Part 29 (1/2)

Steve was already undressed and running into the water. Susan hesitated, then pulled off her clothes and joined them. They splashed and played until they were exhausted. Then they crawled out onto the cool white sand. They sat enjoying the sound of the surf. The trade winds made goose pimples on their damp bodies. Susan pulled a towel over her even though their att.i.tude toward each other was curiously s.e.xless, yet intimate. No one felt embarra.s.sed.

Steve leaned back on his elbows and gazed at the crescent moon. ”I love both of you.”

No one embarra.s.sed him by commenting.

Susan thought it was the most perfect moment in her life.

Chapter Thirty-nine.

Vietnam: March 16, 1968 Steve lay on his belly and peered through the heavy brush, his rifle c.o.c.ked and ready. Someone once said war was h.e.l.l. He should have listened. What a way to learn how trying to do the right thing could end up being the biggest mistake in his life. It could even get him killed. But the worst part of it was he was now officially a killer.

The 11th Brigade-Charlie Company-had suffered heavy casualties during the Tet Offensive. Everyone was angry and discouraged. A stranger had died in Steve's arms. The blood and gore was mind-numbing. His emotions crawled into a part of his brain that kept his mind safe from the madness.

Bob the Butcher patrolled one of the villages with him two weeks ago and he had seen first-hand how he got the name. Trigger-happy Bob wore his victim's ears around his neck. As they cut through the jungle side by side, the brush crackled to the right of them. Steve saw a flash of blue dart through the trees. It was a small boy.

Without hesitation, Bob raised his rifle and shot the child.

Shocked, Steve swore. ”He was just a kid!”

Bob put down his rifle. ”He was Cong.”

”You don't know that,” Steve cried out in frustration.

”One of my buddies was killed by a young boy who threw a grenade at him. There are no boys out here. Only Cong.” Bob walked over to the body, his rifle slung on his shoulder. He kicked the boy over with his foot.

Steve was horrified. The boy looked no more than ten-years old.

Bob leaned down and cut off the boy's ears.

Steve hung his head and refused to talk to Bob all the way back to camp.

The next day Steve saw Bob sitting with some of his buddies showing off his gory new acquisition while smoking pot laced with heroin. Ted, a kid from Milwaukee, noticed Steve and nudged Bob. Everyone in the group turned and stared. Someone said something Steven couldn't hear and everyone laughed. Walking away from the sound of derision, Steve asked to be taken off all patrols with Bob. His request was granted.

”If it had been a girl, she would've been raped first,” Jerry from Indiana said. ”I saw Bob and some of his buddies rape a girl who was maybe twelve-years old before they killed her.”

The story made Steve physically ill. ”I feel like I'm stuck in a bad dream with a bunch of insane people. Tell me, what do you think the Butcher and the rest of his guys were like back home?”

”Who knows? Probably punks and bullies. I know they smoke pot mixed with heroin. So maybe they're just crazy.” Jerry shook his head, ”All I know is I shouldn't have flunked Science. Uncle Sam didn't wait for me to make it up.”

Before Steve could reply, Lt. William Calley, their commanding officer, a college dropout like himself, walked up to him. ”Come with me, Duffy. The village of My Lai is just ahead. We're going on a search and destroy mission.”

Steve rose. ”Have there been any reports of gunfire coming out of the village, sir?”

Lt. Calley didn't answer. Taking one last drag from his cigarette, he ground it out under his boot. With a sideways glance, he motioned for Steve to follow.

Steve saw his unit fanned along the countryside, moving in eerie silence in the sunlight, their rifles ready, their steel bayonets glinting. The Butcher was the point man. His cronies followed behind.

The villagers stopped their activities as soon as the Butcher and his unit stepped into the village. Butcher Bob turned his head. His bloodshot, gla.s.sy eyes met the lieutenant's. As Jerry said, Bob and his group were high most of the time. Steve saw Lt. Calley nod.

Even from the distance, Steve could see the whites of Bob's teeth gleaming against his sunburned skin when he smiled. Bob raised his left arm and sliced the air with his hand. With a whoop, Bob and his men began gunning down the villagers. People either fell or scattered. A slim young girl ran toward the rice paddies. Several soldiers bounded after her. Even from a distance, Steve could see them tearing off her clothes before raping and sodomizing her. He started toward them, but Lt. Calley put his hand out and stopped him. Steve's eyes were glued to the macabre scene. After the soldiers were done, they laughed and let the bleeding and naked girl run from them. One of the soldiers put a bullet in the screaming girl.

It was a scene from h.e.l.l.

Steve's heart pounded; tears filled his eyes. Why didn't Lt. Calley stop the slaughter? Instead, Lt. Calley motioned for him to keep moving. As they walked through the village, white-haired people fell to their knees, bowing to them with their heads touching the ground. Steve saw them bayoneted, shot, or clubbed right where they knelt. Hundreds of men, women, and little children were ma.s.sacred. He couldn't stop crying.

Steve's insides rumbled. He fought down his vomit when he saw soldiers tear the s.h.i.+rts from their victims and carve ”C Company” on their chests with knives. The crazed weapons of destruction, his fellow soldiers, were taxi drivers, students, fathers, sons, and musicians back home. Caught up in the killing frenzy, their faces were etched in hatred, their eyes enflamed with madness, as they entered a place where humanity ceased to exist. The more blood spilled, the crazier they seemed to get. Some of them ran around grinning, their bayonets dripping with blood, their uniforms soaked a deep scarlet.

Bob cut off a villager's ears then beheaded him. Grinning maniacally, he placed his grisly trophy on a stake.

Lt. Calley halted in front of a group of villagers some of his men had rounded up. The Vietnamese dropped to their knees and wrung their hands. Hysterical women cried as their children clung to them.

”Shoot them,” Lt. Calley ordered with dead calm.

”No sir, they're unarmed,” Steve took a step backward. ”For G.o.d's sake, Lieutenant, they're begging for their lives,”

”Are you disobeying a direct order, soldier?” Lt. Calley's jaw tightened. His soulless eyes fixed on the screaming crowd.

”Yes sir,” Steve threw down his rifle.

”What about you, soldier?” Lt. Calley said to the soldier on the other side of him.

The soldier shrugged. ”Whatever you say sir,” the soldier jammed his rifle b.u.t.t into his shoulder and aimed. As if he thought better of it, he hesitated.

”Shoot them! That's an order,” Lt. Calley and the soldier mowed down the villagers.

When the smoke cleared the air, bodies were piled haphazardly in numerous heaps. Lt. Calley and the other gunner walked through the bodies, shooting anyone who moved.

Steve picked up his rifle and ran. In the midst of the chaos, he saw other shocked soldiers fleeing the ma.s.sacre. He pa.s.sed a soldier on his knees, his face lifted to the sky. Tears streaked his grimy face and his hands were lifted, palms up, in supplication.

The soldier cried out, ”Oh G.o.d, my G.o.d, forgive us for our sins.”

The prayer tore at Steve's heart. He stopped and fell to his knees next to the soldier and asked the G.o.d he barely knew to stop the slaughter.

The next day, he wrote to Susan.

Chapter Forty.

Honolulu: 1968-1969 Susan received a confused, tear-stained letter with a graphic recounting of the horrors Steve experienced in a place called My Lai. After that, Susan stopped hearing from him. She wrote to him once a week but never heard back.