Raymond released Short-timer who immediately climbed the nearest tree.
“Tell ’em to stop shooting. They get him all confused,” Raymond said.
Hale gave the order over the radio, and the firing stopped. Jackson waited, pressing his body closer and closer to the earth, imagining the NVA creeping through the jungle now since the fire from the battalion had stopped.
Whaaamoom!
One machine gun stopped.
A few minutes passed and then Whaaamoom! the sound again. The second gun was silent.
Hale gave the order to resume firing.
But the NVA broke off the contact. Labouf believed they were falling back until the battalion reached a place where the enemy could be certain they could kill them all. The battalion had lost fifty men, among them was Lieutenant Sims. Also Morrison was now dead for sure. Jackson hoped that Tom Light was following them, raising the fallen men. There were a few wounded, but they could all walk. Heavy rain continued, and thick clouds dropped down over the mountains, making noon in the jungle appear like twilight.
The point squad kept making contact with the enemy. After a few hours only the squad leader was left alive. Hale replaced them with a fresh squad.
Labouf said as they took a break, “Won’t be calling Phantoms or gunships in when we make contact. No medevacs. Nothing can fly in this shit. Don’t get wounded so bad you can’t walk. Gonna need more than a frag-throwing monkey.”
Hale left a group of wounded behind with a medic and a squad for security. They were to call in a medevac when the weather cleared.
Where the fuck was Light, Jackson thought.
“I don’t need air support,” Hale said at a meeting of his commanders, which Jackson and Labouf as battalion RTOs attended. “The dinks don’t have air support. We’ll beat them at their own fucking game. Tell the men that anyone who falls out will be left behind.”
“He didn’t talk about the wounded,” Labouf whispered to Jackson. “They’re going to be left behind to die.”
“Americans don’t leave their wounded,” Jackson said.
Labouf shook his head and said, “You wait. You’ll see.”
Please, don’t let me get wounded, Jackson thought. Where is Tom Light?
Hale had continued his briefing, “And keep their goddamn feet dry. I don’t want the whole battalion down with immersion foot.”
Jackson sloshed the water in his boots about with his toes and wondered how anyone was going to keep their feet dry.
“What about resupply?” a lieutenant asked.
“When we cross over into Laos,” Hale said. “We’ll need rations before the attack. If the weather is too bad for choppers to fly, we’ll live off the land. There’s deer. Wild pigs. Peacocks.”
Off in the distance they heard a deep rumble.
“Arclight on Big Tit,” Labouf said. “Hope they caught some dinks in the open.”
If Labouf had buried his money on Big Tit, he did not seem to be concerned about it. Jackson imagined the bills floating through the air, blown out of their hiding place by the bombs.
Jackson kept expecting another ambush, but it never came. The rain continued. Although the big trees broke the direct force of the rain, there was the constant drip off the leaves. The men’s boots stripped away the leaf cover, creating a slippery red clay trail to climb. Jackson pulled himself up the side of the mountain on tree limbs and vines. His body ached from the climb.
At night on laager, Jackson could count on only four hours of sleep because of guard duty. But his ruck was growing lighter because of the rations he had eaten. Some of the men had eaten almost all of theirs. Labouf had. “The place for rations is here,” Labouf said, patting his stomach.
At noon of the third day Hale called a halt for a break and brought in his commanders for a conference. They huddled together under a bamboo lean-to covered with their ponchos. Labouf and Jackson sat in the rain with their backs to a huge tree, the vines wrapped around it larger than Jackson’s leg.
“Do you think we’re in Laos yet?” Jackson asked.
“Don’t know,” Labouf said. “I think dickhead Hale is lost. That’s what they’re doing now, trying to figure out where the hell we are.”
“Where’re the dinks?”
“Watching us. Waiting. Hit us when they’re ready.”
“Tom Light’ll keep me from getting blown away,” Jackson said.
Labouf laughed. “You said that fucker went crazy. How can you count on him?”
“The men keep sighting someone.”
“Have you seen him?”
“No.”
“It’s dink scouts they’ve been seeing or hearing. Jesus, how could you see anything in this goddamn mess.”
“Maybe Light’s out there?”
Labouf laughed and said, “That’s what I’ve been telling the guys who want their money back.”
The officers were taking down their poncho lean-to.
“Time to start humping again,” Labouf said. “They got my ruck so full of spare batteries I can hardly walk.”
From Hale, Jackson learned the reason for the meeting. They were going into Laos. Hale had been worried that an ambush might be waiting for them when they crossed the border. Reynolds & Raymond had been sent out as scouts but had not returned.
“Where is it?” Jackson asked.
“Across the river,” Hale said.
Hale had squads go out as extra flank security. The underbrush grew thicker as they came down the side of the mountain, the bushes and trees covered with thorns, making it necessary to cut a trail. Jackson heard the chink of machetes and knew the dinks could hear them too.
The jungle opened up into grassy fields along the narrow river which was almost out of its banks. Leaves, branches, and occasionally whole trees floated past. A light rain fell.
“We’re going to drown in that fucking river,” Labouf said.
Jackson did not see how they were going to get across, especially if the dinks were waiting on the other side. The river crossing was the perfect spot for an ambush. Then the squad walking point reported they had found a fresh trail in the tall grass.
“Dink ambush,” Labouf said. “They’ll squeeze us between the mountains and the river. Without air cover we’re fucked.”
The point squad followed the trail, moving very slowly because they were afraid of booby traps. Then they reported music coming from the edge of the river.
Labouf laughed and said, “The dinks listening to Saigon radio. Or fucking R&R.”
Soon the squad called back and said they had found Reynolds & Raymond sitting by the side of the river listening to their tape recorder. The squad brought Reynolds & Raymond back to Hale.
“Where’s that tape recorder?” Hale asked.
“We threw it in the river, Sir,” the squad leader said.
Reynolds & Raymond looked like they had crashed and burned. Short-timer’s fur was wet, and he no longer twitched and danced. He sat shivering on Raymond’s shoulder with his arms around Raymond’s neck. Hale gave them some rations and questioned them while they ate. Reynolds finished his can of spaghetti in several large bites and licked out the can like a dog.
“You seen any gooks?” Hale asked.
“Jungle’s full of ’em,” Raymond said. “Major, you take the battalion across the river and we’re all gonna die.”
“You hallucinated those goddamn dinks,” Hale said in a loud voice. “If there were that many of then, they would’ve stayed and fought.”
Raymond’s hands trembled from fear or speed. Jackson wanted to ask them if they had seen Tom Light but decided to wait until later.
Reynolds was investigating Raymond’s cans to see if any food was left.