When we got back from Ia Drang, the rats had torn up our packages of food and left in their stead little piles of rat turds artfully lined up along every surface in the mildewed tent. The smell was tangible, but it was home. And no pilots in our company had been killed, an occasion for thanksgiving.
Our first week back, we installed the floor and bought chairs, rice mats, and other stuff to shape up the tent. I even hooked up the lights.
A week later, the Colonel called the battalion officers to a muddy spot between us and the Snakes. He stood, bony arms folded against his chest, looking first at the unruly formation, then at the ground, as if there should be a box or something for him to stand on.
“I’m wet,” said Connors in the drizzle.
“Gentlemen, I have a few things to talk to you about today. Number one, we’ve been back for just a week and already we’re getting complaints from the MPs about of ficers crashing the gate at night to get to the village, officers drinking and driving recklessly, officers involved in unnatural sex acts in local bars.” The Colonel shook his head, disappointed. “The medics say the VD rate has quadrupled. This behavior is against the code of the American officer, immoral and disgusting. I’ve decided to do something about it.” The Colonel unfolded his arms to step forward for emphasis, but the mud stopped him. “Starting today, no officer is allowed to drive any vehicle: no Jeeps, no trucks, not even a mule. Any officer wishing to go somewhere by ground vehicle must request a driver first. There will be no exceptions. Second, the VD problem. Gentlemen, I know what you’re going through. I’m human, too. But what kind of example do you think we’re setting for the enlisted men? Those girls downtown are all disease-ridden, a very tenacious version of VD.” The Colonel paused, his face a map of concern. “So for the time being, I’m holding every man here duty-bound to exercise discretion and stay totally away from those women.”
Murmurs and laughter drifted through the crowd. Did he really think that abstention by the officers would influence the enlisted men? At that very moment, An Khe was filled with hundreds of enlisted men understandably jumping every female in sight. “Men, severe situations require unusual solutions. I know you may think of it as self-abuse, but I, and the commanders above me, think that m-masturbation is now justifiable.”
“Is that an order?”
“Who said that!” No one answered. The Colonel glared expectantly at the damp mob, trying to pinpoint the bad apple. The offender did not come forward and throw himself into the mud at the Colonel’s feet, begging forgiveness. Disgusted, the Colonel continued. “No, it is not an order; it is a suggestion. And if there are any more cases of the clap among you men, I’m closing the village to all of you. No passes to town for anything.”
“Did he just order us to jerk off?” Connors’s low voice came from the back of the crowd. Laughter engulfed the formation. The Colonel had not heard the remark.
“I’ve got a plan that will keep everybody occupied and healthy while we aren’t flying. On this very spot, we will build an officers’ club.”
The brass applauded from the front of the formation.
“Face it, men. We’ll be here a long time. Now, having a real club to come back to, a drink after a long day, a refreshing conversation with some nurses, comfortable plush chairs to sit back into, and music—all these things are possible if we start right now.”
“Nurses?” Connors again.
“Yes, nurses. There are nurses at the division level. And they will come down here to see us, if we have some place for them to come to. You wouldn’t want them to visit us in these moldy tents, would you?”
“Yes, I would.”
“Who is that?” The Colonel peered from side to side trying to locate the heckler. We all turned around, looking at each other, to show that we were innocent. Captain Williams glared toward our group, in the direction of Connors.
“Gentlemen, it’s attitudes like that will keep us living like beasts.” He shook his head sadly. “So, starting right now, this minute, we will collect the first month’s club dues. That money will be used to start buying the necessary materials. Captain Florence will be in charge of the job because he was a contractor in civilian life.” Florence beamed and nodded. “Labor will be supplied voluntarily by you men. And each man will be expected to work his share each month until the job is finished.”
A few days later, a Japanese newspaper reporter interviewed me. Some guys watched while the photographer snapped pictures. Among them was a tall, lanky captain from Indiana, whom I still think of as the New Guy. He had a healthy, confident aura about him, qualities that had faded from the veterans.
“If they want a new mess hall, let’s build it!” he’d said when Williams announced that we’d volunteered to do that, too, along with the club. “I’ve built a lot of stuff in my day,” he said. “I could probably do it myself. And, hell, anything’s better than this crummy tent.”
Riker had stared at him and growled, “Shit.” Connors nodded. “Uh-huh, un-huh.” Banjo snickered. That very day, the New Guy started laying out the new mess hall.
“Uh, Bob,” said the New Guy. The Japanese photographer was hunched in front of me, dodging for an angle.
“Yeah?”
“Maybe you’d better take down that picture behind you.”
I turned around to the pinup I had tacked to the wall of Riker’s partition.
“You leave Cathy right where she is,” said Connors. “Let the folks back in good old Japan know what we’re fighting for.”
“But what if his wife sees it?” said the New Guy.
“It?” Connors said. “It? Please, that is Cathy Rotten-crotch, queen beaver of this tent. She is not an it, as you can see.”
The reporter laughed, and the photographer moved to include Cathy in the shot.
“What is it like to fly into the bullets?” asked the reporter.
Someone wanted my opinion? I had thought about the bullets a lot during Ia Drang. I was always afraid. That was the answer: I was always afraid, every time. I sit before you, a chicken in soldier’s clothing, Mr. Reporter. “Well, it’s kinda scary at first, but when you get involved in the landings, you get used to it.” Shit, yeah, you get used to it. Like to be out there right now doing it again.
“Have you had any close calls?”
Yes, very close. So close it makes me shiver. I could’ve been in that pile of bodies. “Well, no closer than any of the other guys. A few rounds through the cockpit. Stuff like that.”
“Is that what you wear during the assaults?” I was dressed in fatigues, wearing my flak vest and pistol, at the photographer’s request.
“Yes.”
“Does that—” He pointed.
“Flak vest.”
“Does that flak vest stop bullets?”
“No. As a matter of fact, it won’t even slow them down.”
Everyone laughed.
We flew support for a convoy going to Pleiku and had to laager for two hours at the Turkey Farm.
Foot-tall grass bent over as the wind gusted along the row of twenty or so helicopters. Near noon, as we sorted through the C-ration boxes, somebody at the front of the row knocked over his jet-fuel stove.
“Fire!” someone yelled. Smoke swirled out of the grass next to the first few Hueys. I ran with the rest of the men toward the fire. Orange flames burrowed through the grass. People slapped the rushing flames with their shirts, but it did no good. The breeze carried the flames toward the rear ships. My ship and the two behind it would be right in the path. I ran back.
Reacher stood behind my seat. “Hurry, sir!” I fumbled for my seat belts, but the smoke surrounding us made me realize that there was no time. I cursed myself for not having the ship preset for start up. Too lax.‘ I flipped switches and hit the starter trigger. “Hurry, sir. The fire is almost here!” The blades turned more slowly than ever before. The flames were less than a hundred feet away, moving very fast. The exhaust-gas-temperature gauge read hot. A hot start now? No, it dropped back to green. The rotors blinked, close to operating rpm. When the flames were orange under the chin bubble, I pulled pitch before the turbine was completely up, and the machine groaned into the air. When I pedal-turned the tail away from the flames, my door flew open. Damn. Didn’t even have the door latched. The noise of the ship seemed very loud. I could feel the hot breeze, and I realized that I was wearing no helmet. Jerk! I backed away in a hover and set the ship down. The two ships behind me moved out of the fire, too.