Part 29 (1/2)

'Yeah. Only he won't stay in.'

'You going to stay in?' Broyer asked after a moment.

'I don't know. I got this girl in Bangkok.' Jancowitz smiled. 'How about you?'

'I want to go to the University of Maryland on the GI Bill and get into government work.' Broyer hesitated. 'Maybe the State Department.' He looked quickly at Jancowitz to see if there was any reaction. Then he smiled ruefully. 'I thought being a Marine would look good on my resume.'

'What's a resume?' Jancowitz asked. He saw that Broyer was surprised that he didn't know but was trying not to let on.

'You use it when you're looking for a job. It's a couple of pages that tells your experience, where you went to school. That sort of thing.'

Jancowitz laughed out loud. He couldn't imagine why he'd ever need one of those to get a job.

They walked along silently for a while.

'I hear there's going to be a movie tonight,' Broyer said. 'And maybe even a Red Cross girl.'

'That's an old rumor. They don't let Red Cross girls out of Da Nang. They say it's too dangerous. Such horses.h.i.+t. They don't let the f.u.c.king Budweiser and air mattresses out of Da Nang either.'

'But the movie isn't a rumor,' Broyer said.

'I bet you it's a f.u.c.king cowboy show.'

Broyer laughed quietly, and they walked along in silence again. Overhead they heard the gentle honking of some geese and they both looked up at a small flock of about six moving north. They stood and watched until the geese were lost in the clouds hiding Mutter's Ridge.

'Makes me homesick,' Jancowitz said quietly.

'Me too,' Broyer answered.

When they rounded the last bend before their tents by the airfield, Jancowitz said, 'Well, I'll be f.u.c.ked.' Arran was sitting on the ground, leaning his back against his pack. Pat was beside him in the down position, head and reddish ears alert, panting quietly, watching the two of them approach. Pat looked questioningly at Arran, who said, 'OK.' Pat got to his feet and trotted over to greet Jancowitz and Broyer. He put his muzzle right in Broyer's crotch, and Broyer giggled and started ruffling his fur. Then Pat danced away and circled behind Jancowitz, nuzzling up against the back of his knees, causing Jancowitz to giggle as well.

'Looks like he's singled you guys out,' Arran called.

'Yeah, the old quitter,' Jancowitz said fondly, rubbing Pat's head. 'How long did it take for him to get back on his feet?'

'Aw, about a week. We just f.u.c.ked off back at scout platoon, both of us getting fat and happy.' He smiled and got to his feet, snapping his fingers quietly. 'We were already dumb.' Pat quickly moved into heel position. Arran turned to Broyer, nodding his head toward Jancowitz. 'This crazy motherf.u.c.ker got you broken in yet?'

Broyer grinned. 'Yeah.'

'You watch out for him, Broyer. Janc's the only other crazy motherf.u.c.ker I know besides me upped for an extension in the Nam. Of course he did it for some chick in Bangkok, not someone who'd really stand by you.' He squatted down and grabbed Pat on both sides of his jowls, putting his face right into Pat's nose, moving it back and forth. 'Won't you, boy? Won't you, you dumb sheepdog?' He stood again. It was well known that Arran had extended his tour twice because the scout dogs couldn't be transferred to other handlers, and when their tour was over, they were killed. Someone back in the world had declared them too dangerous to bring home.

'You back with us for a while?' Jancowitz asked.

'Not as long as you're on Bald f.u.c.king Eagle, I ain't,' Arran answered. 'No need for a f.u.c.king four-legged radar set when they dump you right in the middle of the s.h.i.+t.' He turned to Pat. 'We're specialists, ain't we, Pat?' Pat wagged his tail.

'What're you doing here, then?' Jancowitz asked.

'We're going out with Alpha One Fifteen tomorrow. They're getting dropped in the east end of the Da Krong Valley. Lots of sensor activity.' He stopped short and grinned. 'You ain't supposed to hear that, otherwise I'd have to kill you.'

'The f.u.c.king gooks already know about it anyway,' Jancowitz said, not really joking.

There was an awkward silence. Janc realized that Arran had come over because he was going out in the jungle again and wanted to say good-bye.

'You'll be OK,' Janc finally said. 'h.e.l.l, you're the one's got Pat.'

Arran grinned, looked down at Pat, and then looked up at the clouds, embarra.s.sed. 'Hope you motherf.u.c.kers don't get launched,' he said. 'We'll see you on your next op.'

They watched Arran and Pat walk off. They all knew that it could be the last time.

At dinner that evening Blakely and Simpson walked to the head of the chow line where Marines on KP slopped large spoonfuls of food onto trays. One of the Marines splattered a speck of gravy on Blakely's sleeve. Blakely glared at him, unable to sop it up because both hands were holding the tray.

