Men in Green Faces (38 page)

You-O, in front, passed die word back. “Hamburgers and pizza.” The squad was the last to leave the tables. By then, Gene had gone back for seconds and then thirds. He was so full, he thought his stomach would burst, but he’d enjoyed every bite.

Back at the hootch, the movie crew was hanging the bed-sheet screen. In an hour, dark would fall.

“Let’s get back to the card game,” Doc said. Gene stopped inside the door. “Count me out for a little while.” They went off, and he climbed up to sit on his rack and gather die unopened letters from home to read. Good to be back, he thought, reading through the stack. Things sound good at home. Karen’s doctor was satisfied her pregnancy was going well, she’d painted a crib for the baby, their name had risen nearly to the top on the waiting list for Navy housing, the other church members prayed for him too…He wanted to go home so bad he ached.

He came, finally, to the envelope bearing only his name. Opening it, not knowing who’d sent it, he felt a little strange, a little nervous. He unfolded the single page and read.

To my brother: I’m uniting this for Willie too. You meant a lot to him. You meant a lot to all of us. We may have kidded you about your Bible and praying, but you showed us there was Someone looking over us. I know you’re in pain and I know if Willie could be with me to write this, these would have been his words too:

Hung my head over, hung my head low
Saw my God waiting, waiting for me.
He entered my life once but I went astray
Then asked for forgiveness and came back his way.

P.S. I hope this eases your pain, my brother.

Gene read the signature, Eagle, through a blur of tears. He’d left him a poem, after all. Hadn’t forgotten. He read it again. Willie in heaven—the Eagle remembered, cared—believed. But he…

Outside, night had fallen. The guys were still playing cards, the movie was on. Gene dropped to the floor from his top bunk and headed once more for the helo pad, needing to be alone. The sky was full of stars, the tide going out to sea. And, finally, he was surrounded by silence.

Jim was right. It was over and somehow he felt at peace about Willie. There was nothing more he could do except remember him with love. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out the cross. He looked at it lying in his palm for a long time, then raised it to his lips and kissed it.

“Good-bye, my friend,” he whispered. “Rest in peace.”

He saw its shine for a second, in the moonlight, before it disappeared into the river, into the outgoing tide.

Lifting his head, he drew in a breath, smelling the fresh coolness of the night air, the green of the jungle. A couple more days and he’d be going home, back to Karen and life and laughter, and it truly would be over. He laughed suddenly, filled with anticipation, before jumping off the pad and heading back to the hootch to join the rest of the squad in celebration.

Walking into a burst of laughter, he asked, “Guys, got a seat open?”

“Sure do,” Doc said. “You’ve got all the money.” He giggled.

Man, he thought, Doc is wasted. He looked around. And so was Jim. Brian, Alex, and Roland were feeling no pain but still going strong. You-O was out like a light, lying on the floor still holding an open can of beer. Gene laughed again. He loved these guys, and they were all going home. They’d survived. He sat down and put in his ante.

Before the first hand was over, Jim lurched to his feet.

“Excuse me,” he said, clapped his hand over his mouth, and ran outside.

Holding his cards in the surprised silence of Jim’s quick exit, he heard a noise that sounded like somebody blurting “ralph,” and then another and another.

At the table, they started to laugh, and were interrupted by yet another “ralph!” Then came silence. They waited, grinning.

The door swung open. Jim came in, wiping his mouth. “Move over,” he said, “and give me a beer.”

An hour later, he passed out, facedown on the table, sending poker chips everywhere.

“That’s it,” said Doc. “Let’s call it a night.”

While Doc and Roland flopped Jim in his sack, he and Brian did the same with You-O. Alex, too far gone to help, just watched, then staggered to his own bunk.

When morning came, Gene woke well rested. For the first time since Willie’s death, he’d slept like a baby. No tossing, no night sweats. He felt so good, he woke the rest up for chow and as they dressed, told them the practical joke he had planned. Up and feeling good, they caused a ruckus.

“Shut up out there,” came Jim’s voice from behind the plywood partition, just before he appeared around the corner, holding his head and moaning. “What time is it?”

“Chow time and hot coffee,” they chorused on their way out the door.

