“No time. We have to move,” Hale said. “The dinks don’t know which way we ran. They can’t see in this shit either. They got lucky with the mortars. Heard us. I told that asshole lieutenant to keep his men quiet.”
The medic said, “I’ll stay with him. Leave me a radio. I’ll call in a dust off when the weather clears.”
Hale shook his head, “No, give him some water, morphine, rations, and a pistol. Tell him we’ll pick him up on the way back.”
“No, Sir, you tell him,” the medic said.
They went through the trees and found a man lying on a poncho. A plasma bag hung from a limb, the bag connected to a tube stuck in his arm. Leander was going through the man’s ruck. When Leander pulled out a lavender tie and tied it around the soldier’s neck, Jackson recognized Marcus, the owner of the ruined suits.
“Foot’s gone and shrapnel in the groin,” the medic said to Hale in a low voice. “He’s full of morphine. Right now he’s stable. If you’d just let me call a dust off.”
Hale went down on one knee beside the wounded soldier.
“Son, we’re going on ahead to kick the shit out of the dinks,” Hale said.
The soldier looked up at him with a vacant stare.
Hale continued, “We’ll pick you up on the way back. There’ll be a decoration for you.”
“I don’t hurt at all, Sir,” the soldier said.
“That’s good. Here’s water, rations, more morphine,” Hale said.
Hale took them from the medic and placed them by the soldier’s right arm.
“Doc here says you’re going to make it,” Hale went on. “You hang on. Holiday Inn’s not but a couple of klicks from here. Just over the mountain. We’ll be back.”
“You’ll write home for me?” the soldier asked.
“You’ll write them yourself when this is over,” Hale replied.
Hale put his own pistol in the soldier’s hand.
“Dinks come around you waste ’em. Add to our body count,” Hale said.
“I’ll get ’em, Sir,” the soldier said.
“I’m staying,” Leander said.
Hale walked a few yards to one side and Leander followed.
“Nobody’s staying,” Hale said.
Leander pointed to the wounded man and said, “We’re all gonna end up like Marcus.”
“Get back to your squad,” Hale said.
Leander had his rifle slung over his shoulder, but Hale had a CAR-15 carbine in his hands. Jackson could tell Leander wanted to unsling his rifle. Hale knew it too.
“Call a dust off,” Leander said. “You’re fucking crazy to work without choppers.”
“Soldier, you got yourself a court martial when we get back,” Hale said.
“Won’t be anybody coming back,” Leander said. “Nobody to court martial. Nobody to press charges.”
Leander kept running his fingers over the nylon rifle sling.
Trying to make up his mind, Jackson thought.
Hale said to a lieutenant, “Make sure that man gets back to his squad. You’re responsible for him.”
The lieutenant took Leander aside and talked quietly with him.
Leander started to walk off, but he stopped and pointed at the wounded man. “You’ll pay for that, Major.”
“Get him out of here, Lieutenant,” Hale said.
Leander turned and walked off. Then they all went away, leaving the soldier lying on the poncho.
At noon when they took a break on the shoulder of the mountain, Jackson dropped his ruck and sat with his back against a tree. Labouf found him.
“Don’t get wounded,” Labouf said. “I listened for that pistol shot all morning. Heard it a dozen times.”
“He’ll do it when he runs out of morphine,” Jackson said.
“Goddamn, shitty war,” Labouf said.
Jackson wished Labouf would make a joke.
“I’ve been saving some pound cake,” Jackson said. “You want some.”
“Thanks,” Labouf said. “There’ll be no resupply now. It’s going to rain like this forever.”
Jackson opened the C-ration tin, and they ate the pound cake slowly.
“Army’s got dehydrated rations. Got chili and chicken and rice. Good shit,” Labouf said, his mouth full of pound cake. “Light. Could carry two weeks of food easy. But we don’t get the good shit. The motherfuckers in Saigon are probably eating them. All we get are these fucking C-rations.”
Reynolds & Raymond walked up. Short-timer looked like he was asleep, clinging to Raymond’s neck.
“Gave him a couple of downers,” Raymond said. “He needed the rest. Losing his fucking bones. Need to repaint them. Dinks think he’s a fucking ghost. Scared shitless of him.”
“Goddamn, fucking speed freaks,” Labouf whispered to Jackson.
Reynolds & Raymond sat down beside them.
“I told you to keep him away from me,” Jackson said, pointing to Reynolds.
“He’s cool today,” Raymond said.
Reynolds sat perfectly still, as if in a trance, staring off into the jungle. Jackson noticed the man’s eyes rapidly moving back and forth.
“You the money man?” Raymond asked Labouf.
Labouf continued chewing the last of his pound cake and said nothing.
Reynolds began to play his M-16 and sing softly, “There must be some kind of way out of here/Said the joker to the thief.”
Raymond touched the top of Labouf’s ruck which was leaning against a tree.
“Get your fucking hand off,” Labouf said.
Reynolds stepped back. Labouf swung the muzzle of his rifle on Reynolds’s belly.
“You touch this ruck again and I’ll kill you,” Labouf said.
“Whatcha got in there?” Raymond asked.
Labouf said, “Same as you got in yours.”
“You know what he’s got in there?” Raymond asked Jackson.
“Batteries for the radio,” Jackson said. “Hale’s making him hump extra batteries.”
“We’d carry some of them for him,” Raymond said and laughed.
Reynolds sang, “There are many here among us/Who feel that life is but a joke.”
“I’ll carry my own shit,” Labouf said.
“We going to help you watch it,” Raymond said.
“Stay the fuck away from me,” Labouf said. “You’re supposed to be out on recon.”
All afternoon Reynolds & Raymond were never far from Labouf. They pretended they were walking flank security but always stayed only a few yards away, screened by the trees. Labouf threatened them, but they ignored him.
He’s got the money in there, Jackson thought. They’re going to get it.
The battalion went on laager that night on the side of the mountain. All night they were probed, and there was one mortar attack. More men died. No one got any sleep. Jackson tried to estimate how many men they had lost and decided they must have taken at least 150 casualties. But Jackson was almost too tired to count. He wanted to lie down somewhere and sleep for days.
In the morning, Jackson stood beside Hale as they got ready to move out. Reynolds & Raymond were there keeping track of Labouf. Short-timer was speeding again. He kept running up to the top of a tree and then back down again. His painted bones had faded further from the rain. Jackson wondered why none of the men were around. Hale noticed too.
“Where are the men?” Hale asked a lieutenant.
“Don’t know, Sir,” the lieutenant said.
“They walked on up the mountain,” a sergeant said.
Jackson felt like Hale and his officers were all alone on the mountain.
They’re going to frag us, Jackson thought, looking off into the trees.
Short-timer ran down the tree and over to Hale’s ruck. The monkey reached his arm under the edge and pulled out a frag. Chattering and screaming, Short-timer ran to Raymond and climbed up on his shoulder.
“Don’t have a pin in it!” someone yelled.
They all scattered. Jackson found cover behind a tree.