“Sure. I think I can handle that.” Woods glanced over at the small soldier, checking to make sure he wasn’t being toyed with. “I’ll talk to them too. Who knows, they might end up liking you.” Woods half-closed his eyes and smiled. “So you’re really rich?”
Warner nodded and adjusted the load on his shoulder.
“How rich?”
“Very.”
“Your dad’s a millionaire?”
Warner nodded.
“Does he own his own company?”
“Fifty-three of them and probably the controlling hunk of a hundred more … but our family’s real wealth is in stocks, automotive company stocks.”
“General Motors?” Woods could only think of the major car builder on the spur of the moment.
Warner smiled. “And Chrysler, and Ford, and some of Rockwell International, and—”
“Shit! You are rich!”
“My mother prefers the word wealthy.”
“What in the fuck are you doing here?” Woods saw that Koski and Sanchez had reached the bunker, had dropped their gear by the entrance, and were waiting for them.
“What are you doing here?” Warner said, his face becoming red. “I might come from a wealthy family, but I’m still an American … In fact, I have more to fight for than they do.” Warner nodded his head toward his waiting teammates.
“You got a point there…”
Warner stopped walking and turned to face Woods. “Please! Don’t tell them what we’ve just talked about. Koski has a little idea, but Sanchez doesn’t, and I want to keep it that way.”
“Fair enough.” Woods nodded and pointed with his free hand at the bunker. “… That’s going to be your home when you’re not in the field.”
“Why a bunker? I thought those cabins back there were for the Recon Company.”
“First off, before you get your ass teased to death, those are hooches, not cabins or cottages…” Woods’s thoughts were centered on a little rich kid trying to show his rich peers how democratic he was. “Secondly, our team lives in a perimeter fighting bunker because Sergeant Arnason doesn’t believe recon men should screw up their God-given senses by living civilized one day and like animals out in the field the next … Besides, it’s safer in a bunker on the perimeter. You know where your enemies are most of the time and can defend yourself.” Woods was not only referring to the NVA, but to all of the fraggings and racial crap that went on inside of the base camp. The bunker isolated the team from most of it.
“I can handle that.” Warner led the way into the bunker. He was pleasantly surprised how clean and well organized the sandbag structure was. Wooden flaps that could be opened or closed had been attached to the weapon slits, so they could burn Coleman lanterns at night inside the bunker. The cots were built across the back of the bunker and attached to the walls. Mosquito netting had been tacked around the two-by-four frames and four-by-four posts to keep out not only mosquitoes but any stray scorpions and kraits that might have gotten in between the sandbags.
“Sanchez, you can take that empty bunk over there.” Woods pointed to the bottom bunk on the right-hand side of the bunker. He looked at Spence’s old bunk, skipped over it, and pointed to the empty double bunks near the entrance. “Koski, you and Warner can use those bunks. Let Warner have the top one ’cause he’s smaller and can get up there easier.”
The replacements dropped their gear on the cots and placed their M-16s in the handmade weapons racks next to their beds.
“I’ve got to make it to an NCO meeting with the new commander. Make yourselves at home until Arnason and I get back.” Woods left the bunker and looked at his watch. It was ten minutes until seven and he started jogging toward the orderly room, holding his CAR-15 against his side as he ran.
Arnason was standing up against the back wall, where a soft breeze was blowing through the screened windows into the large open office area. He saw Woods enter and called for him to join him.
“Sorry about acting like an ass earlier…” Woods spoke as he leaned back against the plywood and two-by-four frame.
“No problem.” Arnason had been scanning the faces of the assembled noncommissioned officers. The turnover of personnel in Vietnam was high. He recognized only a couple of faces that had been there as long as he had, and one of them was due to rotate back to the States in the morning. Arnason stared at the only other man in the room who had been in the Recon Company as long as he had: Sergeant First Class Frank Shaw, the supply sergeant, or better said, the senior supply sergeant of the four assigned to that position.
