Everyone was waiting for the Lieutenant. He had taken out a penlight and was studying his map under his poncho. The radio crackled.
“Six wants to know where his rounds are, sir.” It was Sergeant Davis, calling on the platoon net from back at the firebase.
“Tell him to wait one,” said the Lieutenant.
He plotted the coordinates Gardner had called in to his platoon. They plotted nowhere even near the vicinity the sounds of war were coming from.
“Ask him which map he's using,” the Lieutenant whispered into the receiver.
Davis relayed the question over the company net and called back:
“Double deuce-Lima, sir.”
“Christ,” said the Lieutenant.
He dug into his pocket and pulled out the map on which he had plotted the platoon's position, the battalion base camp's position, and the location of his patrol.
“Six is screaming for his rounds, sir,” Dirtball called over the radio.
“Wait one!” whispered the Lieutenant.
He plotted the grid coordinates Dirtball had called to him.
Fuck.
He plotted the coordinates again, and he plotted them again. He was sure of it.
They were calling in fire on his patrol's location. Either they didn't know it or they had screwed up the grid coordinates and they thought they were calling it in somewhere else, or ...
Then it hit him.
They were calling in the fire mission on purpose.
They had ordered him to lead the patrol after questioning his judgment about leading last night's patrol.
They knew where he was. They knew right where the patrol was.
They were trying to kill him.
“Give me the radio, Cushion,” the Lieutenant whispered. “Put it on the company net.”
Whoopie Cushion handed him the receiver.
“Rattail Six, this is Rattail Two, over.”
“This is Six. Where is my fire, over.”
“Six, this is Two. You're calling in fire on my patrol, over.”
“What?”
“Six, you're calling in fire on my patrol. Right on top of us, over.”
“I couldn't be, over.”
“Six, you plotted them on the wrong map. Check it yourself, over.”
“Wait one,” said Rattail Six.
The Lieutenant tapped the map under his poncho in the dark, waiting.
“Two, this is Six. Fire mission stands, over.”
“Six, this is Two. We're out here about halfway between Firebase Zulu-Foxtrot and you, Six. The fire mission you've called in will place fire right on top of me. Please confirm, over.”
“Roger, Two. I've got you now. Wait one. I'm going to relay the situation to Saltlick Six and get back to you. Six out.”
“Two out.”
“What's up, Eltee?” Repatch stuck his face under the poncho. His face was stained with sweat. He looked as though somebody had painted white streaks down his brown cheeks.
They are calling in fire on our asses, Repatch.”
“Do they know that, sir?”
“They are fucking supposed to know, Repatch. But sometimes I wonder if they could stand in the middle of a goddamned PX parking lot and find their correct position. Jesus. What a trip.”
“Whatchew gonna do, Eltee?”
“I'll tell you what I'm not going to do. I'm not going to let them call in fire on this goddamned patrol, that's what.”
The radio crackled and the Lieutenant picked up.
“Rattail Two,” said the Lieutenant.
“Rattail Two, this is Saltlick Six. Your Six tells me you have refused an order for a fire mission. Over.”
It was Lieutenant Colonel Halleck.
Fucking perfect. This is all I need.
“Saltlick Six, this is Rattail Two. Negative. I have not refused an order for a fire mission.”
“Then where is my fire on target, dammit?”
“Saltlick Six, this is Rattail Two. I explained it to Rattail Six. If my guns fire that mission, every round will go right on top of me.”
“You don't know what the hell you're talking about, Rattail Two. You've got order for a fire mission. Order your men to shoot the fire mission or I'll have your ass.”
“No, sir.”
“What!”
“Saltlick Six, I said negative. I will not call in fire on this position, over.”
“I gave you an order, Rattail Two. Are you telling me that you are disobeying my order?”
“Saltlick Six, I am telling you I will not fire a mission on this position, and the coordinates you gave me will put fire right on top of me, over.”
“Rattail Two, this is Saltlick Six. Who is in command of this battalion? You or me?”
