Authors: Cynthia Kadohata
Cracker! (26 page)
“Sure.”
“Was she the best dog in Vietnam? She was, wasn’t she?”
“Yup.”
“Was she brave? She was, wasn’t she?”
“Yup.”
“Your letter said she saved a lot of lives?”
“Yup.” Rick paused, looked right at Willie. “She saved mine, too.”
Willie’s eyes grew wide. “For real?”
Rick grinned. “Yup.”
“Rick?” Willie’s face was serious.
“Yeah?”
“I understand.”
“Understand what?” They both stopped.
“How she’s your dog now. I understand. But thank you for letting me see her.”
Rick didn’t know what to say to that. Then he said, “You did good. Don’t ever forget that.”
In the parking lot Willie and his father set down the crate and Rick set down Cracker.
Willie’s parents shook hands with Rick. “Thank you for calling us. It meant so much to Willie,” said Willie’s mother. “We thought he’d get over it, but he didn’t, and we—well, we just want to thank you for calling us. Willie’s been so emotional throughout all this.”
“Mom, you’re acting like I’m a baby,” Willie said.
“I’m just trying to explain.”
Willie looked at Rick and rolled his eyes.
Rick patted Willie’s shoulder and said, “Thanks for helping with the crate. I gotta get her home now, but we’ll be seeing each other. You come up and visit.”
“I sure will!”
They looked at each other. Rick saw something in the boy’s eyes. He studied Willie a moment before realizing the kid wanted to cry. He reached into his pocket. “Hey, look, want my dogtags?”
“Sure!” Willie eagerly took the tags. Then he knelt down before Cracker and hugged her close, the way he had the last time he’d seen her. And he felt the hug way down inside himself. He whispered in her ear, “You’ll always be my dog. I made you the best dog in Vietnam.”
Cracker got up and shook herself off. Her head was clearing. Instead of feeling happy, she felt sad. She thought that now she was going back to Willie.
She put her tail between her legs. Rick laughed. “Guess she’s being kind of shy.”
Then, instead of crying, Willie stood up and shook Rick’s hand like a man would. And Rick said the same thing that Willie had just whispered: “You made her the best dog in Vietnam.”
Despite Willie’s promise to himself that he wasn’t going to cry, a few teardrops trickled down his cheeks as he watched Rick throw the crate into his backseat. Then the Stetson family slowly walked off, waving back all the while.
Cracker felt relief as Rick signaled to her to hop into the front of his car. She was still his dog after all.
Then Rick climbed into his old, beat-up Chevy Malibu—all he could afford at the moment. He turned the ignition, heard it click, and sighed. He took out the hammer he kept in the glove compartment and got out of the car. He popped the hood, gave the solenoid a couple of taps, and got back in. The car started.
“Don’t worry, we’ll get a better car soon,” he told Cracker.
He’d already found his own apartment, and his friend had helped him get that job at a security firm. It wasn’t going to be a perfect life for a big dog, but it was the best he could do for now. He’d take Cracker out for walks, and they could go camping on the weekends. There was room for growth at the firm, especially since the boss was thinking about opening a guard dog department. Or maybe Rick would eventually take up his uncle’s offer and move to Los Angeles to learn carpentering.
Cracker climbed into his lap as he backed up. He was the luckiest handler in America. Rick peered around Cracker to drive. “Down, girl,” he said, and she lay on his thighs.
Rick drove down the expressway in Chicago. Some war protestors were holding up signs along the way. But Rick didn’t resent it, didn’t even care anymore. He’d killed men, seen men and dogs die, seen courage, and felt it too. He’d smelled the metallic blood-scent in the air, and he had come back whole.
Had he survived all that to be angry?
Cracker lay with satisfaction in his lap. She smelled another wiener in his pocket, but she didn’t paw him yet. She knew he would give it to her soon. She knew somehow that there was plenty of time for more wieners. Plenty of time!