Woods nudged Arnason and whispered in his ear. “You’re frowning and he’s staring at you!” Woods nodded his head toward the new captain, who had just stepped out of his office in front of the assembled cadre.
Arnason blinked and returned his attention back to the occupants in the office. “Thanks … I was daydreaming about something that pissed me off!”
The captain smiled when he saw the sergeant’s eyes focus. “Now that we’re all here”—he smiled wider at Arnason and continued talking—“I’m Captain Youngbloode, your new commander. I’m going to make this introductory meeting very short for a number of reasons. I wanted to get all of you together at least once during my six months of command…” He smiled again, but this time to himself over the “six months command” statement. He knew that the personnel policy for officers in Vietnam was six months of command and six months of staff assignments. Everyone wanted to get their combat hero badges and have a combat command in their permanent files. What the very short commands did was destroy the morale of the combat units. The privates humped the field for the whole year, and a lot of them didn’t even get their five-day R and Rs, while the captains and lieutenant colonels who commanded the companies and battalions rarely had time to learn their jobs before they were replaced with other inexperienced officers who pushed the men hard to make names for themselves. Only the second lieutenants served complete twelve-month tours in the field, and to the man they were OCS and ROTC graduates. There were no West Point second lieutenants serving as platoon leaders, the most dangerous assignment for an officer in Vietnam. Youngbloode didn’t like his last thoughts and frowned. He knew that West Point officers had been protected from serving in combat as second lieutenants since the Korean War. “I lost my train of thought there for a second.” Youngbloode smiled again at Arnason and continued. “All of you should know that I had to pull a lot of strings to get the command of a reconnaissance company; regular line units or airborne commands seem to be the commands most of my peers seek. I bring this up only to let all of you know that I want to be here and I’m going to take my job very seriously.” Youngbloode looked over at his first sergeant. “I’ll be visiting each section in the company, starting with the First Sergeant this evening and working my way out to the recon teams tomorrow. Please have all of your men available and standing by.” Youngbloode turned to walk back into his office. “Thank you for taking the time to come up here. I’d like the company officers to join me in my office.”
Woods walked next to Arnason on the way back to their bunker. “What do you think of him?”
Arnason reached up and pulled his cap down lower over his eyes. “I don’t know. It’s too early to make any kind of clear judgment as to his intentions, but he looks like he’s going to be the type that will support us when we’re in the field … Hell! he might even join us on a mission!”
Woods looked down at the ground. “I hope he’s not going to play all of the racial shit with us. The last thing I need is a captain who’s trying to prove his equality to me!”
“I don’t think you’re going to have to worry about that particular aspect with him. I’ve served under a lot of officers and he strikes me as being pretty damn self-confident!” Arnason pointed over at their bunker. “Look at that shit!”
Sanchez and Koski were working out behind the bunker doing complex karate patterns against each other, and Warner sat on top of the fighting bunker watching.
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br /> “Those are our new replacements. I didn’t know they were karate types.” Woods was pleasantly surprised.
“That’s going to be to our benefit.” Arnason increased his pace. “Come on and introduce me.”
Woods noticed as they approached the bunker that Koski had a very strong build. Sanchez and the Pole were sweating from their workout and stopped when the two sergeants approached the bunker. Woods made the introductions and Arnason shook hands with each of the men.
“I think you’ll like our team. We’re all here except Kirkpatrick, who’s on R and R and should be back soon.” Arnason looked over at Woods. “Show them where the showers are and let them clean up before it gets dark. I’ve got some important business to attend to.” Arnason slipped through the dark doorway into the bunker.
“Where’s he going?” Warner asked.
Woods smiled. “Poker game. The officers and NCOs have a game just about every night in the supply tent.”
Arnason came back outside wearing his lucky cap: a Marine Corps fatigue hat that had been dyed black, with a half-dollar-size pure silver skull and crossbones attached in front. He patted his side pocket that bulged out slightly from the wad of ten-dollar MPC notes stuffed in it. “Set up the guard detail for tonight and you can send the First Sergeant’s clerk back to him.”
