CHAPTER 46
I got a quiver of excitement in my gut; my war was fixing to start. I thought back to the Vietnamese men in the village yesterday, and wondered how they could even imagine beating us. But the flatbed truck stacked with silver body boxes I’d passed yesterday proved guns don’t care how big or tough you are. I hoped if they killed me, it would be by blowing my body into a hundred pieces. I didn’t want to travel home in a box to nobody.
When we reassembled, everyone was issued a brand-new rifle, ammo, and a Unertl scope. Gunny loaded us on a six-by truck and we headed to the airstrip. The Flight Line was full of helicopters. Gunny dropped six guys off at one chopper headed to Phu Bai and five more at another headed to Chu Lai. I wondered what made me special.
Gunny and me pulled up to a Huey, the rotor blades already turning. He leaned toward me, spinning one end of his mustache with two fingers, like he wanted to ask me a question. “Hurley, I got a strange feeling there’s something in that head of yours I probably don’t want to know. Don’t make me regret taking you. You’re going to Hill 283. It’s so close to the DMZ you’ll be able to smell the gooks take a shit. When you get there, look up a mean-ass sergeant that goes by the name of Snake. Tell him I don’t want this chopper bringing your ugly face back in a body bag.”
I climbed aboard. Since there were no seats and the only thing between my ass and bullets was a thin metal floor, I shoved my duffel into a corner and sat on it. The pilot looked back and said it would be about an hour and a half in the air. A wild-eyed kid manning the M-60 checked and rechecked the gun, hands and fingers flying like he’d eaten a handful of speed pills, all the while singing “Blowin’ in the Wind” at the top of his lungs. As soon as the chopper lifted off, he flipped off his steel pot and let the red bandanna tied around his blond head flap in the wind. When he looked back at me, there was a peace sign drawn in black on the cloth. He searched the ground in hopes of getting a chance to cut loose on something.
I liked that the bad smell dissipated when we gained altitude. The sun was low on the horizon behind us. I looked out the door at patches of green and brown intersected by the watery reflection off of flooded rice paddies. Farmers walked behind their water buffalo the same way I’d done with Sally Mule. It was hard to believe a war was going on somewhere down there.
The roar of the overhead engine dulled my senses, and the bounce of turbulence was soothing. I closed my eyes and dozed. Fancy was on my bed; sweat glistened off her brown skin and teeth clamped her bottom lip as we made love. I could feel my own pleasure as we moved against each other.
A sudden, hard right-hand bank caused me to slide into the door gunner. He slapped me on the head. “Get your cherry ass out of my way.” When I looked out, the ground was coming up fast.
I could see an open space of red dirt, and could pick out a couple of huge tents, a variety of trucks and jeeps, and two big 105-artillery pieces flanking either side of the compound. The firebase sat on a hill that looked like it’d had the top sheared off and flattened. Green hills and mountains, like a desert in the middle of an oasis, surrounded it.
The chopper slammed hard on the ground. I grabbed my pack, hopped off, and squatted to duck the blades, using my soft boonie hat to block the flying dirt. I waved at the gunner as they lifted off. He flipped me the finger.
When the air cleared, I surveyed the camp. It was a small, fortified combat base, surrounded by triple concertina wire and heavily sandbagged guard posts spaced about five hundred feet apart around the circle. The two big tents that used to be green but were now brownish red from layers of dust sat in the center. Mounds of double-stacked sandbags bulged like yard-mole trails, and identified underground bunkers. Beyond the wire, Seabees and daisy cutter bombs had cleared a three-hundred-yard kill zone between the camp and the jungle.
I made my way toward the largest tent, figuring it was the HQ. A flag flying outside the tent identified the base as First Force Recon. A hand-painted sign was tacked on a post in front: NORTH VIETNAM 2 MILES, LAST GAS STATION BEFORE ENTERING. I told a marine standing nearby I was supposed to see a Sergeant Snake. He pointed to my right. “Go down to the fourth bunker. I think he’s in the bush today, but you can wait for him there.”
A bleached skull with a string looped through its eye and a bullet hole in the forehead hung over the entrance to the bunker. The ladder leading down was built from wooden pallet skids. It was about six feet deep and dark at the bottom. When my eyes adjusted, I could make out two wood-framed bunks, one on either side, and extra gear stored in the far end of the eight-foot length. I dropped my stuff on the bunk without anything on it, then sat in the cool shadows, ate some c-rat peaches, and smoked a cigarette. I pulled an extra uniform from my pack to use for a pillow, lay down, and went to sleep.
* * *
Something jolted my rack. “What the hell you doing in my house?”
I jerked up to find a green-and-black-camouflaged face staring down at me. A lantern gave enough light to see.