D
OGS HAVE SERVED THE
U
NITED
S
TATES IN A NUMBER OF
conflicts, including World War II, the Korean War, the Vietnam War, the Gulf War, and the Iraq War.
During the Vietnam War, dogs were considered military equipment; at the war’s end they were considered
surplus
military equipment. Although precise records were not kept, most historians agree that at least 4,000 dogs served during the war, and are credited with saving some 10,000 human lives. About 1,000 dogs died in country from combat, jungle diseases, or other reasons. At war’s end, only approximately 200 dogs were reassigned to other U.S. military bases. The remaining dogs were either euthanized or given to the South Vietnamese Army. The fate of those dogs remains unknown.
After the Vietnam War, military policy was changed to allow war dogs to come home. Today the policy is known as No Military Working Dog Left Behind. Further information can be obtained at the Vietnam Dog Handlers Association’s website:
www.vdhaonline.org
To meet the demands of my story, I have made some changes from historical fact. There was no 67th IPSD. Most notable is that I have changed the timeline so a few things that really happened early in the war—such as an entire platoon shipping out battle ready—happen later in the war in my book. Though this book is based on fact, it is a work of fiction, and should be viewed as such.
I
’D LIKE TO THANK THE FOLLOWING
V
IETNAM DOG
handlers who submitted to interviews for this book: Rick Claggett, Bob Himrod, Mike Lister, Bud Rhea, and Ollie Whetstone. Most of them in their generosity allowed me to interview them more than once. Thanks as well to the late Robert Russell, who served as a veterinary technician. In particular, Fd like to thank Rick, who I badgered relentlessly both on the phone and via e-mail and who was absolutely magnanimous.
I’d also like to thank those dog handlers who read the manuscript for errors: Rick Claggett, Bob Himrod, Mike Lister, and J. Thomas Sykes. Tom also answered many questions at length via e-mail. Thanks also to writer Mike Lemish for reading the manuscript and providing comments.
I’m greatly appreciative of Special Forces Soldier Eulis Presley, who was generous, patient, and brimming with information and insight during our multiple interviews, some of which lasted hours. Special Forces Soldier John Blackadar as well provided great insights during our interview. I’d also like to express my appreciation to them both for taking the time to read the Special Forces section, in Eulis’s case twice.
Patricia L. Walsh, who served as a nurse in country, allowed me to interview her repeatedly. She also read the section that takes place in the hospital twice, as well as other sections for context. I was struck by the bigness of her heart during our discussions.
Dr. Clarence Sasaki, who served in a hospital in Vietnam during the war, took time out from his busy schedule for an interview. Dr. Sasaki is the Charles W. Ohse Professor of Surgery and the Chief of Otolaryngology-Head and Neck Surgery at the Yale School of Medicine.
And thanks to Betty Rowe for her interview about giving up her dog to serve in Vietnam.
Thanks also to Dan Schilling for our conversation about his return from Vietnam.
Finally,
cám ón
to the eagle eyes of Jeannie Ng and Cindy Nixon, who have saved me from disgrace once again. And thanks to Amy Lerner for helping me finish the manuscript, and my niece, Caroline, for her enthusiastic input.
Dog Handler Mike Lister and Dutchy of the 25th IPSD on obstacle course in Tay Ninh, 1969. The 25th IPSD was assigned to the 1st Air Cavalry Division. (Photo by Peter Nelson)
Dog handler Ollie Whetstone (44th IPSD) writing a letter home as his dog, Eric (36X3), watches after the famous Battle of LZ Gold in March 1967. (Photo courtesy of Ollie Whetstone)
Dogs in training in An Khe, Vietnam. (Photo by Robert Russell)
Sergeant Tom Sykes and his partner, Royal, of the army’s 48th IPSD, 196th Light Infantry Brigade, Americal Division. Photo taken in 1968 while at the unit’s base camp located on Landing Zone Baldy. (Photo by Cecil Pendleton)
Big Boy and his handler, Rick Claggett, in front of the sign for their unit. Photo taken in Vietnam in 1971. (Photo courtesy of Rick Claggett)