Woods shrugged his shoulders. “Fine with me!”
The dim morning light revealed a panorama of destruction. The whole base camp was a mess. Warner stood up and checked the perimeter in front of their bunker. The red-clay-dyed streams of water still rushed through the rows of barbed wire off the hill the camp was built on. Engineer stakes had been washed away all around the perimeter and huge gaps had appeared in the defenses. A lot of work was going to have to be done before dark to make the camp secure again. Warner turned around and looked back at the hooches. The building next to the Recon Company’s orderly room had its roof torn off and the open area between the hooches and the fighting bunkers was littered with sheets of roofing tin.
He felt his erection pressing against the coolness of his wet pants and a rush of sexual excitement sent shivers over his body. He looked down at the dark hole in the roof and could hear Woods’s muffled voice talking to someone. Warner unzipped his pants and released his pride. His poncho still covered him as he stood watching the rest of the company leave their hooches and look around at the mess. He masturbated slowly so that it wouldn’t show under the poncho. It was almost erotic standing there on the bunker overlooking the destruction from the storm.
Captain Youngbloode had been up most of the night working on the company’s paperwork. He had found boxes of awards that hadn’t been forwarded to the troops who had DEROSed back to the States and orders for promotions that should have been sent to their new units. The storm had hit just as he had finished and locked the stacks of paperwork up in the steel wall locker. He had spent the rest of the night checking the company area and had nearly been decapitated by a sheet of flying tin. When he had returned to his quarters at the back of the orderly room, he found that one of the folding shutters had been left propped open and everything he owned was soaked. He opened the Samsonite suitcase that contained mostly military manuals and removed a sealed bottle of Seagram’s Seven.
“I think I deserve a little of this!” He spoke to himself and poured a double shot of the whiskey in the small silver cup his wife had given him as a present when he had been promoted to captain. He held the cup up in the air and toasted his wife. “To you, my dear!”
A knock on his door drew his attention away from the bottle. He screwed the cap back on and closed the suitcase. “Yes?”
“First Sergeant sir … I’m just checking to see if you’re up yet.”
“I’m up, First Sergeant … give me a minute to dry off a bit and then we need to talk.”
“Yes sir.”
Sergeant Arnason opened the plywood door to the bunker and stepped back inside when a pool of water rushed in. “Shit!” He tried closing the door again but was too late. “It’s a fucking ocean out there!”
“Believe me, it’s a lot drier in here than it was out there last night!” Woods stood on the layer of full ammunition boxes that covered the raised floor. Arnason had designed the floor so that there was a four-inch gap between the pallets and the ground, and then on top of the pallets he had placed a layer of green M-60 ammo cans and boxes of hand grenades. It was a smart idea because the waterproof cans protected the ammo and during an attack the ammunition was very handy. All you had to do was reach down and remove part of the floor.
“Did the captain mention anything to you about going out on a shakedown patrol?” Arnason spoke to Woods.
“He told me yesterday that something like that was in the wind. A five-patrol operation.” Woods pulled off his soaked undershorts, held them out the firing port nearest to his bunk, and wrung the water from them. He left his wet clothes in the open firing slit and started drying off with his towel. “Man, I’m not going to take another shower again as long as I’m in Vietnam! Look at this shit!” He held his hand out. “My fingers are wrinkled from all that damn water up there. All this rain is going to give us crotch rot!”
“Stop your bitching, Sergeant!” Arnason opened the door again, stepped outside, and immediately sank up to his ankles in the red mud. “I’m going to walk over and see the captain.”
Woods nodded and started drying his hair. Warner stuck his head through the trap door. He had finished his business up top and wanted to change his clothes. “How much longer are you going to take, Sergeant?”
“Relax, Warner. You told me to go first, remember?” Woods thought of something and went over to the ladder; he looked up at Warner. “Get back out of the way, I’ve got to climb up top for a second.”
