Matterhorn_ A Novel of the Vietnam War Part 50

Whispering had already started in the back of the tent. 'Hey Gambaccini, you wops listen to this s.h.i.+t all the time?'

'This is a f.u.c.king travesty to Jesus.'

'Our colonel's a f.u.c.king gold star mother.'

'Hey, Scar, can we get the f.u.c.k out of here?'

'. . . comfort and solace to the dear ones left behind by these our departed comrades in arms. Let them know that their sacrifice was not in vain, but grant, loving Father . . .'

'f.u.c.king loving Father wasn't cutting us us any slack up on the hill.' any slack up on the hill.'

'I ain't angry with G.o.d, but He sure as s.h.i.+t must be p.i.s.sed at me.'

'Cortell, you get up there and show that mackerel how to preach, man.'

There were also some who said nothing, like Mole and China.

The colonel retired at about midnight, thinking it had been a pretty good day. At 0200, shadowy figures crept to the downhill side of his quarters. In front, the Marine a.s.signed as security guard fought hard against dozing off. He heard someone shout down on the mud path by the supply bunker. 'Whoooeee, we can be some kind of f.u.c.ked f.u.c.ked up.' Then another one joined in. 'Hee ya. up.' Then another one joined in. 'Hee ya. Sheeit, Sheeit, man.' Laughter floated up the path. He watched two black Marines slapping hands. The guard smiled. man.' Laughter floated up the path. He watched two black Marines slapping hands. The guard smiled.

The iron pipe caught the guard across the side of his face, caving in his jawbone and dislodging five teeth. A second one came from the other side, catching him above the eye. He sank to his knees and was. .h.i.t again across the neck. His moan was stifled by a dark hand, and he was gradually lowered to the muddy ground.

There was a quick flurry of activity. The two supposed drunks ran out of sight. The two pipe wielders ran in the opposite direction. Someone coolly lifted the flap of the colonel's tent and tossed in a grenade. Then he, too, ran quickly into the darkness.

The clunk of the grenade on the floor startled Simpson awake. He made a m.u.f.fled, frightened grunt-and ran. He fell over the tent's ropes and slipped in the mud in the dark, desperately trying to beat the explosion. He dived into the mud outside, covering his head.

Nothing happened.

He looked up, feeling foolish in his muddy underwear. He saw his security guard slumped on the ground. 'Duty officer!' he shouted.

The heavy door of the COC bunker opened and a shaft of light spilled onto the ground before the blackout curtain closed it off. Stevens came running.

'Get a f.u.c.king corpsman,' Simpson shouted. 'My guard's been bushwhacked.'

'You all right, sir?'

'Get a f.u.c.king corpsman.'

Stevens turned around to one of the battalion radio operators who was running up to him. 'You heard him, get a squid.' The kid went running for the battalion aid station.

Simpson was trembling. 'Someone tried to f.u.c.king frag me. I heard the grenade come in. It was a dud.'

'Holy s.h.i.+t, sir,' Stevens said. The two men stood watching the colonel's tent. 'You sure it's a dud, sir?' Stevens finally asked, afraid the colonel would ask him to go look.

Simpson stood still a moment, his muddy underwear turning cold. 'f.u.c.k yes.'

Others were coming out of the COC bunker. One had a flashlight. Then two others came running from the aid station. The corpsman also had a flashlight. Simpson took the light and walked into his quarters.

Lying on the floor was a grenade with the primer taken out. Wrapped around it was a sheet of paper. Simpson took the paper off and smoothed it out. It was a mimeographed company roster, with names, ranks, serial numbers, and tour rotation dates. It was Bravo Company. Names had been heavily crossed out with a ballpoint pen. Neatly typed next to them were words like murdered, crippled, maimed, blinded . . .

Simpson crumpled the paper. Blakely burst into the room. 'You all right, sir?' he asked.

'Yes, G.o.dd.a.m.n it. A lot of good your f.u.c.king security guard did.'

'He's pretty badly beat up, sir.'

'He deserves it. Probably asleep. I ought to f.u.c.king court-martial the puke.' He handed Blakely the grenade.

'The primer's out,' Blakely said.

Simpson looked at him coldly.

'I'll get it in for prints,' Blakely said.

'Don't bother. You know the chances of that.' Simpson turned on the light. He handed Blakely the crumpled paper.

Blakely swallowed. He handed the roster back to Simpson. 'Sir, I suggest action be taken immediately.'

'What?' Simpson asked.

'Disarm Bravo Company until we get them out in the bush again. Collect all grenades, all weapons. Put extra men on guard duty. My quarters too.'

'OK. Get Staff Sergeant Ca.s.sidy in here. They were his men. And get Lieutenant Goodwin up. It's his company.'