“You are, Six.”
“Then give me my goddamn fire mission or I'll come down there and set the sights and fire the guns myself.”
The Lieutenant tilted his head back against the wet ground.
This fucking war is so fucked up and these fucking so-called commanders are so fucking fucked up I always fucking knew it would fucking come to this. I fucking knew it.
“Saltlick Six, this is Rattail Two. Negative. Over.”
“You give me that goddamn fire, Rattail Two, or I'm coming down there and I'll personally have your ass, and I'll personally fire those guns, you hear me? Over.”
“Then come on down, Six. Because that's the only way you're going to get that fire mission out of my guns. Rattail Two out.”
“Jesus, Eltee. You're wadin’ in some deep shit tonight. That's all I got to say.” Repatch smiled a thin, nervous smile.
“Repatch, I've never seen bullshit this deep in my life. Get me Davis, Cushion.”
Cushion switched frequencies and raised Sergeant Davis on the radio.
“Here you go, Eltee,” said Cushion, handing him the mike.
“What's going on back there?” the Lieutenant asked.
“They got some fire on them, but it ain't much, Eltee. ‘Tween us and the Battalion, ‘bout a squad raisin’ hell. They got ‘em a 60 and a rattletrap machine gun, but they be gone in a minute. You watch.”
“How close are they to you, over?”
“Maybe a klik or two. They be gone pretty quick, Eltee.”
“So they're not right on top of Battalion?”
“Negative. They five, maybe six hundred yards due north of Battalion, and they be settin’ up and shootin’, then movin’ a hundred yards, settin’ up and shootin’ again. Typical VC shit, Eltee. Ain't much.”
“Goofball shit out there, Eltee,” said Repatch, slowly and distinctly.
“Repatch, you're sure we're where we were last night?” the Lieutenant asked. He had switched off his penlight, and they were lying next to each other on the ground.
“Roger that, Eltee. I got one end of the ‘bush at that crook in that little creek and the other end at the big tree on top of that little knoll. You know the tree. The one with all them vines hangin’ down. Same creek, same tree. Look on the map. You'll see where we're at clear as day.”
The Lieutenant took a quick look at the map. There was the turn in the creek, and there was the knoll. Repatch was right. The patrol was set up precisely where it had been the night before. Precisely. If they had fired that mission, he wouldn't be talking to Repatch right now, because Repatch and every one of the men on that patrol would be dead.
“Okay, Repatch,” the Lieutenant whispered. “Cushion, give me Davis.”
Cushion handed him the mike and Davis came on.
“What you want me to do, Eltee?”
“Sit tight. We're coming in at first light. Don't do anything until I get back there. Let me know when the shooting stops.”
“It's stopped right now, Eltee. They gonna move one more time and drop two, three more rounds down that little 60, and they be finished with their little VC patrol.”
“Roger. Out.”
The Lieutenant handed the receiver back to Cushion. He crawled over
to his depression in the ground and stretched out on his back, waiting.
The radio crackled and Cushion whispered:
“Eltee! Eltee! It's Captain Gardner!”
The Lieutenant crawled back over to the radio and took the receiver.
“Rattail Two,” he said resignedly.
“Two, Six. Get your men out of there right now, over.”
“Six, Two. Come again, over.”
“Two, get your men out of that ambush position. Move them! Move them now!”
“Six, can I ask what's going on? Over.”
“Saltlick Six is calling in fire from Div Arty. They're going to put 155 fire on top of your ambush patrol. Do it now! Move them!”
“Two out.”
The Lieutenant grabbed Repatch.
“Let's go,” he said.
“Righto, Eltee.”
“Move. Get them up and let's move.”
“Rodge. How far?”
“As far as we can as fast as we can. Saltlick Six is calling in 155s on our position.”
“We're gone.”
