“Son, there’s nothing we can do for your friend except give him a soldier’s burial,” Hale said, having to raise his voice to make himself heard since a good twenty yards now separated him from Pate. Jackson wished it was more. “He’ll have an honor guard. He can be buried at Arlington if his family wishes. Put down that weapon. I won’t court martial you. He was your friend. I understand.”
“No, Sir,” Pate said. “They’ll take all the blood out of him at graves registration. Shoot him full of poison. It’ll be too late for Light to save him then.”
Pate motioned with the barrel of the machine gun at two soldiers who were standing off by themselves. They looked nervous, Jackson thought. Probably afraid the weather would get bad and trap them at the fence.
“You let me put him out in the bush,” Pate said. “Tom Light will take care of him. Fernandez paid his money.”
“You men are goddamn stupid to give Labouf your money,” Hale yelled and took a couple of more steps backward.
Jackson began looking for cover.
Hale continued, “I can’t stop you. It’s your money.”
“Tom Light won’t let us die!” a man shouted.
“You show me one man he’s raised,” Hale said.
The men talked among themselves while Hale waited.
“He raises them out in the bush,” Pate said.
“And where do they go?” Hale asked.
Pate said, “I don’t know, but they live.”
“I got a letter from Morrison,” a soldier said.
“Yeah, show the major the letter,” another soldier said.
The soldier produced the letter and handed it to Hale.
“This has an Australian postmark,” Hale said. “This man is on R&R.”
“He was MIA,” Pate said. “How did he get to Australia.”
“Who saw him get shot?” Hale asked. “Who reported him MIA?”
The men talked among themselves but no one stepped forward.
Hale put the letter in the pocket of his fatigue jacket.
“I’ll find the real story on this man,” Hale said. “Never was killed. Took an R&R to Australia and deserted. He’s going to the stockade when the MPs find him. That man will be back doing his job on this fence.”
Hale then took the lieutenant aside and talked quietly with him. The lieutenant kept shaking his head. Then the lieutenant walked to where Pate still stood over the body bag. It had begun to rain harder, and thick gray clouds dropped down over the firebase. The two men from graves registration kept glancing up at the sky.
“Soldier, for the last time I’m ordering you to put down that weapon,” the lieutenant said.
Pate said, “I don’t want to have to shoot you, Sir.”
“But you could get that goddamn Tom Light to raise him from the dead if you did,” Hale shouted.
By now Hale had to shout because he had backed off a good thirty yards.
“Soldier, if you don’t put down that weapon, I’ll have you shot,” Hale shouted. “Lieutenant Sims will do the shooting. We’ll zip you up in a sloppy rubber bag. You’ll go on the chopper with your friend. The money you paid to Private Labouf won’t do you any good. Even fucking Jesus Christ won’t be able to do a thing for you once graves registration gets done with you.” Hale paused and yelled to Lieutenant Sims, “Lieutenant, are you locked and loaded?”
Lieutenant Sims looked at his M-16 as if he was seeing it for the first time.
Hale continued, “I’m counting to ten. If that man has not put down his weapon by the time I reach ten, shoot him.”
“One,” Hale said.
By the time he reached five, Hale had backed farther away until he stood next to a foxhole. Jackson and the rest of the men moved away, everyone looking for cover.
“Eight.”
Lieutenant Sims had still not raised his weapon. He appeared to have found something interesting on the receiver.
“Nine.”
A soldier stepped forward and walked directly toward Pate. The soldier reached out for the barrel of the M-60.
“Ten.”
Hale jumped into the foxhole, and Jackson stretched himself out in a puddle behind a pile of sandbags. When Jackson raised his head, Pate was sitting on the ground crying, and the soldier had the machine gun.
Jackson and Lieutenant Sims helped Hale out of the foxhole.
“What’s your name, soldier?” Hale asked the man with the machine gun.
“Morrison,” the soldier said.
Everyone laughed.
“You’re supposed to be dead,” Hale said. “You been writing letters from Australia?”
“Been right here,” Morrison said. “Attached to the engineers up on Little Tit for a few days. Just got off the chopper.”
Hale turned to the men. “You men want to believe a fucking hoax. Nothing’ll help you except killing the enemy.”
The graves registration team loaded the body bag on the chopper.
Hale took the machine gun from Morrison and raised it above his head and said, “This is the only thing that’s going to keep you men alive.”
Labouf became obsessed with signing up Leander in “Life after ‘Nam.” Jackson was sitting on a pile of sandbags by the TOC with Labouf when Leander walked by.
“It’s not too late to sign up, Leander,” Labouf said.
“Go talk your shit to somebody else,” Leander said.
“Tom Light’s been wondering why you haven’t signed,” Labouf continued.
Leander said, “I’ll kill that motherfucker next time I see him.”
Labouf laughed.
“No one can kill Tom Light,” Labouf said.
“He got Calvin killed,” Leander said. “Cost me a stripe.”
Leander was now a corporal instead of a sergeant because of the short round.
“You got all these men believing that shit about raising the dead,” Leander said. “I don’t believe none of it.”
“Just to be safe—” Labouf began.
“You go talk your shit to somebody else,” Leander said. “Troops are still getting wasted. How come your protection didn’t do them no good.”
“You get a refund if you get killed,” Labouf said. “Your family gets it. Like GI insurance. And the only reason anyone has to die is because the fucking asshole officers won’t leave the dead out in the bush for Light.”
“If I get wasted, it’s only because it’s my turn,” Leander said.
He turned his back on Labouf and walked away.
Jackson tried to keep track of Light. During the day the tower guard reported that Light spent his time either in the hut or sitting in front of it in the rain. Jackson did not know what to believe. He did not want to go home crazy. Not end up like Light. Wandering through the jungle babbling to himself about the dead men he had raised. Now he was more afraid of Light than he had ever been, yet he knew he still needed Light’s protection to survive the war.
Then Light called Jackson on the radio and asked him to come out. As Jackson walked through the jungle, he wondered if this would be the night when Light would decide to stop protecting him. The rain was falling very hard, and Jackson could see only a few feet ahead of him. As he came out of the jungle and onto the rocky outcropping, he saw a figure standing in the rain. At first he thought it was Light but realized the man was too big for Light, too big for a dink.
Jackson stopped and pushed the lever that put his M-16 on automatic. The man raised one hand, palm out. Jackson could see he did not have a weapon. Perhaps it was one of the listening posts who had gotten lost. The man motioned for him to come closer. Jackson walked farther out onto the outcropping.
It’s Pate, he thought. No one at the firebase was as big as Pate. But Pate was dead, killed three days ago in a firefight which had wiped out his entire squad.
“Jackson, you tell the major,” the figure said.
Jackson was very close now, so close he could reach out and touch the man.