CHAPTER 36
Into the Face of Reality
They walked off the chopper in a single file and went straight to the yellow line where the armorers plucked from each man his leftover fragmentation, incendiary, white phosphorous, and colored smoke grenades, as they watched a sea of outgoing patrols get underway. And because there was laughter and corny jokes and cautious inquiries about the missing men, this was a relatively pleasant time for an incoming patrol.
“Anybody get wasted?”
“No: three got wounded.”
“Was Kafka with you guys?”
“Yeah.”
“He got it in the gut.”
“Bad news. Is he going to make it?”
“Who knows.”
“He was the best M-79 man in the battalion.”
“Yeah.”
“He'll be okay.”
“Damn right.”
Then they were asked about the other two wounded guys. It was like talking to distant relatives who were deeply concerned yet carefully unemotional and objective. It was good to be home.
“Rick, I'll take the debrief,” Russo said after the armorers finished stripping off his ordnance.
“You sure? I don't mind going.”
Russo shrugged his shoulders. “I'll come get you if you're needed.” Then he walked away in the direction of the Intell Center.
Rick joined the others on the long climb up the steep hill leading to their company area. They were looking forward to plenty of hot food, long showers, and a lot of cold beer; they had given up the practice of cleaning their gear immediately after a patrol—that was stateside–duty mentality. So, when Rick got to his hooch, he dumped all his gear on his cot, stripped himself naked, and grabbed a beer from the hooch's mini–refrigerator instead. It was an outrageous luxury.
He popped open the beer and drank it until the cold hurt his head. Then he looked around, a bit disoriented by this painful pleasure, and began to laugh uncontrollably.
He grabbed a pack of cigarettes, lit a smoke, and went through the back door of the hooch to sit in his chair. He gently lowered himself onto the tattered chaise lounge because it felt good to gradually feel the sensation of the chair's fabric against his skin.
The sun was warm, the sky was blue, and the panorama of the rice paddies below was beautiful. He settled into his chair more comfortably and enjoyed the tingling sensation of blood circulation returning to his feet. Life was good.
With a lit cigarette in one hand and a cold beer in the other, he stretched his body to embrace the beautiful world with his feelings: this wasn't a dream. Then he relaxed and exhaled deeply as he looked directly into the face of reality without saying the words: I made it. I made it. Again.