The Lieutenant handed the mike to Cushion and the patrol was up and moving. He followed Repatch into the dark. His head was pouring sweat into his eyes and he rubbed his eyes and they teared up and tears joined the sweat and his chin dripped dirt-black droplets of sweat on his fatigue shirt and the stain spread from his chest across his stomach.
Out of the blackness the distant
BOOOOM . . .
BOOOOM . . .
BOOOOM . . .
BOOOOM . . .
The 155 rounds would be on target in seconds and they were notoriously accurate if fed the right numbers and they had the numbers of the patrol's ambush location exact.
They kept moving through the black jungle and they waited.
The explosions, when they came, were deafening. Only a few hundred feet away, they sounded like they were hitting on the other side of that tree. One, two, three, four . . . they hit.
They crouched and waited.
BOOOOM ...
BOOOOM . . .
BOOOOM . . .
BOOOOM . . .
Somewhere in the distance, four GIs blindly pulled four lanyards and four more rounds sped to their target between a creek and a low knoll in Laos.
It couldn't have been true, but the second four rounds sounded louder than the first group. The Lieutenant covered his ears and tried to forget the sound they made, but he knew he would never forget that sound.
Never.
The radio crackled.
“Fuckin'-A, Eltee, they didn't waste no time. You okay out there?”
It was Sergeant Davis.
The Lieutenant grabbed the receiver from Cushion.
“We're okay. We're okay.”
“Rodge, Eltee. Rodge on the okay. Where are you?”
“We ran down a little creek. We're under the creek bank. Jesus fucking Christ, Sarge, they were on target. They had us pinpointed for sure.”
“Jeez, Eltee.”
“We're all right,” said the Lieutenant, more to assure himself than to ask the question.
“Rodge, Eltee.”
“Okay, we're going to lay up where we are until first light and come on in. I'm so glad . . .” His voice trailed off and he lowered the mike from his lips and he dropped his chin to his chest.
“Yeah, we see you in a short-short, Eltee. Out.”
The Lieutenant sat in the mud along the creek bank for a moment and then slowly roused himself and crawled along the creekbed, checking the men. They were all right.
It was quiet out there now. Repatch and Cushion and Lucky Lemon and Mallick and Moonface and Woodley were tucked up against the muddy bank of their godforsaken little creek in Laos and all was right with the world.
Pop. Pop. Pop. Three more 60mm rounds took flight.
The VC were letting them know that all the 155 rounds in the world weren't going to dislodge them from their holes, from their woods, from their harassing patrols, from their land, from their night . . .
He heard some VC small-arms fire and he heard answering fire from the Battalion and . . .
Then he heard nothing.
It was over. The little war in Laos had lasted about forty-five minutes, and now it was part of the larger history of the war, which was a history of a war made up of thousands of little wars just like the one tonight, a half-dozen little men in black uniforms scurrying around in the dark shooting at a whole bunch of men in green uniforms dug deep into their bunkers shooting back.
Repatch touched his shoulder.
“Davis said they stopped shootin’ and they movin’ toward the platoon perimeter, sir. He wants to know if you want him to pop some rounds on ‘em if they come any closer.”
“Tell him to do whatever seems right. Otherwise, tell him to hunker down and sit tight. It'll be light in another couple of hours and we'll be back in time for breakfast.”
“Rodge, Eltee.”
Repatch crawled back down the creekbed, and the Lieutenant could hear him talking to Sergeant Davis on the radio. Then he reappeared next to the Lieutenant and stood crouched there for a while. Neither man said anything. Repatch drew little circles in the mud with the toe of his boot. The Lieutenant flapped his arms a few times, trying to dry out his fatigue shirt.
“What time you figure they'll be comin’ for you, sir?”
“After breakfast sometime.”
“They'll be comin’ to take you away, won't they, sir?”
“Yeah, Repatch.”
“I heard the whole thing, sir. You refused an order from the battalion commander, didn't you, sir?”
“Yeah, I did.”
“You refused to put fire on our position, didn't you, sir?”
“Yeah. That's pretty much it.”