'Sorry, sir,' the young Marine stammered.

Blakely smiled. 'It's OK, Tiger. Just don't get so d.a.m.n eager.'

Blakely followed Simpson into the officers' and NCOs' mess. Someone shouted 'Attention' and everyone rose. Simpson grunted 'As you were,' and everyone resumed eating, all conversation dulled temporarily until Simpson and Blakely got settled. Blakely got up soon after they had seated themselves and poured two mugs of coffee. He returned to his seat and said to Simpson, 'I heard there was another fragging last night, down south. You hear about it, sir?'

Simpson looked up, was.h.i.+ng down a mouthful of noodles with coffee. 'f.u.c.k, no. Who?'

'Some mustang lieutenant in Three Eleven. Three or four of the b.a.s.t.a.r.ds rolled grenades under his rack while he was sleeping. Someone saw them running away. Black radicals. Nothing left for evidence but monkey meat.'

'f.u.c.king rear-area poags,' Simpson said. 'If any of that s.h.i.+t happens around here I'll string every black power son of a b.i.t.c.h up by his nuts.' Simpson downed the rest of his coffee with a gulp. 'We ought to send every black son of a b.i.t.c.h to the bush. That'd stop this s.h.i.+t.' He looked at his empty cup. 'How about a little of that pink Portuguese stuff?' he asked.

Blakely walked over to the cabinet where the colonel's case of Mateus was kept. He looked through the insect screen to where the enlisted men were eating. He noticed most of the blacks together in one corner. A few fine wrinkles creased his forehead. He broke the wine bottle's seal, pulled the cork stopper, and poured two gla.s.ses.

'May you be ten minutes in heaven before the devil knows you're gone,' Simpson said, raising his gla.s.s and gulping a large swallow. Blakely was aware that Simpson prided himself on knowing many different toasts in different languages. He smiled appropriately and drank. Simpson drank some more. 'Good f.u.c.king stuff,' he said.

Blakely chose not to agree, rather than to disagree. After a moment he said, 'Sir, did you ever think about maybe getting someone to watch your quarters at night?'

'You think I'm chickens.h.i.+t?'

'No sir. But that fragging was the third one in the last two months.' Blakely lowered his voice and leaned over the table. 'I heard, strictly scuttleb.u.t.t, that someone tried to kill Ca.s.sidy, the new Area NCOIC we picked up from Bravo Company. That's why the sergeant major told me he got the idea to transfer him.'

'Why aren't we investigating the f.u.c.king incident?'

'Apparently the black that did it was Bravo's cerebral malaria case. I'm not sure we want to stir that up.'

Simpson nervously twirled the pink wine in his gla.s.s. 'I'm glad to see there's some f.u.c.king justice in the world. That was smart of Knapp.' He tossed down the wine. 'I think I'll go check out the situation at the COC.' He rose to his feet, and so did everyone else. He waved the others down with, 'As you were, gentlemen.'

Sitting alone in the tent he shared with his squad, Jancowitz didn't need to visit the COC to know what was going on in the regiment's area of operation. In his mind's eye he could see the units out in the bush setting their trip flares and putting out their listening posts. He watched as furtive figures, two by two, slipped beyond the lines, carrying their poncho liners and radios with them. He knew he could relax for the moment. There would be no 'exploitation' by the Bald Eagle unit until daylight. A night helicopter lift took far too much planning. The units were on their own.

He took out his short-timer's chart and carefully filled in another day. He'd been in Vietnam twenty-two months. Well, really only nineteen and three quarters if you subtracted the first week of R & R in Bangkok, when he'd met Susi, and the two thirty-day leaves. He took out his wallet and looked at the picture he'd taken of Susi when she was asleep on his bed in the hotel. He tried to remember the smell of her hair, but that was even more difficult than remembering her face. All he could smell was the mothb.a.l.l.s and oil of the sagging tent.

He walked down to the open pit that had been converted to a small outdoor theater. About a hundred people were sitting there on old crates and boxes. A slight drizzle was starting to fall, but it was warm, unlike the drizzle up in the mountains, and Jancowitz hardly noticed it. He put his hands in his pockets and waited for the movie to begin.

Nothing happened. The projector sat dumbly as the Marines waited for someone to arrive with the film.

Fifteen minutes later the crowd was becoming restless. Voices became louder. A beer can was thrown and one Marine jumped up to take the challenge, only to be pulled down by his friends. More beer was opened. A group of blacks had formed over to the left side of the theater. A white Marine got up to take a p.i.s.s and had to walk through or around them. He asked one of them to move. It was Henry.

'Hey, motherf.u.c.k, I don't move for n.o.body 'less I want to,' Henry said. I don't move for n.o.body 'less I want to,' Henry said.