Gene knew Jim wouldn’t give a damn about eating, but the thought of hot black coffee would bring him to the chow hall.

By the time the squad had their plates filled and got seated, Jim walked in.

Looks like hell, Gene thought. Sick and hung over. He watched as Jim got a cup of coffee. Holding it in both hands, sipping it slowly, he walked over to the table and took a seat.

“Good morning, sir!” Doc yelled.

“Not so loud, you asshole. My head is going to explode.”

Gene stood. “Guys?”

The rest of the squad reached under the table, pulled cans of beer from between their feet, and lifted them to eye level. As one, they pulled the tabs. There came the sounds of popping followed by the smell of beer.

Jim paled, started to say, “You assho—,” slapped a hand over his mouth, and ran out the door.

“Hold it!” Brian said. “Shut up a minute.”

They quieted.

“Ralph!” they heard. Then, “Oh, shit! Ralph! Ralph!” and they howled, holding their sides, laughing until tears came.

They’d started to calm down, when Jim walked past the open door and yelled in, “Assholes!” and they burst into laughter again.

Once chow was finished, they strolled back to the hootch to begin packing. Two and a half days left on Seafloat before they’d fly out to Binh Thuy, then on to Saigon for two days and finally home to the U.S.

As Gene went through his gear, getting it ready to pack, he realized he was hearing a lot of air traffic overhead. He looked up from his footlocker to see the rest of the squad listening as well. Without a word, they left the hootch to see what was happening.

The Army was flying in, by helicopter, 105mm cannons, placing them on the south bank. As the squad watched, Johnny and Tommy joined them.

“When did you get back?” Gene asked.

“Around four this morning,” Tommy said.

“Good op?”

“Not this time. We set up an ambush, but the intel wasn’t good enough. Nobody crossed.”

“Hey, Johnny,” Cruz said, “what’s going on with the 105s?”

“Bringing in a South Vietnamese artillery company to help protect Solid Anchor,” Johnny answered.

He was turning his class ring round and round on his finger, Gene noticed with a growing feeling of dread.

“We’re getting reports of enemy buildup, and threats to hit the airstrip five days from now,” Johnny added.

That’s three days after we leave, Gene thought. Hope we’re gone and they don’t hit the strip early.

It was almost dusk before the helicopters had finished bringing in twenty-five 105s and the company of South Vietnamese, who set up camp around the artillery.

At evening chow, Jim had recovered enough to join the squad. Relaxed, sitting around a table full of emptied plates, they were content.

“What’s the movie tonight?” Gene asked.

“True Grit,”
Jim said.

“Sounds good to me.” He glanced around at the rest. “Let’s get set up and watch the show, then after, how about a card game?”

“Yeah,” Brian said.

Agreed, they all left to get ready.

Beer and insect repellent…all they needed for movie night, Gene thought as they stood just inside the hootch doorway, shooting the breeze, waiting for the film to begin. But he stiffened when Johnny walked in, and he saw the look on his face.

“Where’s Jim?” he asked.

“Inside,” Gene said, pointing into the hootch toward the plywood partition. Can’t be, he thought. Just can’t.

Johnny went in, and Gene could hear the murmur of their voices, but not individual words.

“Movie in ten minutes,” somebody called outside.

As they started out the door, Johnny and Jim came out from behind the partition.

“Wait a minute, guys,” Jim said. “Johnny needs some help.”

T
HE ENTIRE SQUAD FROZE
in place, staring at the two officers.

“He needs three volunteers to go out tomorrow,” Jim finished.

Amid the instantaneous moans and groans, Doc spoke up.

“No fuckin’ way! I’m packed and ready to go home. I’m not about to unpack.”

“Doc,” Jim interjected, “you’re safe. No corpsman needed this time.”

Gene took a deep, resigned breath. “Who’s going?”

Johnny answered. “Tommy, and Tommy’s OIC-John. We need three others.”

“It’s a simple op,” Jim said. “Just fly in and pick up an old man or woman to bring back for interrogation.”

“We have eight hundred South Vietnamese Marines we’re going to send in, to confront the large troop buildup before they hit Solid Anchor,” said Johnny. “We’ll pound them first with the 105s. Before that, you’d just fly in and fly out. There will be other teams in the same area, doing the same thing. We want to locate their stronghold before we hit them with the 105s, then send in the South Vietnamese Marines to kick ass.”

