THERE BE DRAGONS (7 page)

“I don’t quite know what to say to that, Sergeant.”

“Don’t say anything. You just make sure you take in what I said. The more prepared you are, the more useful you’ll be to us.”

“I don’t like how you seem to think this platoon is yours. This is my platoon,” said Jacobs.

“Ain’t it Uncle Sam’s?” asked Stephens.

“Just make sure you give me the proper respect.”

“I’ll give you all the respect you deserve, sir.” Stephens smiled.

Jacobs chose to ignore it. “I got off the radio to the captain not long back. I have a map reference for us to reach by the evening. I’ve looked at the map and have decided on a route. Get the men ready and get Diaz on point.”

“Yes, sir.” Stephens stood and left to follow the orders.

As Stephens walked away, Jacobs stood and placed his helmet back on his head.

Stephens stopped and turned back to him. “You also need to be prepared to become a product of this war. The only way to not do … is to die. And you don’t wanna to do that, do you?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “We all succumb to it. We can try to avoid it, but to avoid it would be like avoiding a fight. It would be like … being a coward.” He spat. “It happens to us all eventually, LT. You might not want it to … but it will do. And when it does, now, this is the real kicker … you’ll like it. Who wouldn’t like playing God?”

• • • • •

Diaz took point. He kissed his crucifix then made the sign of the cross. He murmured, “No weapon that is formed against thee shall prosper; and every tongue that shall rise against thee in judgment thou shalt condemn. This is the heritage of the servants of the Lord, and their righteousness is of me, saith the Lord. Amen.” He set off.

The rest of the men followed on one by one, ten yards between each of them.

Jacobs was about two-thirds of the way back. Stephens was nearby carrying a snub-nosed version of an M-16.

Stephens saw Jacobs looking at the rifle. “It’s a CAR-15, sir. It might be less accurate over a long range but it sure is handier in the confined conditions we patrol in. You’d be surprised how quickly the NVA vermin can get on top of you. Well, you’d be very surprised, wouldn’t you?”

“I don’t like the tone in your voice, Sergeant,” said Jacobs.

“Sorry, sir. I meant nothing by it. I’m just still trying to prepare you. That’s all.” Stephens smiled.

“That smile looks out of place. I’m presuming you only show that when mocking a superior?”

“No, not at all. I use it to mock people of all ranks.” Stephens walked ahead.

Behind Jacobs was the RTO, radio operator. Next to him was Maxwell taking a few shots with his camera of the platoon as they moved out.

“I’m Buttons,” said the RTO operator to Maxwell. Buttons wore army issue spectacles, the thick black rim of them pressing into his face. Elastic pulled into his head at the back.

“Nice to meet you, Private. I’m Maxwell. Those glasses don’t look fun to wear.”

“They’re not. They tend to steam up too,” said Buttons.

“It seems like you don’t have it easy, Buttons. That radio device on your back must be a pain to hump around all day. You must have burned every inch of fat from your body by now.”

“I reckon I have. Not that you get much chance to put weight on here anyway. It’s not like we get many opportunities to eat pizza and ice cream.” Buttons smiled.

“Would you care to tell me some information about your background?” asked Maxwell.

“Trees mainly,” Buttons said as he looked at the jungle.

Maxwell grinned. “Seriously, Private. Could the press know something about you?”

“Don’t be offended by this, but no.”

“Why is that?” asked Maxwell.

“I hate the press,” said Buttons.

“That’s a good enough reason to not wish to share. Why introduce yourself, though?”

“Manners.”

“Can’t argue with that,” said Maxwell.

Jackson carried a large M-60 machine gun over his shoulder and Cook had an M-79 grenade-launcher, a Blooper.

On Jacksons’s helmet was fastened a pack of smokes. He had one in his mouth, unlit. It just hung from his lips. Around his neck with his tags, was some kind of tribal jewelry made from bones and feathers.