Woods nodded and watched his team sergeant walk rapidly away toward the row of hooches.
“Are the stakes high in those games?” Sanchez used an olive drab towel to wipe the sweat off his face.
“For me at least. It’s not uncommon for a pot to hit a couple thousand dollars…”
Sanchez whistled between his teeth. “Mucho dinero!”
Woods glanced at Warner, who shrugged his shoulders and smiled. “Yeah, that is a lot of money. Come on and I’ll show you guys where the showers are. Warner, you stay here on guard duty and I’ll take you over when they come back.”
“Guard?” Insecurity was reflected in his voice.
“Yeah!” Koski chuckled. “Guard duty! The real thing, boy!” He pointed toward the barbed wire. “Thatta way!”
Woods saw the confused look on Warner’s face as to what he should do and bailed him out of the uncomfortable situation. “Relax. There are guys in every bunker around the perimeter. It’s not like we’re going to be attacked during the ten minutes I’m gone.”
Warner nodded and picked up his M-16 rifle. He turned his back on the trio and looked out over the wire at the darkening jungle. They still had a good hour of light left.
Arnason slipped through the door of the GP-Large supply tent that had been secured over a two-by-four frame on a plywood platform. The tent was blacked out so no light would shine through the cracks. Shaw had placed the supplies in the back of the tent around the edges of the enclosed area, and a makeshift poker table with a real felt top occupied the center. During the day a plywood cover was on the table and it was used as a desk.
“About time you got your ass here! We were going to start without you!” Shaw pointed with his unlit cigar at the open seat. There were six men already waiting, including a new captain from the Headquarters Company, who had arrived from the replacement depot at the same time as Captain Youngbloode. “You know everyone except Captain Gouch. He’s the new battalion supply officer.”
Arnason nodded at the captain and slipped into his seat. “What are we playing tonight?”
“Five-card stud … first and last card down.” Shaw dealt out the first card as he spoke. “Ante up! Fifty dollars.”
“Shit! Since when has the ante been fifty bucks!” One of the older NCOs raised the bitch.
“Since I’m the dealer, asshole!” Shaw twisted the cigar around in his mouth. “Ante up or shut up!”
Each one of the men sitting around the table threw in one of their red chips. The first hour of cards left everyone a winner, except the old sergeant first class and the new battalion supply officer. Arnason had won two decent hands and was about a thousand dollars ahead. He didn’t know exactly, because he thought counting his winnings before the game ended for the night was bad luck.
“All right, cards!” The new captain was dealing. “I feel a little luck coming…” He was down almost two thousand dollars and needed a win. The first cards turned faceup for the players brought a round of bets and counter bets, with five of the seven players showing face cards. The captain had a deuce of hearts showing and stayed in the game. Arnason figured the man had paired his deuces or he would have folded. The rest of the cards didn’t cause any excitement except for Shaw, who had a pair of kings showing and a wide winning grin on his face.
“Who’s going to be dumb enough to bet into those guys?” Shaw threw three blue chips on the stack. “Three hundred … any takers?” There was still one card left to be dealt out. Everyone folded except the new captain. Arnason could see a line of sweat pop up on the young officer’s forehead.
“I’ll stay … but you’ll have to take a stateside check.”
“Sure, I trust you.” Shaw laughed around his cigar.
“Make it an even thousand…”
The tent became quiet. The captain’s highest card showing was a nine against Shaw’s pair of kings. Everyone in the room knew the captain had paired his deuce on the first up card.
Shaw lowered his head and looked over at the battalion supply officer under his eyebrows to see if the man was serious. He saw the panic written on the captain’s face as he tried to bluff. “… and I’ll raise you a thousand … Deal.”