Woods pulled himself through the opening onto the roof. He stood naked on the edge of the bunker and cupped his hands around his mouth. “Arnason!”
The team leader stopped walking through the mud field and turned back to face the bunker. He saw Woods standing bare-assed on the bunker. “WHAT!”
“TELL THE CAPTAIN WE WANT TO STAY TOGETHER!” Woods threw an exaggerated punch at the air to emphasize his words.
Arnason waved and turned back to struggling his way through the mud to the orderly room. The wooden planks that had been used as a walkway had been washed away. He looked at all the destruction around him and shook his head. It would take weeks to repair the damage to the base camp, but that was a job for the clerks, not the recon teams. He was glad there was a mission planned for his team.
He stopped and used the steps to scrape off most of the mud from his jungle boots before entering the orderly room. The place was a mess. “Morning, First Sergeant. Is the captain in?”
“He’ll be out in a minute.” The senior NCO looked pissed. “This fucking country isn’t fit for the Vietcong!” He lit a cigar after going through a half pack of damp matches and looked up at Arnason. “How’s those new replacements coming along?”
“Great! I lucked out and drew some good men. They’ve jelled perfectly as a team. I’m looking forward to a shakeout mission.”
“Kirkpatrick is supposed to be coming back today or tomorrow from R and R. Shaw wants him assigned to the supply room.” The first sergeant looked over the tip of his cigar at Arnason. “What do you think about that idea?”
“I’ve told Shaw before that Kirkpatrick is a recon man and not a supply clerk!”
“Arnason, you’ve got a seven-man team and an E-5 for an assistant team leader. A lot of people are starting to bitch.”
“Top”—Arnason had to pause and get control of his temper—“we have teams in this company that have never gone out on a mission and you know that! They always have some damn kind of excuse why their team isn’t ready … Yes! I am overstrengthed right now, but I’m also pulling missions!” Arnason tightened his lips and then added, “And damn tough ones besides!”
“Relax, Arnason. You don’t have to start your fucking bragging with me!” The first sergeant’s voice barely hid the jealousy he felt toward Arnason. It was true; he had pulled some very difficult missions and had gained a reputation for being a very good team leader. Arnason didn’t know it yet, but he had made sergeant first class. The brigade sergeant major had told the first sergeant the day before while they were having supper together. The orders had just reached the personnel section. Arnason was very young to be making E-7, and the old E-8 was not very happy with the idea; he had been over forty years old when he had made E-7, but that was back in the old days when you had to soldier for your rank.
“Morning sergeants!” Captain Youngbloode stepped into the room.
“Morning sir. Do you have a minute?” Arnason stood at attention.
“Sure. I’ve got to check our portion of the perimeter. We can talk and walk at the same time.” Youngbloode removed his helmet and pistol belt off their hooks and pushed the door open for Arnason to step out first. “I’ll be back in a couple of hours, First Sergeant.”
Youngbloode paused just outside the door and looked around his company area. Every possible place that could be used to spread out wet clothes and equipment was filled with olive drab items ruffling in the strong breeze. “What does it look like around the perimeter?”
“Not that bad, sir. A couple of h
ard hours filling in gullies and replacing trip flares and Claymores should make the perimeter secure for tonight.” Arnason shrugged. “I’ve seen worse.”
“I bet you have … Is it true that you’ve been in-country almost four years?”
“Yes sir. I was with the Eighth Transportation Company out of Fort Bragg, North Carolina; light helicopters.”
“They came over here in 1962, didn’t they?” Youngbloode knew his military history.
“Yes sir.”
“That’s been a haul, Sergeant.” Youngbloode’s voice reflected that he was impressed.
“An assignment is an assignment, sir.”
“Well, what did you want to talk about?”
“I heard that there might be a mission for my team. We could use a short shakeout mission to see how the team works together.”
“I’ve been given a series of areas to reconnoiter. The commanding general wants the An Khe Pass checked out for NVA outposts and he’s been given a mission to recon the Ia Drang Valley for enemy activity. The Special Forces camp at Due Co has just been relieved after almost a hundred days of being under siege.”