I pushed into a sitting position. “Well, if you’re not Snake, I guess I’m in the wrong place.”
“I’m Snake. Who’re you?”
“Hurley. Gunny Phillips said I was to report to you.”
He took a seat across from me. “Old Gunny, huh? I suppose that old fart’s still at DaNang pulling out dumb-ass boots and telling them what a wonderful thing it is to be a sniper.”
“Guess I’m one of them.”
“What do they call you, other than stupid?” He was a rangy, tall, big-jawed man, and his drawl was definitely southern, but not South southern, more like Texas southern.
“Junebug.”
He laughed. “That’s a dumb-ass name to leave on a headstone.” He fluffed his pillow and stretched out. “I’m tired. We’ll talk more in the morning.” He doused the light.
I noticed he had stacked two weapons against the wall: a Remington like mine and an M-14. I pulled off down to my boxers and T-shirt, lay down on the hard cot, and covered my genitals with my shirt.
“Put your pants back on,” came from the dark. “And your boots.”
“Why?”
“You’ll find out.”
I was dreaming about Fancy, seeing the blood on her face after she was shot, when rockets and mortars started slamming into the ground above. Dirt showered my face. Snake had his M-14 and was headed up the steps before I knew what was going on. I grabbed my Remington and followed. The moonlight glinted off his bare back as he sprinted to a reinforced position close to the wire. I could see marines falling behind anything that gave cover and pouring fire outward from the camp. Snake and I went in behind some sandbags. He stuck his head up and let go with a burst on full automatic. He looked over at me. “You going to use that rifle or lay there and piss in your pants?”
Gooks screamed like wild animals as they attacked the wire with satchel charges and bodies. Whistles and bugles were blowing, and incoming rounds sounded like bees as they spit into the sandbags and ground around us. I wanted to scream myself, but no sound would come when I opened my mouth. I couldn’t stop my hands from shaking, fumbling as I loaded. I couldn’t see shit in the pitch-black dark at first, but when the flares started popping, targets were everywhere. I aimed the Remington and fired.
“Come lower,” said Snake. “Exhale out, let your finger relax, then squeeze when you go from one heartbeat to the next.” He sounded like he was sitting in his living room having a glass of tea. Then he demonstrated what he’d just told me, and one of the attackers flew backward. They were so close it would have been hard to miss. My next shot caught one in the upper right of his chest and Snake filled him with four more rounds before he could hit the ground. The gooks trying to get to the wire began to trip over dead bodies.
It was over in half an hour. I’d never felt such a rush in my life. I sat still and sucked air like a man who’d almost drowned. All I could think was: “Oh God, oh God, oh God,” not believing I’d actually survived. When my heart rate dropped to normal, I thought I might faint. This was intensity and terror on a level no man can be prepared for.
Snake’s white teeth were shining in the dark. “Now we can get some sleep.”
I’d killed my first NVA, not from a treetop the way I’d imagined, but up close and personal. “They do this every night?” I couldn’t help the little swagger in my step.
“Just on the days we get new guys.” He lay down on his bunk and was snoring in five minutes.
I lay awake most of the night, listening for the whistle of incoming rockets. The hypervigilance in my head wore down after a while and I drifted off.
Sounds of people and vehicles outside woke me up. I could see a wedge of daylight at the open end of the bunker. My brain was fuzzy as it tried to get up-to-date on where I was and why.
Snake’s bunk was empty. It hurt my feelings a little that he didn’t give me a shake.
When I got outside I could smell coffee, so I went back and grabbed my canteen cup. A dozen or so guys were hanging around the smaller of the two tents.
Snake was sitting on a sandbag. He pointed to the tent flap. “Go get some marine oil.” The coffee was so thick a spoon could stand at attention, but it was hot and strong and I was in need of something to kick-start my brain. “Sleep good?” Snake asked.
“Yeah, you?” A marine never admits weakness.
“Like a baby on a momma’s tit.”
“What’s the schedule today?” I was hoping we’d get down to learning this sniping thing.
“I’m going to rest up. You, on the other hand, have the new guy’s privilege of shit-burning detail. Latrines are right over yonder. They’re expecting you.” He pointed to the far end of the camp, slapped me on the shoulder, and pulled himself up. “When you get done, pack a ruck good for about three days, plenty of c-rats and water, and make sure your ammo sack’s full. Tomorrow we’ll see how you like the bush.”
Smelling fuel oil and burning shit in hundred-degree heat and 98 percent humidity is enough to break anybody down. It was misery and it didn’t have any company. Snake wouldn’t let me back in the house until I found a water truck and washed off the stink. Before sundown he headed up the ladder. “Come on, son, let’s go get some grub.” I flipped him the finger.