CHAPTER 25
The Madness and Confusion of Battle
Rick's hands shook from hunger as he tore open his long-rats of beef and rice. He poured water from his canteen into the plastic pouch and stirred the concoction with a white plastic spoon. The food smelled good.
Other than smoking, food was the only pleasure available to them in the bush. He tried not to eat too fast while he watched Russo studying his map in search of a good LZ.
After awhile, Russo approached him with the map and sat down on a clump of weeds beside him. Rick took another bite of his food before peering into Russo's stony face.
“Half a click to the southwest is a good LZ.” Russo shoved the map over to him, pointing to the area. “What do you think?”
He scanned it carefully. “Looks good to me.”
“Then finish your chow. We're moving out soon.” Russo stood up. “I don't know; something doesn't feel right. It's beginning to make me nervous.” Then he went to Wishbone to make radio contact with headquarters to establish a rendezvous.
Rick hoped he would be as good a patrol leader as Russo when they finally offered him that position. He wolfed down the rest of his chow.
They traveled to their destination at a snail's pace, cursing the terrain that fought them every step of the way. And when they neared the rendezvous point, the sound of the choppers forced them into a furious gallop that left them exhausted at the edge of the I..
Suddenly, the choppers were in sight: two Hueys, one Cobra, and a Forty-Six. Rick listened to Russo making radio contact and waited for his signal to pop the green smoke. Russo nodded.
He released the smoke and tossed the canister in the direction where the wind would carry the smoke away from them. Then they walked into the clearing with the green smoke to their backs and watched the choppers descend upon them like locusts.
A puff of white smoke spewed from one of the Hueys as it fired one of its rockets. The explosion that followed made them crouch to the ground. Then the other gunships also began destroying everything around them.
Suddenly, Rick heard Russo shouting. “Pop the red smoke! Pop the red smoke!”
Bearcat quickly reacted. The red smoke engulfed them, and the Forty-Six Sea Knight veered into their direction.
“Charlie's here,” Russo shouted.
“How do you know?” Rick asked.
“Because the choppers got a bunch of green smokes from Charlie.”
Rick clenched his teeth and directed his gaze at the tree line surrounding them. Then he clicked the safety off his rifle, knowing this was it. He went blank and threw away his life in order to stalk the present. Then his mind filled up with a reverse image of himself seen at an angle from above. He crouched in the heat of the tall elephant grass, with his face looking skyward, like an artificial flower taunting life with an attitude of permanence.
The Forty-Six's approach brought a circular wind of dirt and sand and smoke that temporarily blinded them and pressed the surrounding elephant grass to the ground. It hovered tentatively near them before it landed. Then a stream of rapid fire cut through the ground between Happy and Kafka, separating them with a line of dust. They'd made enemy contact.
The team responded with a flurry of haphazard gunfire while the M-60's on the Forty-Six began firing in support. The enemy appeared: figures to the left, figures to the right, figures all around cutting through the tall grass.
Rick aimed his rifle at a small group and brought two of them down. Then he heard himself scream like a madman as he charged at them in a blind rage. He saw Bearcat blast a man to a bloody pulp and saw Happy beating one to death with the butt of his rifle. The madness and confusion of battle took over as they fought desperately to keep the Viet Cong away from the aircraft. But when he heard a couple of RPG's explode near the chopper, he almost panicked: even an indirect hit could blow an aircraft to hell.
“Make it for the chopper! Make it for the chopper!”
They quickly retreated. They knew it wouldn't be able to wait for them much longer.
Rick took one last aim and brought another figure down to his knees in agony. Then he turned toward the chopper and started running. He saw Kafka fall, screaming for the corpsman they didn't have. But Bearcat scooped him up as if he was a rag doll and threw him over his shoulder, hardly breaking his stride.
The aircraft sat thirty meters away with its rear gate open like a steel mouth and with its side gunners spitting small bits of death at the enemy. From their angle of approach, Rick could see the pilot sitting calmly in his cockpit waiting for them. His windows were riddled with bullet holes, and the sounds of metal and confused men were everywhere.
Rick saw Sunny take a hit. Its impact spun him off his feet, and the weight of his backpack made him land on his back. Rick passed his rifle off to Mormon as he steered in Sunny's direction. And when he reached him, Sunny was holding his right thigh with both hands.
“It's my leg, man, it's my fucking leg!”
Rick grabbed Sunny's rifle and assisted him onto his good leg. They hung onto each other and hobbled toward the aircraft like a broken land crab, certain that they weren't going to make it.
Rick heard Russo shouting at them from the chopper to hurry up. And just when his strength was about to fail him, Rick felt several strong hands assist him and Sunny the rest of the way. It was Russo and Bearcat.
The four of them slipped on the deck as they entered the chopper and tumbled in all directions. Rick managed to stand up but slipped again on the blood. Then he noticed Happy lying unconscious and unattended in a heap against the bulkhead.
Rick couldn't understand why the chopper hadn't taken off yet. And when he saw the others shooting out the windows, he grabbed a stray rifle to assist them. Then Rick heard a loud ping.
He staggered, saw black, and fell.
A pink tornado engulfed Rick and drained him of his energy. Then the tornado disengaged from Rick and moved several feet away from him before the narrow lower part of the whirlwind leaped into the air. The tornado shifted sideways until it was parallel to the ground, and the wide upper part of the whirlwind was facing Rick.
There was a forest-pond nestled on the top of the tornado. Rick felt drawn to this glassy surface as would a butterfly. But explosions and excited voices disturbed the calm.
A wary figure emerged from the pond's clouded depth and stood over him. It was Mormon. “Rick! Rick, are you hit? Rick! Are you hit?”
Rick thought he heard Mormon say he was hit. And in a panic, he reached for his forehead.
“Oh my God!” he cried, as he felt blood oozing from a lump. The chopper finally lifted for the sky.
He stood up in a panic and heard Mormon laughing. Rick felt the lump on his head again and realized the wound wasn't serious.
“Must have been a ricochet off that window!” Mormon yelled as he continued to laugh. “You were lucky!”
Rick blinked his eyes nervously and pressed both hands against his forehead to confirm that statement about his luck.