The captain’s hand was shaking as he flipped the last card to Shaw, catching the edge of the card on one of the ones Shaw had showing and flipping the down card over where everyone could see that it was a king. “You don’t have to keep that if you don’t want it…”
“Sure!” Shaw laughed. “I think three kings showing is going to win the pot!”
The captain dealt himself a down card and then flipped it up. It was another deuce. “Let’s make this fair.” He had two deuces showing and the best possible hand that he could have was three deuces.
Shaw started reaching for the pot to pull it over to his side of the table.
“Wait a minute … I bet a thousand.” The captain had lost all sense of reality.
“What! Are you crazy, Captain!” Shaw spit out the cigar. “I’ve got three kings showing!”
“Put up or shut up!” The captain snarled the words.
“Fine! And I’ll raise you five thousand dollars!” Shaw fumbled with the gray metal box next to his chair where he kept his MPC bundled up in thousand-dollar packages and removed five of the packets that were held together with silver paper clips.
“Shaw”—Arnason leaned over and whispered in the supply sergeant’s ear—“don’t do it. Can’t you see he’s lost it!”
“You stay the fuck out of this, Arnason! You folded your cards, so keep your fucking mouth shut!” Shaw yelled.
“Damn it, Shaw! Look at the man!” Arnason pointed. “He’s lost it!” Arnason switched his attention to the officer. “Sir! He’s got you beat showing. You can’t possibly have more than three deuces!”
The young captain started writing out a five-thousand-dollar check.
“Sir! Do you have that kind of money in the bank!” Arnason tried reasoning with the officer.
“I just got a divorce from my wife before coming over here. We sold our house and my share is enough to cover this hand…” The captain’s voice was automatic and dull toned.
Arnason returned his attention to Shaw. “Dammit, Shaw! Don’t do this! You’re going to ruin him and this is supposed to be a friendly game!” Arnason looked at the other players, who turned their heads away from him. Shaw was right; if the captain wanted to bet his losing hand and he could cover the bet, it was his business.
Arnason pushed his chair back with his legs and stood up. “Shaw … if you fuck over that kid … I’m going to get your ass!”
“Get the fuck out of here, Arnason, and make your threats to someone who’ll get sc
ared!” Shaw watched the young captain drop the check onto the pile of chips and then flip over his down card, which didn’t match anything. “Three kings … Beat ’em.”
The captain paused with his hand that held the down card shaking. Arnason stood in the entranceway and watched the pathetic sight. The captain slowly turned his card over and looked up at Shaw.
“Three deuces…”
“Sorry about that shit, Captain … you lose.” Shaw used his forearm to pull the large stack of chips over to his side of the table. He folded the checks and slipped them into his jacket pocket.
“Three deuces…”
“Yeah, that was a good hand, but not good enough.”
The captain stared across the table. Arnason walked back into the tent and grabbed him by the arm. “Come on sir, I’ll walk you back to Battalion.” The officer obeyed meekly. Arnason looked at Shaw and his eyes hardened. “I’m going to keep my word, Shaw. You’ve gone too fucking far this time!”
“Get the fuck out of here Arnason … and don’t come back here anymore!” Shaw flicked his wrist at the recon sergeant to dismiss him.
It was dark outside and Arnason paused so that his eyes could adjust to the dim light. A half-moon that gave a little light was breaking through the clouds.
“First the divorce … I lost my kids … now all of my money…” The captain started sobbing. “… fuck I don’t want to live anymore.”
Arnason sensed that there was more going on inside that tent than just poker. The captain was falling apart over his divorce and then rapid assignment to Vietnam. It was too much for the young officer to take. “I’ve been there before myself sir. You’re talking to the choir.”
“Are you divorced?” The officer looked up and Arnason could see the wet film covering his eyes in the moonlight.
“And I love my kids.”
“I had two little girls…”
“How old are you?”
“Twenty-four … We got married in college but my wife couldn’t handle my being in ROTC, with all of the protesting going on.”
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