we weren’t doing any of it. I thought about it, though. I wanted to know how it felt to shoot at a Cong. The way I thought about it, mostly, was thinking of what I would say when I got home. Maybe even what I would say to Kenny.

  Kenny always looked up to me. He couldn’t play ball as well as I had when I was his age, and he didn’t do as well in school. Maybe it had something to do with Dad leaving when Kenny was four. He saw all the fights between Dad and Mom, and I think it hurt him more than it did me. I had basketball, and I was good in school. Later, with Mom drinking so much, all Kenny had was me. I wanted to tell him that I did something in the war.

  I couldn’t sleep most of the night. When the rats weren’t running around in the dark, the mosquitoes were after you. Peewee said that the mosquitoes ran patrols for the rats and afterward they split up their catch. I had to go to the bathroom, but I didn’t want to go out to the outdoor latrine. In the first place it stunk too bad, and in the second, as soon as you pulled your pants down after dark the mosquitoes bit your ass.

  For breakfast we had eggs, coffee, buns, bacon, and grits. Peewee complained that he missed the roast beef.

  “You getting that for lunch,’’ the cook said.

  “If you serve any more of that damn roast beef you better bring a rifle with it because I’m going to put a hole in your ass for every slice of beef I see.” Brunner said it like he meant it, too.

  The cook, a short blond guy with a tattoo on his right arm that said “Mother” and one on his left arm that said “Linda,” spit in a cup and slid it down to Brunner. “There’s your lunch, skinhead.”

  Captain Stewart, our company commander, came over and asked what was wrong, and Brunner told him what had happened.

  “We can only fix what they send us, Captain,” the cook said.

  “I’m sure the corporal realizes that, soldier,” the captain said. “But men who go out and risk their lives every’ day would like a little more respect.”

  “I didn’t ask to be no damn cook!’’

  “Watch your mouth, soldier,” the captain’s voice assumed captain’s status.

  Two jets swept by and started hitting a target less than five miles away. They must have made a half-dozen passes before they were joined by two more. We went outside and watched them, our food still in our hands.

  “They must have got a convoy,” Brunner said. He said it to Captain Stewart, and he had his sucking-up voice on. Behind him, the cook was spitting in Brunner’s coffee and stirring it up. Lobel smiled when he saw it, and turned away.

  “The VC are trying to get in position for the truce,” Captain Stewart said. “They’ll try to get into as good a position as they can and then negotiate to hold those positions.”

  “If the war is going to be over, they can have the whole damn country,” Peewee said. “I don’t want the sucker.”

  “That’s not why guys are out there humping, soldier.” The captain pulled out a pa
d and pen. “What’s your name?”

  “Gates, sir,” Peewee said. “That’s G-A-T — ”

  “I can spell, Private. Are you a cook, too?”

  Just then a guy came from HQ tent and called Stewart. Two more minutes, and everybody was running around except Lieutenant Carroll.

  “I think they want all the officers in the HQ tent,” I said.

  “They want me, they know where to reach me,” Carroll said. “Or they can just leave a message with my secretary.”

  There was a sadness about Lieutenant Carroll, something that you didn’t notice at first, but it was there just the same. Even when he made jokes it was there. I watched him walk toward his hooch.

  The choppers. They made a noise like the heartbeat of a machine gun as they came in. My stomach knotted for a second, and I told myself to relax. I had a feeling, a sense that something important was going to happen.

  “Alpha Company, let’s go!” Sergeant Simpson started yelling.

  Alpha Company started lining up. Sergeant Simpson started checking out our squad, making sure we had the right gear.

  “What’s up?” Lieutenant Carroll had to raise his voice to get over the noise of the choppers.

  “Charlie Company is pinned down over there,” Simpson said. “They were going to send some marines in to get them out but they sent the marines up to Khe Sanh. They expect some heavy stuff up there. They got reports ofbattalion-size movements.”

  “A battalion of VC?” Carroll looked at Simpson.

  “That’s what they said,” Simpson said.

  Lieutenant Carroll went off toward HQ tent.

  “Okay, you guys, this is what’s happening. The air force is gonna try to clear the LZ and then we’ll secure it. Third platoon’s responsibility is just to protect the left flank of the LZ. We move in and push out one hundred meters. First platoon will clear the area of hostiles along with second platoon. Fourth platoon gets the right flank. We shouldn’t have any problems unless the VC want to stand and fight a whole damn company.”

  “You hear anybody going out last night?” Peewee asked me.

  “Unh-uh.”

  “Then Charlie Company must have been out there all night,” he said.

  I hadn’t heard of any company going out at night before.

  Lieutenant Carroll came running back with another lieutenant. He spoke a few words to Sergeant Simpson and Simpson nodded.

  “Okay, you guys, make sure your pieces are on safety. Do that right now!”

  I ran my finger over the safety catch of my M-16. It was on.

  “I don’t want no rounds in the chamber until after we hit the area,” Simpson said. “We hit the ground, me and Lieutenant Carroll will mark off the squad assignments. And don’t go shooting at nothing until you see something to shoot at! Let’s go!”

  My legs felt heavy as I ran toward the chopper. Lieutenant Carroll was at the door, checking us in. I banged the shit out of my knee getting in. My bad knee, too.

  I looked at Peewee. There was a smear of blood across his face. Simpson noticed it, too.

  “What the hell happened to you?”

  “This dumb fucker hit me with his rifle,” Peewee jerked a thumb at Brunner. “Simple-ass farm boy!”

  “Shut your mouth!” Brunner came back.

  I had to grab Monaco to keep from falling toward the door as the chopper jerked into the air.

  “When we hit the zone, keep your distances! Don’t bunch up!” Lieutenant Carroll called out. “We shouldn’t get any resistance, especially at first. When we dig in, make sure you’re dug in behind something solid.”

