Matterhorn_ A Novel of the Vietnam War Part 31

Ca.s.sidy walked Mallory past a crowd of Marines to an empty steel conex box and roughly kicked him inside. He had just rammed the steel pin into the hasp of the heavy door when Fitch and Pallack came roaring up in the jeep. Major Blakely came running over from COC.

'What the f.u.c.k happened?' Fitch asked.

'It's that puke Mallory.'

'What's going on here, Sergeant Ca.s.sidy?' Blakely asked, panting after his run.

'Like I was telling the skipper here, sir, it's PFC Mallory. He pulled his .45 on Lieutenant Selby over in the sick bay. I locked his a.s.s in this cargo box.'

'I guess he won't cause too much trouble in there,' Blakely said, smiling.

Fitch smiled hesitantly, took his cap off, and stroked his hair. 'Anyone hurt?' he asked.

'No sir,' Ca.s.sidy answered.

'Well, we can't just leave him in the cargo box,' Fitch said, half questioningly.

'Leave him there for now,' Blakely answered quickly. 'Do some good to see someone locked up for a crime around here. Besides, we got another situation developing I want you to sit in on.'

Fitch carefully put his cap back on. 'We'll talk about it later, Sergeant Ca.s.sidy,' he said. He and Blakely walked away.

Ca.s.sidy tossed the .45 to a Marine from H & S who was in the crowd. 'Schaffran, shoot anyone that tries to let this f.u.c.khead out. Just make sure he doesn't roll over and die in there. He doesn't come out until I say so.' Ca.s.sidy walked off.

'Not even to p.i.s.s, Sergeant Ca.s.sidy?' Schaffran called after him.

'Till I say so, n.u.m.b.n.u.t.s.'

Schaffran looked at the pistol, sighed, and sat down in front of the box.

Twenty minutes later Mellas received word to put the Bald Eagle on alert. It was another reconnaissance team, call sign Sweet Alice. They were fighting a running battle with a company-size unit just south of Matterhorn. Sweet Alice had six Marines.

Mellas radioed the news to the work party over at Task Force Oscar. Something deep within him stirred as he watched the Marines run down the hill from where they'd been filling sandbags. Entrenching tools and s.h.i.+rts in their hands, they streamed across the damp airstrip, running for their gear, running possibly to their deaths.

'Semper Fi, brothers,' Mellas whispered to himself, understanding for the first time what the word 'always' required if you meant what you said. He remembered a discussion at his eating club with his friends and their dates one night after a dance. They were talking about the stupidity of warriors and their silly codes of honor. He'd joined in, laughing with the rest of them, hiding the fact that he'd joined the Marines several years before, not wanting to be thought of as whatever bad thing they thought a warrior was. Protected by their cla.s.s and s.e.x, they would never have to know otherwise. Now, seeing the Marines run across the landing zone, Mellas knew he could never join that cynical laughter again. Something had changed. People he loved were going to die to give meaning and life to what he'd always thought of as meaningless words in a dead language brothers,' Mellas whispered to himself, understanding for the first time what the word 'always' required if you meant what you said. He remembered a discussion at his eating club with his friends and their dates one night after a dance. They were talking about the stupidity of warriors and their silly codes of honor. He'd joined in, laughing with the rest of them, hiding the fact that he'd joined the Marines several years before, not wanting to be thought of as whatever bad thing they thought a warrior was. Protected by their cla.s.s and s.e.x, they would never have to know otherwise. Now, seeing the Marines run across the landing zone, Mellas knew he could never join that cynical laughter again. Something had changed. People he loved were going to die to give meaning and life to what he'd always thought of as meaningless words in a dead language.

Mellas's knees were quivering. His hands shook as he buckled down the straps on his pack and tested the springs in his ammunition magazines. 'Make sure everyone's canteens are full,' he said to each platoon commander. 'You never know when we'll be getting water next.'

Fraca.s.so was walking back and forth like a caged animal. In his hands were several plastic-covered cards on which he had written the directions for calling in artillery fire and air strikes.

'Don't worry about it, Fraca.s.so,' Mellas said. 'When you need artillery, you'll get it called in. Just remember they need to know three things: where you are, where the gooks are, and then you just tell them if they're long or short.' Fraca.s.so laughed, looking at his carefully prepared cards. 'Put them in your pocket if it makes you feel better,' Mellas said, sounding more combat-wise then he felt.