Within half an hour Ca.s.sidy was standing with three Marines from H & S and sadly surveying the pathetically small tent city of ponchos and p.r.o.ne bodies that was his old outfit. Some kids were sleeping exposed to the rain where they'd pa.s.sed out drunk. Then he set his jaw. Goodwin had refused to help him. 'OK. Everybody up. Wake up in there. Everybody out of the rack.'

Kids groaned. Some looked at their watches: 0300. Fear struck. Somebody was in the s.h.i.+t so bad that they were being sent in again. The fear raced through the squalid mud compound. But Marines must be in trouble. They'd go.

'Someone in the s.h.i.+t, Sergeant Ca.s.sidy?' someone asked.

'Yes,' he replied grimly, 'Bravo Company.'

Kids s.h.i.+vered in the drizzle. Some pulled on flak jackets for warmth.

'I want to see all the acting platoon commanders,' Ca.s.sidy said. Three former squad leaders walked up to him: China, for Second Platoon; Connolly, First; and Campion, Third. Three concerned faces looked at Ca.s.sidy.

'Someone beat the colonel's guard tonight. Almost killed him.' He looked straight at China as he talked. 'A good f.u.c.king Marine. Three more days until he would have rotated out of this f.u.c.king place. And some a.s.sholes beat the s.h.i.+t out of him because he drew guard duty. Some real proud dudes.'

China stayed cool. Connolly and Campion exchanged glances.

'A dummy grenade was tossed into the colonel's quarters. It had the Bravo Company roster on it.' He paused. 'With some modifications.'

'Like what, Gunny?' Connolly asked.

Ca.s.sidy was still looking at China. 'Like the ones who'd died for their country had their names crossed out and the word murdered' was typed in.'

'You think someone from Bravo Company did it, Gunny?' China asked, wide-eyed.

Ca.s.sidy hated China but at the same time admired his cool. 'I don't think anything,' he said. 'I've got orders to collect all grenades, weapons, claymores, everything. I want them stacked up in piles right here, by platoon.'

'What kind of s.h.i.+t is this, Gunny?' Connolly said. Others had gathered around the group of four and echoed his protest.

'Just do what you're told, Conman.'

'I earned that f.u.c.king rifle.'

'Yes, you did. You all did.' Ca.s.sidy clenched his teeth. He looked at their drawn, haggard faces, their dead eyes. He looked around him at the squalor, saw the kids he'd humped with through the heat and cold, now s.h.i.+vering in the darkness, puzzled, angry. He wanted to cry out to them to make this easier on him.

But no one moved.

'Am I going to have to take them away from you?' Ca.s.sidy asked.

'You ain't wrong, Gunny,' Connolly said. He walked over to his hooch, pulled out his rifle, and threw it in the mud. He then sat down and stared at it.

'Pick it up, Conman.'

'f.u.c.k you, Ca.s.sidy.'

Ca.s.sidy strode over, towering above Connolly, who continued to stare at the muddy rifle. Then Connolly wrenched around, reached into the sagging hooch, and pulled out Vancouver's modified machine gun. He threw it into the mud. 'There. The f.u.c.king a.s.shole can have that too.' Tears welled up in his eyes and he tried, unsuccessfully, to blink them away.

Ca.s.sidy stared at the gun lying in the mud.

'I want all the grenades too, Conman,' Ca.s.sidy finally said.

'That's right. You f.u.c.king b.a.s.t.a.r.ds want everything, don't you?'

'Where's your f.u.c.king pride, Conman?' Ca.s.sidy said softly.

'I left it on that f.u.c.king hill we just abandoned.'

Ca.s.sidy wheeled away. His parade-ground voice came back. 'G.o.dd.a.m.n it now, I want all ammunition and grenades piled neatly.

I want the rifles stacked in an orderly manner. I want the stacks right here.'

Some kids began to move for their weapons. Then China said, 'Uhuh.' Everyone stopped. China reached for his machine gun and threw it into the mud in front of him. He stood erect above it. Others did the same. Soon the area was littered with grenades, rifles, ammunition belts, bandoleers, claymores, and captured weapons.

'How about our f.u.c.king can openers, Gunny? That little chickens.h.i.+t f.u.c.k want our John Waynes?'

'I got a needle in my sewing kit. You want that?'

Ca.s.sidy stood alone, saying nothing. Eventually he motioned to his team from H & S to collect the weapons. The Marines from Bravo Company, disgusted, started crawling back into their hooches or rolling up in wet ponchos on the ground.

China continued to stand over his machine gun, waiting. When one of the H & S Marines approached it, China kicked it away. The kid stood up. 'Look, man, this ain't my idea.' He bent over for the gun again. Again China kicked it aside. The kid turned to look at Ca.s.sidy, who hadn't noticed the exchange, then turned back to China. 'Hey, come on. Just let me get this s.h.i.+t over with. I ain't got nothing against you.'

'You touch that gun and I'll kill you.'

'Christ, don't get personal about it.'