  “How about my daddy’s pickup truck?” Walowick asked. “I wouldn’t mind going home and getting behind that baby.”

  I couldn’t see a thing outside the chopper. The door gunner was reading a comic book. He looked cool. I thought of saying a prayer, but I couldn’t think of one. I didn’t know one prayer. Under my breath I apologized to God.

  “Yo, Peewee!”

  “What?”

  “We get back to the base, remind me to memorize a prayer.”

  “I know one,” Peewee said.

  “What is it?”

  “Flying into combat, bout to have a fit, Lord, if you listenin’, Please get me out this shit!”

  “Just say a Hail Mary!” Monaco yelled.

  From where we were at the base the action looked like it was just a few miles away. We were in the choppers nearly ten minutes and still going.

  I didn’t know we were even getting near until the door gunner put his hand on his headset, as if he were listening to something, then moved to his gun, pointed it down at the lush green jungle below us, and started firing. The .50 caliber started spitting, and the shells came out at an enormous rate. They were flying back into the chopper and banging around. I dropped my rifle. Monaco pushed it back toward me with his foot.

  We didn’t just come down, we damn near fell down. I was grabbing for the sides and shaking. I thought the chopper had been hit.

  “Get ready!” Sergeant Simpson called out. “Monaco, you go first. Don’t none of y’all shoot Monaco!”

  Monaco had his eyes closed, praying.

  “Now!” the machine gunner yelled over his shoulder.

  Monaco went out in a flash, and Lieutenant Carroll was right behind him. Johnson jumped out next and fell. I was next in the door, looked down, and saw that we were still about ten feet off the ground.

  “Jump, shithead!”

  I jumped and landed across Johnson’s legs. I got up first and started to help him up just as two more bodies landed on top of us. We started crawling away from under the chopper.

  “Let’s hit it! Spread out!”

  We spread out and started moving toward the trees. I kept as low as I could, bent over at the waist. We kept moving ahead, with Monaco running like he was crazy or something. There was no fire, and we stopped in a pretty dense area.

  “Stay down, stay alert!”

  We didn’t move for a while. I looked up and saw the choppers in the distance. Then they were gone. Even the sound was gone. The only thing I could hear was the heavy sound of my own breathing. We were on our own.

  Simpson started going around, placing the squad. Johnson was off to one side with the .60 caliber machine gun. Brew was his feeder. I gave Johnson the thumbs-up sign and he gave it back.

  The air in Nam was always hard to breathe; it was heavy, thicker than the air back home. Now it was harder. I opened my mouth wide and sucked in as much air as I could, but it didn’t seem to be enough.

  We waited ten minutes. Nothing. Then we began to hear small-arms firing off to our right. I looked, but I couldn’t see anything. You could smell it, though. You could smell the stink of gunpowder and hear the distant burping of the machine guns.

  We waited twenty minutes. Nothing. The sound of gunfire subsided. The smoke didn’t. It drifted our way like a gentle mist through the tall trees. Behind us the choppers were coming in again. They went back into the landing zone. Then they were gone again.

  We waited. Forty minutes.

  “Brunner! Back up!”

  We started out, moving less quickly than when we came in. The landing zone, without the excitement, the fear, was a longer distance away.

  We reached it finally, and I was near enough to Carroll to hear him call the choppers in. We were on the choppers and out in minutes, with Simpson screaming at us to get our weapons on safety.

  We got to the base area, and I remembered Jenkins. I was behind Brunner and followed the path he walked.

  We got back to the hooch, and Simpson came in.

  “How did Charlie Company do?” Walowick asked.

  “They lost nine people,” Sergeant Simpson said. “One platoon lost one man, got six wounded.”

  “How many VCs were out there?” I asked.

  “They don’t know, but what they do know is that they didn’t have on no damn pajamas. They was North Vietnamese regulars.”

  “They still talking
about us going to Hawaii?” Walowick asked.

  “Yeah, they talking about bringing some Lurp teams up here, too,” Sergeant Simpson said. “That the stuff I don’t like.”

  When he left, I asked Walowick what a Lurp team was.

  “It’s a long-range surveillance team,” Walowick said. “They don’t fight if they can help it. They just go out and see what’s out there.”

  “Why does Sergeant Simpson think that’s so bad?” “I don’t know,” Walowick said. “But he didn’t live to be a short-timer by being stupid.”

  Lieutenant Carroll came and asked me about my profile. He said that he saw that I had mentioned it when I first got into the company. I told him how I had hurt the knee playing ball.

  “It bother you too much to go on patrols?”

  “Not so far,” I said. “I just don’t want to get messed up because of the knee.”

  He looked at me for a long time without saying anything. Then he looked away for a moment and back at me. “Perry, I don’t want to take you into combat if the knee’s really bad,” he said. “It’s not just you, I mean. Everybody in the squad depends on everybody else.”

  “I guess it’s not really that bad,” I said.

  “Look, I don’t want to avoid the issue,” he said. “If you tell me you can’t go on patrol, I’ll see if I

  can get you transferred to another outfit. If you tell me that you can go on patrol, then we’ll just wait until the profile comes down and take a look.”

  “I’ll wait for it,” I said.

  “I don’t like putting you on the spot,” he said. “I really don’t. But we re all in this mess together.”

  “Sure.”

  When he left, Peewee asked me what the conversation was about and I told him.

  “Don’t go being no fucking hero,” Peewee said.

  “What would you have said?” I asked him.

  “Probably the same thing you did, but I would have been pissed off at myself,” he said.

  “I’m a little pissed,” I said.

  I really wasn’t pissed, because I knew the real question wasn’t about my knee. I thought the knee would be okay. The real question was what I was doing, what any of us were doing, in Nam.