He and Fraca.s.so both turned at the sound of someone running up to them. It was China. 'They got Mallory in a f.u.c.kin' cage like some kind a animal,' he screamed at Mellas. 'They ain't gettin' away with s.h.i.+t like that.'

Mellas put his arms up, palms toward China. That gesture cooled China down a bit. 'He pulled a f.u.c.king pistol on a G.o.dd.a.m.ned Navy doctor,' Mellas said evenly. 'What do you want me to do about it, change the f.u.c.king rules for you?'

'They don't lock him in no cage like no f.u.c.kin' animal. That's the f.u.c.kin' rules rules.'

'China, we don't have time for this bulls.h.i.+t. We got somebody in the bush in a s.h.i.+t sandwich. Mallory can f.u.c.king wait.'

'But the pistol didn't have no magazine in it.'

This was news to Mellas. 'What? You sure?'

'Yes sir. One of the squids told me, and it makes sense. I know Mallory. Mallory wouldn't shoot n.o.body.'

Mellas didn't know whether to believe this or not. Even if he did believe it, what could he do about it?

'You don't believe me, just call up those f.u.c.kers that helped Ca.s.sidy put him in the cage,' China said.

Thoughts crowded into Mellas's head. Maybe the alert wasn't a go. They'd suffered through no-gos before. Mellas looked around. The company was formed into heli teams. Goodwin was walking slowly down the line of his platoon, joking, bantering. Kendall was sitting tensely by his radioman, Genoa, staring at the hills across the airstrip. He saw Ba.s.s checking his own gear, a sure sign that everyone else's was ready.

'OK, China,' Mellas said. 'I'll see if I can get the Jayhawk on it. You better have it f.u.c.king straight.' He picked up the handset of the radio. 'I want to talk to character Hotel, the Three Zulu. This is Bravo Five. Over.'

There was a long wait. The battalion operator came back up. 'The Three says character Hotel is busy. Over.'

'Did you ask Hotel if he was busy?' Mellas asked. 'Over.'

'Wait one.' There was another pause, shorter than the first.

Then Major Blakely's voice came over the hook. 'Bravo Five, this is Big John Three. We've got a Bald Eagle alert and you better be getting that mob ready to fly. Over.'

'Roger that. Bravo Five out.'

Mellas looked at China. 'I'm stuck,' he said.

's.h.i.+t,' China said. He turned away, disgusted.

'Look, China,' Mellas said. 'Even if we can get Lieutenant Hawke to get Mallory out of the cargo box, you know he's still in deep s.h.i.+t even if it wasn't loaded.' Mellas knew that whoever he sent to find Hawke had to be trusted to come back for the launch. At the same time, it had to be someone China trusted.

'China,' he said, 'so help me if you don't make it back in time for this launch, I'll f.u.c.k with you so bad you'll never have seen such f.u.c.king-with. Now get going.'

China took off full tilt up the road. Goodwin and Ridlow came running to Mellas. 'What in f.u.c.k's going on?' Ridlow growled, looking at China's disappearing backside.

'Mallory pulled a forty-five on the battalion surgeon.'

'I know that. Relsnik told us.'

'The pistol wasn't loaded. I sent China to tell Hawke to try and get him out of the cargo box.'

'Cargo box? f.u.c.k,' Ridlow said slowly. 'That f.u.c.king n.i.g.g.e.r couldn't break out of a cellophane bag.'

'Who the f.u.c.k wants him sprung?' Goodwin asked.

'Guess, Scar.'

'Ah, s.h.i.+t,' Goodwin said. 'China's one of my best f.u.c.king gunners.'

'He'll be back.'

'You want to lose some money on that?' Ridlow asked.

'He'll be back,' Mellas said. He looked down the road, wis.h.i.+ng he could be certain. He saw Fitch and Pallack driving up in the jeep. It skidded to a stop and they both jumped out.

'I just saw China s.h.a.gging a.s.s down the road,' Fitch said. 'What the f.u.c.k's going on? The company ready to go?'

Mellas told him it was and explained what China was doing. 'I believe him,' Mellas added. He looked at the cynical faces around him.

Fitch hesitated a moment. He turned to Pallack. 'Go pick up China and take him wherever he wants to go. And then get his a.s.s back down here. We need f.u.c.king gunners.'

Pallack jumped into the jeep and spun down the road, slinging mud and water behind him.