Cook had a peace symbol and some bullets strapped on his helmet but was generally well dressed compared to the other men of the platoon. What skin was showing was pale milky white and freckled.

The Doc didn’t carry a rifle, but rather a knife tied to his lower right leg.

Maxwell walked to be by Jacobs. “Ethan?”

“Yeah … Hey, how did you know my first name?” asked Jacobs.

“Research.”

“Oh.”

“You know what I’m wondering right now?” said Maxwell.

“Is this some kind of game?”

“I’m wondering how Cook has managed to not tan, since he told me he was a surfer and all.”

“Is that a journalist thing?” asked Jacobs.

“You mean to question everything?”

“Yeah.”

“I think so.”

“Would you say Cook is a hippie?”

“That’s what I’ve written in my notes.” Maxwell patted the pocket his notepad was in.

“It’s like a different world in the army from back home,” Jacobs said. “I come from a small farming community in the Bible Belt. Probably not much different than the place Teacher grew up in. Places hippies haven’t infected yet.”

“Give them time,” said Maxwell.

“I was shocked by some of the men’s language and behavior during training. Even Lynch’s, I guess. The soldiers teaching me shocked me even more. Every other word was a curse,” said Jacobs.

“People swear. That’s just the way the world is,” Maxwell said.

“I don’t know what the intent of such language is. I wondered if it was to make them seem more frightening, but I didn’t find that it made them more intimidating. I respected their rank and did as ordered, but I was not afraid of them. Some of the other men were afraid of their drill sergeants and their monosyllabic language but maybe I’m just made of sterner stuff. What do you make of bad language? I’m asking since you deal in words.”

“I wouldn’t call any language bad,” said Maxwell. “I believe there is a place for any word. You just need to find that right place. That’s the tricky part. Most people over use certain words and they lose meaning. Shock or terrify someone without cursing and you have shitloads of talent.” Maxwell smiled at his joke. Jacobs didn’t.

“I have to admit, Stephens must have talent then,” said Jacobs. “I’ve already begun to be afraid of him. He’s spooked me. He has an edge to him that I don’t want to cut myself on. I shouldn’t be thinking of my men like that though. I need to push those thoughts aside … Please don’t write any of this stuff down. Off the record kind of thing.”

“I won’t. Don’t worry,” said Maxwell. “Besides, it’s right to be cautious of some men. I’ve seen what this war can do to people. You’re smart to be fearful. Being fearful keeps you on your toes. Keeps you alive, if you ask me.”

“I was surprised to be shocked at the manner of the men I trained with and have been surrounded by since volunteering,” said Jacobs. “My shock isn’t because I’m a prude. I considered myself to be pretty forward thinking. I’m, in fact, quite radical for my hometown. But I’m still from a different world to most of the men.

“My parents believe in running a Godly home, and even though I don’t share their strong faith, I’m still affected by it in some ways. I guess I’m kind of old fashioned. Well, that’s what my friend Lynch has called me a few times. My background is different to the city folk, the hippies, the black soldiers, and I’ve become a product of that background, that environment.”

Jacobs stopped for a moment. He swayed.

Maxwell took ahold of him by his arm.“You okay, Jacobs? You look kinda faint. Is it the heat?”

“Yeah, I’m good. I just had anxiety launch an attack.”

“Why? Anxiety about what?” asked Maxwell.

“I’ve become a product of that environment, of my parents’ environment, my hometown’s environment, maybe Stephens is right. Maybe I will become a product of this new environment, this war-torn environment. Maybe I will become what Stephens predicted … an animal … a god unto myself. My entire upbringing, all my instilled discipline and all my beliefs ... gone. It has happened to the other men, according to Stephens. It has happened to Teacher, another farm boy. Could it happen to me?”

Jacobs was short of breath.

“I think you’re worrying over nothing. I’ve spoken to many men who have seen action and many who will see it. I can tell you this, you will not become what Stephens is.”

“But isn’t he a good soldier?” asked Jacobs.