Arnason thought for a couple of minutes. The An Khe Pass had been cleared almost a year earlier by the First Brigade of the 101st Airborne and there hadn’t been much enemy activity since then, maybe a trail watcher or two. He had been in the Ia Drang during the big battle and knew the area as well as any American. “I’d like to try the Ia Drang again.”
“Again?”
“Yes sir. Woods and I have been there before.” Arnason looked directly at the captain. “It would be a good place to see if the new men can cut it.”
“Fine. The Ia Drang assignment is yours.” The captain stopped walking and looked toward Arnason’s bunker. He could see that Woods already had his men filling in the newly created gullies in his sector of the perimeter. Arnason had a good team. “I would like to go along with your team on this mission. I don’t think a recon company commander should spend all of his time in the rear.”
Arnason didn’t know how to answer the officer. He didn’t want a rookie West Pointer screwing up his mission and giving dumb orders that would get his men killed. “Don’t you think you should pull a couple of missions closer to the base area, sir? That way you won’t be away from the company so long.”
“I thought about that, but the problem is that you’re the best recon man in the division and I’d rather spend my first couple patrols learning from you.”
Arnason looked over at the captain.
“I said learning. Once we get on the ground, you’ll command your own team, but I’d like to ask that you give me the appearance of commanding them before and after.” Youngbloode grinned. “I have to keep up my image.”
“It’s a deal sir.” Arnason was really beginning to like the officer. “I appreciate that.”
“No, it’s I who appreciate the opportunity to learn the recon trade from a combat NCO.”
“I’d like to ask you something sir.”
“Shoot.”
“I know I’ve got an overstrengthed team, but I’d like to keep them together. Kirkpatrick is due to rotate soon along with Sergeant Woods a few months later, and I’d like to have a little fat so that I can send my men on R and R and not have to stand down from missions.”
Youngbloode smiled. He had already been briefed by the first sergeant about breaking up Arnason’s teams and giving the men to NCO team leaders who were understrengthed. Youngbloode realized what the other NCOs were up to and didn’t agree with it. Arnason was well known for training his men well and everybody wanted them. “I’ve already been briefed on that, Sergeant Arnason, and I’ve made up my mind.”
Arnason stopped walking.
“I’ve decided on making your team a heavy team. I’m not going to make too many changes in the Company’s organization, but the one thing that I’m going to do is form light and heavy recon teams. The light teams will have three men and an NCO team leader and the heavy teams will have eight men and two NCOs, the team leader and an assistant.”
“That’s a damn good idea, Captain.”
“I know.” Youngbloode spoke without any modesty. “I’ve been thinking about it since I was in the States and I’ve talked to a lot of ex-recon people about it. We need a heavy team with enough firepower to bail out our own light teams, or even to take on the tougher missions along the border.” Youngbloode felt the mud suck at his boots when he tried walking again. “So you don’t have to worry about anybody breaking up your team.”
“Thanks sir.” Arnason started drifting away from the captain. “I’d like to tell the men; they were worried about being sent to other teams.”
“Before you leave…” Youngbloode used the index finger on his right hand to rub under his nose. “What do you know about what occurred between Captain Gouch and Sergeant Shaw over at the supply tent a couple of weeks ago?”
“Just what happened at the poker game: Shaw won about eight grand off the captain.”
“Eight thousand dollars?”
“Yes sir. The captain wrote a check for the money on his account back in the States.”
“A check?”
“Well … there might have been a couple checks involved.”
“Were those checks drawn from stateside banks?”
“I’m almost sure sir that I saw an Oklahoma address on the check nearest to me.”
“Thank you sergeant and I’ll get back with you as soon as we’re given mission orders.” Youngbloode adjusted his holster. “You can start getting your men ready.”
“Yes sir.”