Fraca.s.so, Goodwin, and Kendall were already moving in on Mellas and Fitch, their notebooks out. Mellas pulled his own notebook out. His hands were sweating. Jesus Christ, please just make it another false alarm. Mellas felt as if he were on a conveyor belt that was slowly moving him toward the edge of a cliff.

Fitch spread his map out on the ground. 'Here,' he said, pointing to a spot circled in red. 'A recon team, call sign Sweet Alice, is in contact right now with a company-size NVA unit. Scar, you patrolled this valley. You too, Mellas. What's it like?'

'Thick as s.h.i.+t, Jack.'

Mellas nodded agreement. 'Elephant gra.s.s and bamboo,' he added.

Fitch licked his lips. 'If we get the word to launch we're going in hot, take them on their flank from the west. Right here.' His finger was almost on the red line of the circle. 'We'll have guns.h.i.+ps but arty is probably out. Extreme range.'

'We went in first last time,' Ridlow said.

Fitch ignored him. 'What do you think, Scar? Can we get a bird in?'

'Yeah.'

'We went in first last time,' Ridlow said again.

's.h.i.+t, Ridlow, I know. I also know why f.u.c.king platoon sergeants don't usually attend the actuals meetings.'

Ridlow smiled. 'Just looking out for my men's best interests.'

People laughed and Fitch grinned.

Mellas looked at the tableau of friends around him. Some of them would very likely be dead in an hour. Fraca.s.so, who was barely old enough to drink, really showed his fear. He was writing everything he could in his notebook, bouncing up and down in a crouch, his teeth bared in a tense grin. Goodwin, the hunter, was nervous, like a runner before a race, possessing some primitive ability to lead men into situations where death was the understood payoff. Kendall, worried sick, his face pallid, his helmet already on his head, was leading a platoon that didn't trust him. Fitch, at age twenty-three, had already worn responsibility that most men only debated about. He was now taking 190 kids into battle, and his decisions would determine how many came back. The kids: dreaming of R & R, or remembering the R & R from which they'd just returned, some savoring a memory of smooth brown skin pressed against their own, a few remembering wives left behind at antiseptic airports. And Mellas: in less than an hour there could be no Mellas.

The radio crackled to life.

'It's a go, sir,' Relsnik said gravely.

Everyone looked at everyone else.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN.

The kids filed quietly to the edge of the strip to wait for the helicopters. Other Marines stopped to watch them, wanting to say an encouraging word yet not daring to break into their private world-a world no longer shared with ordinary people. Some of them were experiencing the last hour of that brief mystery called life.

Pallack skidded the company jeep to a stop and he and China ran for their packs and weapons. They trotted heavily to where the company waited.

China came up to Mellas, his machine gun on his shoulder. 'Jayhawk said he'd do the best he could. If the pistol wasn't loaded, he'd get him out.'

Mellas really didn't care. 'Good,' he said. He was trying to figure out from which side they should come in on the gook company and whether or not they'd have any choice, not knowing the wind conditions.

'Sir,' China said. 'Lieutenant Hawke told me to tell you this too.' China stopped.

'Well, what the f.u.c.k did he say?'

'He said, sir, to make sure I tell you both things. That you ought to solve you own f.u.c.kin' problems and not dump them on other people.' China paused. Mellas kept his lips compressed. 'And that you'd better get you a.s.s back here when the s.h.i.+t's over so he can kick it for you.' Mellas broke into relieved laughter.

China snorted. Mellas noticed that he didn't have his pistol, which all machine gunners carry for protection. 'China, where's your f.u.c.king forty-five?'

'It got ripped off, sir.'

Mellas and China looked at each other a moment.

'G.o.dd.a.m.n it, China, why lie now?' Mellas said sadly. He'd heard the rumors about the blacks sending parts back to the States. He pulled his own pistol and holster off his belt and threw it to China. China looked at it and started strapping it on. He turned without saying anything.

Sergeant Ridlow, who had just returned from a final check of his platoon-tightening loose straps, saying a gruff, encouraging word-had watched the last part of the exchange with China. 'He's not chickens.h.i.+t,' Mellas said, watching China checking out his machine gun.

'None of them are, Lieutenant,' Ridlow said.

Mellas looked down the rows of heli teams, feeling cut off from his old platoon as he watched Ba.s.s and Fraca.s.so making sure everyone was ready. Just days before, he had been their platoon commander, lifting off from Sky Cap. War made a mockery of his previous concept of time. He watched the leaden sky for the arrival of the helicopters. Anne's face floated into his memory. He knew she never wanted to see him again, but here she was, perhaps the last good thing on his mind.