“Are you gonna want to take anything with you, sir?”
“I don't know. I don't guess so.”
“What about those maps, sir? You want me to keep them for you? I can stash them for you, sir. You know. Where nobody's gonna find ‘em.”
“Sure, Repatch. When we get back, stash them.”
Repatch looked over at the Lieutenant. He was staring, just staring into the darkness on the other side of the creek. Repatch had never seen him just sit there and stare like that before.
“Sir, if you'd a fired that mission, them guns woulda rained shit on our ass, right?”
“Yeah.”
“So you was right, huh, sir?”
“For what it's worth, yeah. I was right.”
“That's all I wanted to know, sir.”
The Lieutenant stood there, silent, impassive.
“Will you write to us when you get where you're goin'?” Repatch asked.
“Yeah.”
“Sir?”
“Yeah.”
“You think the battalion CO is gonna come after you tonight, like he said? And put that fire down himself?”
The Lieutenant turned to look at Repatch. He was grinning, and the sweat streaks on his face made him look like a monkey.
“I don't think we have to worry about that, Repatch. I don't think he could get a chopper at this hour.”
“Good,” said Repatch. “I'll give Davis and them a ring-a-ling and tell ‘em to relax. They was afraid the dude would do what he said, and come on down and shoot them guns himself. They wasn't sure you could stop him.”
“I'll start worrying about Halleck in the morning, Dirtball, when the sun comes up. That's when colonels go to war, Repatch.”
“When the sun comes up. Rodge, Eltee,” said Repatch. “I'll remember that one. I got to tell that one to Davis. He'll fuckin’ love that one, Eltee.”
16
* * *
* * *
The Sergeant Major had been up for two hours when the Colonel came groggily awake and found him on the balcony, yelling at some poor soul on the phone.
“Did I ask you how long it was gonna take, dammit? Then don't start in with your damn complaints to me about how long it's g
onna take. Do you think I care about your problems? What do you think God put me in this man's Army for? To wake up every morning wondering what in hell is going wrong for you today? What do you think I am? Your personal damn complaint box?”
The Sergeant Major saw the Colonel in the balcony door and stood up. He rolled his eyes and held up his index finger and mouthed, “One moment, sir,” and held the phone away from his mouth and yelled:
“You get that shit over here to me by ten hundred hours or I'm going to have your ass pushing a broom around the perimeter of a listening post somewhere outside Dak To, dammit!” He slammed the phone down and turned around.
“Do you want breakfast, sir?” he asked, smiling as if nothing had happened.
“Sure, Sarenmajor.” The Colonel was still in his pajamas, a baggy cotton costume the same shade of gray he had insisted his pajamas be all his life, the shade of gray they issued to you at West Point.
“Yes, sir, coming right up. I located the breakfast girl about an hour ago and she's properly schooled, sir.”
He picked up the phone and barked something in Vietnamese.
“She'll be up in a minute, sir. Why don't you get yourself a shower, and by the time you're through, breakfast will be here.”
The Colonel stood in the balcony door for a moment, a blank look on his face. His large dark eyes were staring across the low rooftops of Saigon into the sunrise, which was typically splendid. The Sergeant Major stood there watching him, then coughed and moved a foot to his right, to break the Colonel's trance.
“Sorry, Top, I guess I lost myself in my thoughts there for a minute.”
“Yes, sir. I got the same problem. Too many thoughts and not enough time to think ‘em.” He chuckled and looked in the direction the Colonel was looking.
“You can't hardly believe where you are when you see a sunrise like they got themselves over here in Vietnam every morning, huh, sir?”
“No, you sure can't, Top. You sure can't.” The Colonel turned and headed for the bathroom.
“Breakfast will be ready for you when you are, sir,” said the Sergeant Major.
“Righto,” said the Colonel.
The Sergeant Major sat back down on his wicker chair on the balcony and dialed the phone.
“Give me MACV headquarters,” he barked into the receiver. He waited an instant and barked again:
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