Mr. Miles left, DEROSing back to the United States. Mighty Morris counted down to within seventy days of rotating out. He posted his short-timer calendar above his bunk and marked off the day every morning at Apache Sunrise, announcing his remaining time in a loud voice. “Seventy-one days and a wake-up . . .”
“Seventy days and a wake-up. . .”
“Sixty-nine days and a wake-up. . .”
He started getting paranoid, a common malady for the short-timers. The dinks were going to get him before he went home. He made a bid on the private bunker by the volleyball court, whose current occupant was about to DEROS, but another short-timer Cobra jock from Blue Max bought it and moved in.
I was also about to lose my crew chief, Shaky. He was DEROSing stateside, then getting discharged from the army and moving back to Texas. I stood with Farmer Farmer on the flight line smoking a cigarette and watching his crew wash blood and sweep expended cartridge casings from the cargo bay of his helicopter. A hot landing killed one trooper and wounded another. The odor of blood was diluted now, the water used in the cleaning having turned from dark rose to pink. I listened to it rivuleting onto the tarmac.
“There wasn’t a lot of blood,” said O’Brien, who had flown with Farmer as door gunner. “I’ve seen the whole floor an inch thick with it.”
Shaky came walking out to the flight line with his hay straw cowlick freshly barbered and his lanky form encased in newly pressed khakis. He had even shaved his mustache. His shoes were shined. I hardly recognized him out of his soiled flight suit, greasy combat boots and flight helmet. He leaned against the chopper.
“Cap’n,” he greeted me, looking wistful. I had just received my promotion to captain.
“Shaky.”
We watched water running out of the helicopter until it turned from pink to clear. Shaky stuck out his hand suddenly. I took it.
“Is it today so soon?” I asked.
“I feel guilty about leaving you, sir.”
“Don’t. You did your part. Now go home and forget it.”
“We did some stuff, didn’t we, Cap’n Mini-Man?”
“We did some stuff, Shaky.”
Neither of us knew what else to say after that. We stood awkwardly looking at each other, smiling. Finally, he shook my hand again, looked emotional, then turned and strode away.
“Stay charmed, Mini-Man,” he said.
After a few minutes, I walked to the mess hall for a cup of coffee. With the passing of each day, especially after a day like this, I felt increasingly alone and isolated. I was only twenty-four, but for the first time I felt old.