Captain Youngbloode watched Arnason walk through the mud to his bunker and enter. He was very concerned over what Arnason had told him about Shaw and the checks. The supply sergeant had submitted paperwork for his signature that authorized him to buy money orders so that he could convert the MPC into funds back in his personal accounts in the United States. Shaw had claimed winning twenty-four thousand dollars that night and had not mentioned any winnings paid off in checks. The sergeant had done nothing illegal but there was something that didn’t quite make sense.
Youngbloode took his time inspecting his company area and gave orders to his officers and NCOs concerning the rebuilding of his perimeter and hooches.
Woods followed Arnason into the bunker as soon as he had returned. “Well? What did he say?”
“Relax, David. We’re going to be staying together as a team. The captain is going to start using what he calls heavy and light recon teams. A heavy team will be eight men.” Arnason couldn’t hold back the smile. “We’re going to be the first heavy team.”
“Great!” Woods slapped the sandbags next to the door.
“We’ve also been placed on alert for a mission back in our old favorite area.”
Woods’s face turned pale. “Not…”
“The la Drang Valley.”
“Whew! I thought you were going to say up in the A Shau Valley.”
“Not today, sport!” Arnason tried knocking the mud off his boots and then gave up. “Wait until after supper to tell the men about the mission. We’ve got a lot of work to do before then and I’ve got to make a couple of business calls.” Arnason strapped his NVA pistol belt on and adjusted the holster on his hip. “Do you think you can handle things for me this afternoon?”
“Sure.” Woods’s face reflected his joy. “I was worried that they were going to give me my own team. I don’t think I’m ready for that kind of responsibility yet.”
“You cut yourself down too much, David! You’re one of the best recon leaders in this Company!” Arnason pointed his finger at the new sergeant. The comment made Woods feel good, but he still didn’t feel confident enough to be responsible for other men’s lives.
* * *
Shaw sat across the table from Captain Gouch in the battalion S-4 office. He grinned and lit a cigar as the young captain looked over the requisitions Shaw wanted him to sign off.
“These are an awful lot of me
dical supplies for a battalion, Sergeant Shaw.” The captain knew that something was very wrong with the large amounts of hospital supplies the sergeant was ordering for a single recon company. “You’ve got five cases of morphine syrettes and enough penicillin to cure a half million cases of VD listed here!”
“Just sign off the req’s sir and I’ll be on my way.” Shaw blew a stream of smoke over the table at the baby-faced captain.
“I don’t think that I can justify…”
Shaw reached into the top pocket of his fatigue jacket and removed the folded light green check. “I thought we had an agreement? You sign the requisitions and I give you back this piece of paper”—Shaw frowned—“unless you’ve changed your mind?”
Captain Gouch shook his head slowly from side to side and picked up his ball point pen.
Shaw watched him, wearing a sly grin on his face. He had the captain in the palm of his hand and even though he would give the dumb officer his check back, he knew the man was hooked and could be used in the future.
“Here.” Gouch’s voice had lost all of its confidence as he shoved the pile of signed supply requests over the table.
“Thank you very much and here are your checks … three of them, I believe … Oh! You wouldn’t want to take MPC instead, would you?”
“What do you mean?”
“I’ll give you ten thousand dollars in Military Payment Certificates for the checks.”
“Ten?”
“Yup … got it right here.” Shaw set the small cardboard box on the captain’s desk and opened it so that the young officer could see the stacks of ten-dollar MPC notes.
The captain didn’t answer but nodded his head.
“Good! It’s going to be fun doing business with you!” Shaw put the checks back in his pocket.
“You say that you make all of your money playing poker?” Gouch was becoming suspicious after signing all of the supply requests but wasn’t going to turn down a deal where he made two thousand dollars just trading his checks for MPC.
“No … I didn’t say that.” Shaw tapped the pile of requisitions on the edge of the captain’s desk and then slipped them back into his briefcase. “It was fine doing business with you.”
Black Market Page 6
