dead, Doc,” Swift Eagle said.
“Red?”
“Yeah. Put his poncho over him. I’ll get an A-gunner for the boot.”
“He only had a month to go, Chief.” Doc’s voice sounded far away.
The night crept by sleeplessly, congested with weird, fully awake dreams of home, friends, and the Marine Corps. I felt numb. It started drizzling. The sound always reminded me of French fries in a pan.
By first light it was still raining. The air smelled fresh and crisp. It was a stateside rain, not the normal pounding rain of the monsoon that sounds more like a war than the war itself. Raindrops formed tiny puddles on Red’s poncho. His huge Viking boots stuck out of the poncho like out of a blanket that’s too small. I was thankful for the rain. It kept away the ants and flies and hid my tears. How could he be dead? Men like that couldn’t just die. He told me if you got past the first two months you’d make it. I wanted to pray; I needed it now, but I justdidn’t know God well enough to do it right, I thought. Chan always told me you had to talk to him regularly if you wanted to get to know him. I missed Chan. I felt more alone than I could remember ever feeling. The others weren’t crying. Maybe they didn’t know yet. I remembered the gunny’s warning about being eighteen. I looked around again and the lieutenant was walking my way. His young Annapolis face couldn’t hide the loss. No tears, but he was frowning. He pulled back the poncho, grimaced, and covered him again.
“You’re the gunner now, Marine. Keep it clean. Every man here depends on it. Red said you’d do all right. Don’t let him down.” His words sounded rehearsed.
“I won’t.”
“Look, John, I don’t know what to say. I thought the world of that big redhead. You’ve been dropped into a real tough spot. I’m here to help in any way I can. If you have questions, I want you to come to me. If I don’t know the answers, we’ll go to the chief or gunny or whatever it takes. Do you pray?” he asked bluntly.
“Yes, sir,” I said, surprised at the question.
“Start praying, John. He’ll get us through this mess.” He gave me a pat on the helmet.
“Yes, sir.” I immediately felt much closer to Lieutenant Campbell than I ever had before.
“I’ll try to get you an A-gunner with a machine-gun MOS as soon as I can. I’m supposed to get the next one that shows up.”
“Lieutenant!” Sam was calling from twenty meters in front of us. “We got one confirmed. I’m claiming the pistol.”
“Hey, stow-it-below-Marine!” Striker yelled. “The gun got him. It belongs to Red.”
“Red’s dead,” he said.
Sam pulled out his K-bar. It looked sharper than any knife I’d ever seen. He ripped the dead man’s shirt open and began carving “A 1/5” across his chest. I could hearSudsy sputtering out coordinates over the radio. It lent a perfect background to Sam’s bizarre ritual. Sam pulled an ace of spades card out of the black band that he wore around his helmet. He took a small metal clip off one of his bandoliers of M79 rounds and tacked the ace of spades into the forehead of the dead officer.
“Johnnie.” I pulled my eyes off Sam to see who was calling me. It was Sudsy. “Here.” He threw me Red’s NVA pack. “Take this, too.” He tossed me Red’s .45-caliber pistol and holster. “You’re the gunner now, right?”
“Yeah.”
Sam the Blooper Man gave the forehead of the dead NVA officer one last tap and walked over to Red’s body. The muffled popping of helicopter rotors signaled the approach of the medevac chopper. Sam pulled the poncho away from the face of the corpse.
“Not too bad. He can still have an open casket—just plug up these two holes and put something on the back of his head.”
Swift Eagle walked forward, took the poncho from Sam’s hands, and covered the corpse.
“Okay. Sam, you and Striker load him on the chopper.”
Sudsy tossed out a green smoke grenade to mark the landing zone. When the
“Red?”
“Yeah. Put his poncho over him. I’ll get an A-gunner for the boot.”
“He only had a month to go, Chief.” Doc’s voice sounded far away.
The night crept by sleeplessly, congested with weird, fully awake dreams of home, friends, and the Marine Corps. I felt numb. It started drizzling. The sound always reminded me of French fries in a pan.
By first light it was still raining. The air smelled fresh and crisp. It was a stateside rain, not the normal pounding rain of the monsoon that sounds more like a war than the war itself. Raindrops formed tiny puddles on Red’s poncho. His huge Viking boots stuck out of the poncho like out of a blanket that’s too small. I was thankful for the rain. It kept away the ants and flies and hid my tears. How could he be dead? Men like that couldn’t just die. He told me if you got past the first two months you’d make it. I wanted to pray; I needed it now, but I justdidn’t know God well enough to do it right, I thought. Chan always told me you had to talk to him regularly if you wanted to get to know him. I missed Chan. I felt more alone than I could remember ever feeling. The others weren’t crying. Maybe they didn’t know yet. I remembered the gunny’s warning about being eighteen. I looked around again and the lieutenant was walking my way. His young Annapolis face couldn’t hide the loss. No tears, but he was frowning. He pulled back the poncho, grimaced, and covered him again.
“You’re the gunner now, Marine. Keep it clean. Every man here depends on it. Red said you’d do all right. Don’t let him down.” His words sounded rehearsed.
“I won’t.”
“Look, John, I don’t know what to say. I thought the world of that big redhead. You’ve been dropped into a real tough spot. I’m here to help in any way I can. If you have questions, I want you to come to me. If I don’t know the answers, we’ll go to the chief or gunny or whatever it takes. Do you pray?” he asked bluntly.
“Yes, sir,” I said, surprised at the question.
“Start praying, John. He’ll get us through this mess.” He gave me a pat on the helmet.
“Yes, sir.” I immediately felt much closer to Lieutenant Campbell than I ever had before.
“I’ll try to get you an A-gunner with a machine-gun MOS as soon as I can. I’m supposed to get the next one that shows up.”
“Lieutenant!” Sam was calling from twenty meters in front of us. “We got one confirmed. I’m claiming the pistol.”
“Hey, stow-it-below-Marine!” Striker yelled. “The gun got him. It belongs to Red.”
“Red’s dead,” he said.
Sam pulled out his K-bar. It looked sharper than any knife I’d ever seen. He ripped the dead man’s shirt open and began carving “A 1/5” across his chest. I could hearSudsy sputtering out coordinates over the radio. It lent a perfect background to Sam’s bizarre ritual. Sam pulled an ace of spades card out of the black band that he wore around his helmet. He took a small metal clip off one of his bandoliers of M79 rounds and tacked the ace of spades into the forehead of the dead officer.
“Johnnie.” I pulled my eyes off Sam to see who was calling me. It was Sudsy. “Here.” He threw me Red’s NVA pack. “Take this, too.” He tossed me Red’s .45-caliber pistol and holster. “You’re the gunner now, right?”
“Yeah.”
Sam the Blooper Man gave the forehead of the dead NVA officer one last tap and walked over to Red’s body. The muffled popping of helicopter rotors signaled the approach of the medevac chopper. Sam pulled the poncho away from the face of the corpse.
“Not too bad. He can still have an open casket—just plug up these two holes and put something on the back of his head.”
Swift Eagle walked forward, took the poncho from Sam’s hands, and covered the corpse.
“Okay. Sam, you and Striker load him on the chopper.”
Sudsy tossed out a green smoke grenade to mark the landing zone. When the
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