'Here they come,' somebody shouted.

Suspended in the sky were tiny black dots. The sight sent a trembling, sick dread into Mellas's guts. His knees wanted to collapse and his body wanted to run. The black dots peeled off as they came closer, turning into twin-rotor CH-46s, coming around in a single line to land from the south. Mellas wanted them to crash, to fall out of the sky. They were coming to kill him. For no reason. And he was going to step aboard. Again he felt the conveyor belt carrying him toward the cliff.

The first chopper settled in on its rear wheels. Kendall and the first heli team jogged across the mud and disappeared into the tailgate. A second chopper dropped its ramp and another heli team from Kendall's platoon ran aboard. Then a third chopper pulled up, and a fourth, and the choppers kept coming and the kids kept disappearing. Then there were no more heli teams left but Mellas's and one other, and then Mellas was running, the weight of his pack thumping against his back. He ducked his head beneath the rotor blades, pounded past the crew chief, and settled on the metal deck. It was still cold from the alt.i.tude.

The chopper shuddered with increased power and became clumsily airborne. That moment of false security, waiting on the airstrip, was cut off forever.

It was about thirty-five kilometers northeast to the red circle on Fitch's map. Mellas watched the Rock Pile and the Razorback, two towering rock formations that dominated the landscape around VCB, slip behind them. He kept taking compa.s.s readings, trying to keep his bearings straight. He wondered what would happen if he just refused to get off the helicopter. They'd have to fly him back to Quang Tri. He'd be tried and convicted. But he'd be alive. He worried anxiously about whether or not the LZ would be hot.

The chopper lurched sideways. Mellas pushed himself to his knees, fighting against the acceleration of the turn and the slanting deck. He stumbled to one of the shot-out portholes and stuck his head out, squinting against the rus.h.i.+ng air, trying to see why the pilot was making such fast turns. The machine gunner on the starboard side was leaning out into s.p.a.ce, the big .50-caliber pointing downward. The crew chief was on the port side on a second machine gun, craning his neck to see, but tilted too far above the horizon to do any good. The bird suddenly righted itself, then went into a sickeningly fast descent. The roar increased. Then Mellas heard the whiplike sound of bullets snapping through the air. The starboard .50-caliber opened up. Then the gunner spun backward, the plastic of his helmet shattered, his face a mess. He slumped to the floor, his throat tangled in his intercom wire.

Everyone wanted out of the chopper, including Mellas.

The bird hit the deck and the ramp swung down. The Marines started to hurtle out. The pilot panicked and took off before all of the Marines were on the ground. When Mellas reached the exit the bird was already six feet off the ground and gaining speed. He was shouting at the crew chief, 'Keep this f.u.c.ker on the ground, G.o.dd.a.m.n you. Keep this f.u.c.king bird on the ground.' He leaped off into s.p.a.ce and hit the ground hard. The bird continued roaring for alt.i.tude behind him. The last kid on the chopper looked anxiously behind him, gulped, and hurled himself into s.p.a.ce to join his friends. He and his pack, which weighed almost 100 pounds, hit with a sickening thud. Mellas watched the leg bone give way and bulge out beneath the trouser leg. The kid's scream could be heard above the roar of rifle and machine-gun fire.

Mellas shouted. 'You b.a.s.t.a.r.d, you f.u.c.king b.a.s.t.a.r.d.' He lifted his rifle to fire a burst at the disappearing helicopter, but some inner strength froze his finger before he pulled the trigger. He ran instead to the hurt kid, shouting for a corpsman, and began to drag him and his gear away from the landing zone. Another Marine came up to Mellas and together they pulled the writhing kid into the relative cover of some elephant gra.s.s. They left him and ran on ahead, catching up to the advancing platoon, which Goodwin had spread out on line. He was moving it in quick squad rushes toward the enemy.

The firing stopped. Two Huey guns.h.i.+ps that had been laying down machine-gun fire just to their north looped up in a curve and roared over their heads. There were a couple of desultory shots from M-16s. An M-79 grenade launcher fired. Then came another random burst of fire. Then silence, except for occasional shouts. Mellas went running behind Goodwin's platoon, crouching low, fighting his way through the thick elephant gra.s.s. Everyone had stopped, waiting, sweating, panting. Mellas met Goodwin coming the opposite way. There was a burst of M-16 fire, but nothing answered it.