“That depends on the definition,” said Maxwell.

Jacobs looked away to end the conversation. It took a few strides for him to regain his equilibrium.

• • • • •

It wasn’t long before the platoon was covered by a thick jungle canopy.

It was dark, with only the occasional glimpse of sky above. Some of the trees reached up over a hundred feet. There was also a layer of smaller trees and plants, like bamboo, banana trees, and sharp elephant grass. The floor was littered with growth that made the walk even more of a chore than it already was in the blistering heat.

“Don’t let the man in front of you get too far ahead. You’ll lose sight of them in this growth,” Maxwell said.

“I’m having real difficulty seeing farther down the line of men to Diaz, but I can just about hear his machete above the noise of the birds and insects, chopping a path forward,” said Jacobs.

Diaz dropped down into a low profile and signaled the man behind him to do the same. The next soldier did and the next one did, until the whole line was at a halt and down low.

A squad leader, Cage, worked his way to the point man. He was the big guy, the guy more muscular than Stephens. “What do you see, Private?”

Diaz poked his M-16’s barrel forward through some growth.

Cage turned back, said with his voice low, “Send for the LT.”

The word was passed along to Jacobs, and he and Stephens moved forward. They duck-walked to join Cage and Diaz.

“Show him,” said Cage.

Cage was tall, about 6’3”. He was taller than Jacobs even with them both kneeling. He had the build of a football player. His legs were massive, products of the war’s terrain and his family’s genetics no doubt.

Diaz did the same again with the barrel of his rifle and gave Jacobs a clear view of what he had found.

Jacobs saw a deep pit full of Punji sticks. The sharp tips of the bamboo pointed up into the sky. “Heck of a way to go. Your body pierced with large holes. Holes big enough to fit a child’s fist through.” He paused for thought. “Cage, you stay here and warn each man as they pass, then tag on at the end.”

Stephens itched his chin then removed his helmet. “That ain’t a good idea, sir.” The left side of his mouth raised slightly and the eye above it narrowed.

“I’ve made a mistake. I don’t need you to address it, Sergeant.”

“Cage, Diaz, leave us alone,” said Stephens.

The two men left to join the rest of the platoon, out of earshot.

“I just gave a stupid order,” said Jacobs. “I didn’t think things through properly. It was hard, knowing I had a platoon waiting for me to tell them what to do. It put added pressure on me to act fast. I know I need to act fast, but not rashly. I can sense you are holding back the anger my rookie stupidity is helping to boil in your gut.”

“Everyone makes mistakes. Don’t make any more,” said Stephens. “This mistake was harmless. It didn’t get anyone killed. It just made you look the fool.”

“That’s better than getting someone hurt,” said Jacobs.

“If we leave this here, another GI is liable to fall in it. I’ve seen someone in one of these pits. It ain’t a pretty sight. I’d dare gamble it wasn’t a pleasant death for the fella.” Stephens held his hand up, palm showing, “Can’t you hear that?”

Jacobs primed his ears. “What?”

“The crunch of those sticks ripping through an American soldier, tearing apart bones and flesh.” Stephens nodded to Jacobs. Sweat poured off the young lieutenant. “You look too hot. You running a temperature?”

“No. I’m fine,” Jacobs was quick to answer.

“The pit might as well be that of hell, the heat melting you away to nothing more than a big mistake,” said Stephens.

“Okay, you’ve made your point, Stephens. We both know I messed up. Let’s move on.”

“We destroy it with a Willie Peter,” continued Stephens. “The heat will burn the stakes into non-existence. We get the men to stand back, of course; you don’t want that burning phosphorus to stick to any of them.

“We hear the pop, the enemy don’t, and once the smoke has cleared, we move on. Safe in the knowledge the primitive gooks don’t get to have the satisfaction of finding one of our boys in there.” Stephens placed his helmet back on.

“That makes sense,” admitted Jacobs.

“I know. I make heaps of sense. All the time.”