As Jackson walked back through the jungle, it was like the first night he had gone out in the bush, his breath coming hard and fast, every tree and bush that rose up out of the clouds threatening to begin walking in the night. He counted it as pure luck when he made it back to the firebase.
CHAPTER
19
White patches of fungus began to grow on Jackson’s armpits and crotch. Every day he peeled away strips of dead skin. Boxes of new uniforms were brought in every few days, and the men exchanged their rotted ones. At one end of the TOC was a seepage, and water dripped from the overhead cover into a puddle. Labouf was worried about mildew getting into his money.
“Jesus, we’re setting the record for MIAs,” Labouf said from his seat on his footlocker. “The general climbed all over Hale on the radio last night.”
Jackson did not want to talk about MIAs and tried to change the subject.
“If we had a heat lamp, you could dry your money,” Jackson said.
“Nothing will dry in this fucking rain,” Labouf said.
They sat and listened to the drip. Jackson decided to let him talk.
“What’s Light doing out there?” Labouf asked.
“Don’t know,” Jackson said. “Wasting dinks, I guess.”
“The dinks don’t seem to be paying much attention to him,” Labouf said. “The slopes are kicking ass at the fence.”
Hale had stripped the firebase of every spare man to reinforce the platoons on duty at the fence. Jackson noticed the NVA fought just as hard as before for their dead.
“Guys get wasted and when our guys go to look for them they don’t find nothing,” Labouf continued. “Weird shit. What do you think happens to those bodies?”
“Major Hale thinks the dinks are taking them,” Jackson said.
“Fucking asshole,” Labouf said. “The guys on the fence say that Buddhist monk’s been taking them. But nobody has seen that fucker lately. Light say anything about that monk?”
“Light wasted him,” Jackson said.
“I knew it,” Labouf said. He laughed and continued, “That bastard won the pool. Probably don’t even want the money.”
“Light’s crazy,” Jackson said.
“Like a fucking fox. He’s not going to die.”
“I mean really crazy.”
“How?”
“He says he can raise the dead. Says the holy man was raising the dinks. When Light shot him, he got his power.”
Jackson stopped, breathing hard. After he calmed down enough to talk, he told Labouf about the pictures of the doomed men in the starlight.
Labouf said, “Goddamn, Alabama. Why didn’t you tell me? Just can’t recognize money staring you right in the face. Light’s really got something to sell. I’m going to make some fucking money out of this. You’ll see.”
“You believe I saw troops die in the scope? You think Light can raise the dead?” Jackson asked.
“I don’t believe nothing. But the men’ll believe. They’ll eat it up. Won’t be able to give me their money fast enough.”
“Light is fucking crazy,” Jackson said.
“He’s kept you alive, killed the Tiger, wasted the monk,” Labouf said and then laughed to let Jackson know he was not serious. “Don’t matter what we believe. It’s not the dinks or that monk taking the bodies, it’s Light. Everyone will believe he’s raising them. We’ll sell insurance to the troops. Say half their pay.”
So Labouf started what he called his “Life After ’Nam” program.
“It’s not right,” Jackson said.
“Light’s taking the bodies,” Labouf said. “Maybe he can raise them. Who can say he can’t?”
“That’s crazy. That’s what Light says.”
“I know it’s not the dinks who’re doing it. What would they want with American bodies? Shit, Alabama, I know Light’s crazy. I’m not dumb. Maybe he can’t raise the dead, but he’s kept you from becoming one of them. If any man could talk with the spooks, Tom Light would be the one.”
“You’re selling the men nothing.”
Labouf smiled and said, “I’m selling them what they want to buy. It makes them feel better. You could say they’re paying to keep the lines of communication open with Tom Light.” Then Labouf asked, “You would want him to keep everybody alive?”
“Yeah.”
“So nobody should complain. Light believes he’s raising the dead. Those that pay’ll believe it. Hey, won’t a single customer complain.”
“Leave me out of it,” Jackson said, wishing he had not told Labouf about Light’s craziness.
Labouf accepted only money orders or American dollars. The chopper crew chiefs bought them for the men in exchange for a commission. To Jackson’s surprise most of the men signed up. Labouf told them they were to leave the dead out in the bush where Tom Light would find them after dark and raise them. The officers and some of the senior NCOs were the only ones who would have nothing to do with the scheme. And Leander, who said to Labouf, “Tom Light gets troops fucked. He don’t save nobody.” Then the engineers heard about it and Labouf did business with them. Soldiers continued to be reported as MIA. Labouf added more money to his footlocker.
The rains continued, the clouds often dropping down into the Cunt. And the rain gouged out gullies in the red clay which the enemy sappers used to approach the fence. The rain washed out the fence posts and flooded the underground bunkers so badly that on some days the men ended up perched up on top of them, exposed to fire from the enemy who remained hidden in the jungle.
Despite Labouf’s “Life after ’Nam” program men still died. The men blamed these deaths on the officers who refused to let them leave the dead out in the jungle. They were convinced Light would honor his contract and as soon as it grew dark raise the men out of the bush. No one was quite sure where the dead went after Light raised them. Some said they went home, but others claimed they went to one of the R&R countries like Australia or Singapore.
The platoons at the fence continued to take casualties. Finally a man refused to give up a dead soldier to graves registration.
“Get your radio,” Hale said to Jackson.
Jackson wondered if Light would also protect him from his own men. Luckily it was clear enough for the choppers to fly. The climb down the narrow trail to the Cunt was a difficult one. Jackson looked out past the door gunner and saw a group of men standing in a circle within a tangle of concertina wire.
When they reached the group, they found a man with an M-60 machine gun standing over a body bag.
“Pate won’t give up Fernandez,” a lieutenant said.
“Goddamn, Lieutenant, you’re supposed to be in command here,” Hale said. “You make that man put down his weapon.”
“He won’t, Sir. I already tried,” the lieutenant said.
“Try again,” Hale said.
The lieutenant walked over to Pate and said, “Soldier, put down that weapon.”
“They’re not putting Fernandez in the ground when he could live,” Pate said.
Pate was a big man, and Jackson thought the M-60 looked like some child’s Christmas toy in his hands.
“Soldier, your friend took a direct hit from a mortar,” the lieutenant said. “There’s just pieces of him in that body bag. Don’t you think his family would like to bury him?”
Pate said, “Tom Light can raise him.”
Jackson could barely hear the conversation because Hale had been gradually backing away from Pate and the lieutenant.
Hale looked up at the sky for a moment and then wiped the rain off his face. Jackson expected Hale might start screaming, but instead when the major spoke his voice was calm.