There was silence while they thought about it.

Gene studied the floor. Jim thought it would be a KISS. Didn’t always turn out that way, though, and he had a baby daughter now. Hadn’t even seen her yet, or held her. If he went, he might never. But, God, if the op worked according to plan, lots of people that would be dying would live instead—including the Seabees at Solid Anchor.

“What the hell,” Gene said finally, “I’ll go, Johnny.”

“So will I,” Brian said.

“Okay. Can I lead the op? Act as patrol leader?” Cruz looked at the two, waiting for an answer.

They looked at each other. Jim spoke first. “Okay by us.”

“No problem,” Gene agreed, and Brian nodded.

“I’ll go check with Tommy and John,” Jim said. “If they agree, you’re PL.”

Five minutes later, he was back. “They agreed.”

Cruz called for a Warning Order at 0400 hours, Johnny thanked them, and they headed out to watch the movie.

Afterward, Gene, Brian, and Cruz spent some time getting weapons and equipment ready. One more time, tomorrow, Gene thought, hanging the 60 back in its sling, and we’ll have one and a half days left until we leave. He climbed into his bunk.

Cruz had a hard time waking him.

“Gene…hey, Gene…it’s time.”

He sat up, fighting his way to consciousness, rubbing his eyes.

Cruz went off to wake Brian as Gene dropped to the floor and reached for his jeans.

When Brian was dressed, they walked together to the briefing room and entered to find it full of people.

Six five-man teams listened as Johnny went over the op.

“Just get in, grab a warm body, and get out,” he said. “No contact. Get in and get out.”

Then he released the six squads to their patrol leaders.

Cruz took over Gene’s group and went over the op in detail. “Brian, point man. Myself, PL. Tommy, radioman. Gene, assistant patrol leader. Lieutenant John, rear security.” He took a breath. “Everyone, take your basic equipment load.”

Gene concentrated as Cruz went over the map, showing them the location into which they’d be going.

“It’s a small fishing village,” he said, “with three or four hootches. The other five teams will be within a thousand meters, so be careful if we have to open up.”

And they’d better damned well be careful too, thought Gene. Real careful.

“Four teams will be leaving within the hour, by boats or sampan,” Cruz said. “We’ll be inserted by helo at pre-dawn, and so will Group Six. Flying time to the objective is one and a half minutes.”

Another slide down the line through midair. Gene shifted in die chair, hoping there wouldn’t be a reception committee waiting to grease them in the village below.

Cruz went on, covering every detail, even though the op was to be a hit-and-run. “We’ll only be on the ground for a few minutes,” he said. “Grab the first villager you see, and split. Be ready at 0515 on the helo pads.”

Back at the hootch, Gene belted on the eight hundred rounds that he’d already linked together. Then, impulsively, he decided to take an additional seven hundred rounds. Since they wouldn’t be patrolling in, the extra weight wouldn’t matter. When they flew out of the village, he could open up, and fire the 60 for the last time. The extra rounds added a good six to eight inches around his body.

Boy, he thought, the belts were really heavy. But that was okay. Back on board, after the op, he could burn the ammo up, just for fun. He’d never been able to do that before.

Cruz walked in. “Let’s do it,” he said, and then did a double take. “Christ! You got a war going we don’t know about?”

Gene explained what he had in mind.

“Well, hell,” Cruz said. “Why not?”

The five of them walked together to the waiting Sea Wolves.

“Don’t you wish all our ops had been this easy?” Brian commented, climbing aboard.

“We ain’t back yet,” Tommy growled.

The sun was almost due to rise when the chopper lifted off for the one-and-a-half-minute flight.

Above the noise of the rotor blades, Cruz yelled, “Okay, guys, get in, get out. Take no chances.”

The helo descended. They jumped out, slid down the line, and landed in the middle of a small rice paddy. Three hootches sat about sixty meters away. Dropping into file formation, they had started to move quickly toward them when, about thirty meters in front, a woman stepped out from a clump of brush.

She carried a small baby, Gene saw, wrapped in a blanket. He stared intently. The baby, he thought. Something’s wrong with the baby.