China leaned over. 'Ain't n.o.body gettin' my machine gun but Ca.s.sidy. You pick it up and you gonna get f.u.c.ked with real bad, whether I be here or not.'

'All right. All right.' The kid moved on.

Ca.s.sidy had noticed. He walked up to China.

'How come Schaffran didn't pick up your gun?'

'He didn't want to.'

'Did you threaten him, you f.u.c.king puke?'

'How can I threaten somebody? I I ain't got no weapons.' ain't got no weapons.'

Someone snickered. Ca.s.sidy was aware now that everyone remaining was watching him to see what he would do. He and China stood there, eyes locked.

'You gonna do your duty, duty, Ca.s.sidy, and pick up my gun?' China asked softly. Ca.s.sidy, and pick up my gun?' China asked softly.

Ca.s.sidy looked directly into China's eyes. His hands began to tremble. Then he bent over to get the machine gun.

China kicked it away. 'Parker,' he said.

Ca.s.sidy stood up. His voice quivered with anger. 'If you think I'm going to order you to do something so you can refuse it, become a f.u.c.king martyr, and hang around in the rear waiting for trial with the rest of the vomits you call your friends, then you got another think coming.'

He reached again for the gun. Again China toed it aside. 'Broyer,' he said.

Ca.s.sidy stood. 'I lost friends too, China.'

'How a f.u.c.king cog have a friend? How a f.u.c.king cog ever be a man?'

Ca.s.sidy clenched his fists and saw China steel himself for the blow. Ca.s.sidy hesitated, struggling to restrain his anger. 'Manhood's something you'll never understand,' he said. He stooped down and picked up China's machine gun.

'You make me sick, cog.' China walked away toward his hooch, leaving Ca.s.sidy with the muddy weapon. The rest of Bravo Company turned their backs on him.

Some, however, did not forget him.

'It's time to off the motherf.u.c.ker,' Henry said. 'Now.'

'We seen 'nough killin',' China said quietly.

Henry stood up and whirled around. 'Man. Do I have to listen to you we-seen-'nough killin' we-seen-'nough killin' s.h.i.+t, like I'm some kind of small boy look wonder-eyes at big daddy home from the wars? You know who you been killin' out there don'chew? You own brothers. Yeah. You own brothers. That's who you been gettin' you s.h.i.+t, like I'm some kind of small boy look wonder-eyes at big daddy home from the wars? You know who you been killin' out there don'chew? You own brothers. Yeah. You own brothers. That's who you been gettin' you 'nough killin' 'nough killin' with. Well, I say we finish with that s.h.i.+t. We gonna do some killing our own. And with. Well, I say we finish with that s.h.i.+t. We gonna do some killing our own. And for for our own.' our own.'

China could see that Henry had most of the brothers with him. Still, some of them, like Mole, looked to China to say something. China's rhetoric failed him.

'You gonna just sit on you a.s.s while that racist cracker throw our brother Mallory in the f.u.c.king conex box like some kind of animal?' Henry asked. 'And then you you run you a.s.s up that f.u.c.kin' hill like you some kinda n.i.g.g.e.r Audie Murphy and half you f.u.c.kin' company get killed for nothin', and run you a.s.s up that f.u.c.kin' hill like you some kinda n.i.g.g.e.r Audie Murphy and half you f.u.c.kin' company get killed for nothin', and he he send you f.u.c.kin' Coca- send you f.u.c.kin' Coca-Colas, like you on some sort of football team? Hey, man. And then cut you b.a.l.l.s off by takin' you rifles. You don't think maybe that f.u.c.kin' lifer hasn't been practicin' violence on you? Or you just turnin' white in more ways than one? Maybe you daddy be a white motherf.u.c.ker and leave you all them white spots.' like you on some sort of football team? Hey, man. And then cut you b.a.l.l.s off by takin' you rifles. You don't think maybe that f.u.c.kin' lifer hasn't been practicin' violence on you? Or you just turnin' white in more ways than one? Maybe you daddy be a white motherf.u.c.ker and leave you all them white spots.'

The familiar taunt made China clamp down his teeth so hard that he was afraid he'd break a molar. He knew what Henry was doing, and he knew that too much was at stake to give in to his rage.

Henry strutted over to the Maka.s.sar ebony trunk and opened the heavy lid. 'You think about it, brother, while I fix us up some good brother Roogie and try and understand why you so f.u.c.ked up.' He carefully removed the clothing and other items in the trunk to reveal a beautifully crafted box with a sliding drawer. He opened the drawer and took out a silver bong with a crystal water bowl and an ornate cigarette roller and some paper.

China took the plunge. 'You the one that's f.u.c.ked up. Wha'chew think you gonna accomplish killin' one more f.u.c.ked-up G.o.d-and-country pork chop? He just a f.u.c.kin' cog in the machinery. He crawled crawled in front of me, man.' in front of me, man.'