Jackson collapsed on the leaves, gasping for air, looking at the dark figure of Light who knelt above him, smelling the sharp scent of decaying leaves which was the stink of Light. There was a difference between Light’s stink and the jungle smell of decay. Light’s had something almost sweet to it, and Jackson supposed that the smell came from Light’s rotting skin.
“Did you bring my letters?” Light asked, bending down to whisper to him.
Jackson still could not speak but nodded his head.
“I’ll carry you to the rock. Next time I won’t have to come get you,” Light said.
By this time Jackson had calmed down enough to walk, so he got up and followed Light through the forest. Jackson kept getting tangled up in vines, most of which seemed to have thorns, but Light moved through the forest like he was walking along a road. Then in a clump of bamboo they were caught by H&I fire, the mortar rounds passing low over their heads. Jackson raised his head a little and watched the high explosive shells hit. The shell fragments glowed red in the dark, sailing toward them and cutting down sections of bamboo above their heads. He noticed he was breathing easily, his body feeling relaxed. Suddenly he felt Light’s hand on the back of his neck, and his face was pushed down hard into the leaves.
“Keep down,” Light said. “You’ll get your fool head blowed off.”
For the first time Jackson was enjoying the war in the way that his father had always claimed he had enjoyed his duty as an infantryman. Now with Light’s protection he would go home with stories to tell around the fire at deer camp after the guns had been cleaned and racked, he sitting and drinking whiskey with the rest of the men.
Finally they walked up a narrow trail to the big rock, which was really not one rock but a series of rocky outcroppings on which little vegetation grew. The outcroppings ended in a cliff covered with vines and small trees, and Jackson saw the only way in or out was along the trail.
“What if they catch us here?” Jackson asked.
“There’s another trail round the side of the cliff,” Light said. “They won’t come up here.”
On the ridge below, Jackson saw flashes and heard the sound of enemy mortars firing. In a few seconds he saw the flashes at the firebase and heard the sound of the explosions. The mortar squad sent up illumination followed by high explosive rounds.
I’m fucked, Jackson thought.
Hale was up by now and mad as hell.
Well, just fuck it, Jackson thought. What could Hale do? Send me to Vietnam?
In the glow of the illumination, the small parachutes drifting over the rock, Jackson read Light his mail. Light’s mother was doing better, and his father had been making good catches of fish. The old man was thinking about buying a new boat. Then Jackson wrote another letter for Light which was almost exactly like the first one.
The illumination was up and the guns still firing, but Jackson felt calm, breathing as easily as if he were sitting on the porch swing at home after supper.
Another series of mortar rounds were fired at the firebase from another location giving the firebase’s mortars a new target.
“Our guns never kill any dinks. Blow up bamboo, that’s all. Dinks up and gone by the time them rounds hit. Ain’t I done for you like I promised? You’ll get home,” Light said.
“You’re the fucking best,” Jackson said.
“What’re you going to do when you get home?” Light asked.
“Maybe go to college on the GI Bill. And you?”
“Fish. Nothing like going out and finding the lines full. A few channel cats run thirty or forty pounds. Cut some good catfish steaks off ’em.”
More illumination went up and drifted over them.
Light continued, “But sometimes I don’t know if I’d like to go home. I went home once. Couldn’t get comfortable until I was back in country. Here’s where I belong. Me and the starlight.”
Jackson felt a tightness in his chest, hoping that Light was not going to start talking about seeing things in the starlight again.
“Home’s where I want to be,” Jackson said.
Light laughed and said, “Your time’s just started. Later won’t be so easy.”
I won’t end up like you, Jackson thought to himself. The day I get home I’ll forget all about the war.
A gunship had been called in, and Jackson heard the grind of its Gatling guns, turning to watch the red tracers come down in an unbroken stream.
“I think the dinks have brought in a man,” Light said.
“What man?” Jackson said.
“Someone like me, a sniper. I heard about him. They call him the Tiger. About three or four days ago he took a shot at me. Bullet hit a vine. Was a good shot. Never come up against a man before that could shoot like that,” Light said.
What if Light was killed, Jackson thought. Then the sniper, better than Light, would kill all of them.
“Don’t worry, I’ll waste him,” Light continued.
“Sure, you’ll waste him,” Jackson said.
It made sense. Light had never even been wounded. No one could stand against him.
“Have you got a girl?” Light asked.
“Yeah, she works in Birmingham,” Jackson said.
“Does she write you?”
“Pretty often.”
“Have you told her about me? How I’m going to keep you safe?”
“Yeah,” Jackson said, wondering if somehow Light would know that he was lying.
“You’ll go home and marry her and have kids?”
“Yeah. But there’s lots of guys in Birmingham.”
“Plenty of Jodys back in the world.”
“Sure,” Jackson said. Then he continued, “I’ve got to go back.”
“Shit, wait till daylight.”
“Hale ordered me not to go out. He was asleep when I left. He’s up now and looking for me. I’m supposed to stay close to him with the radio.”
“Let that bastard come out here if he wants the radio. He gives you any shit, you tell him I’ll start living at the firebase. He can’t stop me.”
Nobody could fuck with Light. Nobody, Jackson thought.
Jackson and Light sat at the big rock and talked of home until morning. By then Jackson had learned all the details about Light’s mother’s bad heart, the commercial fishing business, his sister Ellen who lived in Memphis. He told Light about the farm and how much trouble it was to raise chickens, how on especially hot summer days you had to walk them in the chicken houses, keep them moving, or they would die of suffocation. Cleaning up used cars and selling them in Chicago was what interested Light most.
“That’s smart,” Light said. “I could learn to do that.”
In the morning just before sunrise Light led him back through the jungle and left him at the edge of the scrub.
“Don’t let Hale fuck with you,” Light said.
“Keep my ass from getting bio wed away,” Jackson said.
“I never saw a man more worried about dying.”
“I wrote your letters. Remember that.”
“You keep listening on the radio. I’ll call. You come out.”
Then Light stepped away, disappearing into the jungle.
Jackson came out of the trees just as the sun rose over the mountains. All over the scrub were the small, white parachutes from the flares so that Jackson, basking in the warmth of the morning sun after the cool highland night, fancied that he was walking among the blossoms of gigantic white flowers.
When he reached the TOC, Hale was waiting.
“Pack up your shit. You’re going to the fence,” Hale said.
“Light won’t like that,” Jackson said.
“Goddamn, I don’t care what he likes!” Hale shouted. “You’re going to the fence.”
Jackson gasped for breath and said, “You fuck with me, you fuck with Light. He’ll come in. Stay here.”
“See these!” Hale screamed, holding up his collar where his oak leaves were sewn in black thread. Then, talking fast, “No goddamn sniper is going to fuck with me. Don’t even wear a uniform. Runs around in fucking dink sandals. Fucking starlight scope. Fucking rifle. I’m in command!”