CHAPTER 51

I shook Mo awake before sunup. “Time to go hunting.” I took the point and moved beyond the bamboo onto a small walking path leading downhill toward a stream. We got cover in some elephant grass. With the binoculars I could see a trail on the other side of the creek. It came out of the heavy bush and led toward where the water was just a trickle, a good crossing point. The sun had just started its climb in the east when I spotted movement at the edge of the trees.

One came out, then another. Both were wearing the ragged clothes of a farmer, but each carried a pack strapped to his back. I knew they were satchel charges. The little bastards were sappers looking to fade into a village, then surprise some marine base in the middle of the night. I pointed them out to Mo and handed him the glasses. “Use your football fields and watch the tops of the grass.”

Mo stared through the binoculars longer than he needed to. He was sucking up the reality that he was expected to kill a live human being. In this moment he would decide. Just like I had been, Mo was scared. It was hard the first time.

He lowered the binoculars and picked up the Remington, sighting and adjusting. I got ready with the M-14 in case he changed his mind. I was focused on the targets, and the boom of his rifle startled me. The man in front jerked sideways. Mo chambered another round. The second one was crouching, trying to figure out where we were when his head exploded. Mo dropped his forehead on his rifle.

I slapped him on the back. “Good job.” I lifted the M-14. Taking aim at the backpack of the lead guy, I punched a round. The charge blew up, setting off the second one as well. When I looked through the glasses again, there were body pieces scattered here and there. I grabbed Mo by the scruff of his shirt. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”

We moved steadily, stopping for water breaks every two or three hours. By sundown, we were halfway home. We shimmied up a big banyan tree and tied ourselves in the crook of branches to wait out the night. It took all the next day to make it back to the hill leading to Huy’s village and the rice paddy dike.

The sun was fading, and I didn’t want to be walking up to the guard post in the dark, so we hurried down the hillside and came out of the jungle a hundred yards from the crossing. I squatted in the dusky light and watched through the fog lifting off the paddy water for a minute to make sure the way was clear.

I was surprised to see Huy’s boonie hat at the far end of the dike. We started across and I called his name. “Huy, chao anh.” He didn’t move. When we got within fifty feet, I saw why. I began to run. The boy was tied to a stake; the rope strapped from his neck to his waist. His skinny arms lay on the ground at his feet. They had been cut off just below the shoulders. He had been left to bleed to death. Streaks of tears had dried on his dirty face. Flies and insects crawled all over him. I puked.

“God almighty,” said Mo. “God almighty.”

I was on my knees heaving my guts. “Cut him down, Mo.” He did and gently lowered Huy to the ground. The gold wristwatch was stuffed in his mouth. I should have left him alone. I couldn’t stand up. This was my fault. All I could do was kneel on the ground and cover my head with my arms.

I felt Mo’s hand on my shoulder. “There’s nothing we can do for him, Junebug. We got to get out of here. We can come back in the morning.”

I struggled to stand up. Anger so dark it filled everything in the universe took me over. I saw the devil standing on that mountain, fire shooting from his hand. My mind calmed. “You go on back, Mo.”

“I’m not leaving you.” He tried to pull my arm.

I moved the barrel of the M-14 to his chest. “You go on back, Mo. I’ll be along directly. Don’t argue now, just get moving.”

Mo stepped closer to stare me down, and I could see the edge of his jaw twitch. When he stretched out his hand, I took it. Mo closed his eyes and bowed his head. After a minute, he released me and headed across the berm without looking back.

I dragged my finger in the blood from Huy’s clothes, streaked it along the sides of my face, then across my forehead. I took the poncho from my rucksack and covered him. I sat with the boy while I waited for complete darkness before walking toward the village. There was no hurry.

My head started to throb. I circled behind the village, staying in the shadows. The smell of rice and vegetables cooking drifted on the air, and I could hear the singsong chatter of women. I eased to a place that had a good view of the common area. Whoever did this to Huy was here somewhere.

I squatted and watched for half an hour before three men, dressed in the black garb of VC cadre, strapped with bandoliers and carrying AK-47s, appeared from trees behind the hootches across from me. They stacked their weapons like a tripod and chose a log at the edge of the gathering place to sit. A couple of women brought bowls of food for them.

I heard a clatter from the other end of the village, and a woman came running up to the three men. She screamed in their faces, then threw something one of them had to dodge. He got to his feet and knocked her flat with his fist. I figured her to be Huy’s momma. They’d murdered her child, and she had to leave the boy where he was or risk punishment for everyone in the village. This way, they would only kill her. Before he could hit the woman again, I stood and walked into the light of the cooking fires, raking a single burst above their heads. Everything went silent, chopsticks frozen in place between bowl and mouth.

I made a direct line to the VC. Only their eyes moved: They were wondering if they could get to the AK-47s behind them. I motioned up with the M-14. After they stood, I shoved them shoulder-to-shoulder, took a step back, and stitched 7.62 rounds across their legs. They fell, grabbing and crying out in pain, attempting to drag themselves by their elbows in some futile escape attempt. One by one, I kicked and shoved each of the three men along the ground to where everyone could see, then picked up Huy’s momma.

I rolled the log they’d been sitting on to where they lay in the dirt. When I stretched the first one’s arm over the wood and unhooked the machete from my pack, he began to slobber and beg. It took two hard strokes to cut all the way through the bone. The villagers began wailing and waving their hands. The other two men were squirming, trying to crawl. The second man got his turn to suffer what they had done to Huy.

When I extended the last man’s arm over the log, Momma grabbed my shoulder and gently pulled the machete from my hand. “Lam uhhu, Lam uhhu.” She bent down to the last man. He was just a teenager. She rubbed his young face gently, stood up, and then, screaming Vietnamese words I couldn’t understand, the old woman hacked him to pieces.

All three lay facedown in the bloody dirt. I took the machete and walked out of the village. When I reached Huy’s body, I knelt down and stroked his head. All he was guilty of was being a kid who liked c-rat peaches.