Fields of Fire (33 page)

Bagger shook his head negatively. “No way. We can't do that by ourselves.”

“Sure we can. If Sadler and the Skipper will let us. Matter of fact, it might be the only way to do it. We'll take us a little killer team out there tomorrow, just at first light. Take Dan with us so we can talk to the villagers. That'll be six people. We can really snoop around with six dudes. Any less than that, we might be hurting if we get hit.” Again he peered at each man with the intense stare. “Is everybody in?”

They mulled it silently. Goodrich was incredulous. The man is absolutely crazy, he marveled. Six people out there? Whatever happened to Baby Cakes and Ogre, it's clear that whoever did it had their shit together. They'd eat us up.

Help me, Senator. No, no. They can't even be alive. A full day. No sign of them. We took that ville apart today.

I'm only nineteen.

All right, all right. If somebody else says they'll do it, I'll say I will. I'm not a leader. I could fuck up a wet dream.

You're just waiting for me to die.

“All right. I'm in. I'll do it.”

Snake's eyebrows raised in mild amazement. “Senator? All right.”

Cat Man and Cannonball measured each other, then nodded affirmatively.

Bagger studied Snake, and then the others. “What if we get hit. Huh? What if we get ambushed on the trail, like when Wild Man got it? What if they hit all of us coming into the ville? What can six people—” He considered Dan “—five people and a goddamn gook—what can they do?” He snorted. “I think it's crazy.”

Cannonball measured Bagger, his head tilted unbelievingly “Ma-a-an, am I hearing you right? You was goan’ kill Rap Jones just 'cause he wouldn't let you see Homicide. Homicide was only a little fucked up. These dudes are dyin’, man! What'sa matter, Bagger? You doan’ like white folks?”

Bagger felt his anger rise, then realized that Cannonball was attempting to affirm his friendship. He nodded, won over. “Rap Jones just pissed me off, man.” He pondered that. “I'll just have to get pissed off at the gooks that took Baby Cakes and Ogre.” He thought another moment, convincing himself, almost forgetting his fear. “Goddamn it, I am pissed off at those gook motherfuckers!” He looked back to Snake. “O.K. You're right. It's the only way. We owe it to 'em.”

Snake retrieved the knife and held it tightly, his mouth set in a rigid line. “Good. I knew none of you dudes would flake out on me. We been tight too long. I'll clear it with Sadler and line up Dan.”

He brightened slightly, his face fiercely determined. “Tomorrow we find Baby Cakes.”

ALONG the trail the sawgrass whispered with their passing, stroked them at the trailbends, leaned out and brushed them with every breath of wind. They walked quickly, unspeaking, knowing each other's tendencies and movements after months of naked closeness, one body that had six parts in perfect, conditioned harmony. The fog clung to them, making morning as isolated and personal as night.

At last they reached the village. It did not suspect their presence as it would a company, or even a platoon. They crept along its edge, past the place where Baby Cakes and Ogre had melted into nowhere, walking toward the gathering of hootches. The hootches sat like visions in the mist, emanating rancid, moist smoke from their cook fires, ammoniated, dung-filled mud from waterbull pens, ashen death from inside the thatch. Somewhere a papasan was puffing on a twist of tobacco. Faint whiffs of it floated across to them.

They left the trail without command and walked a wet grass field, coming into the first hootch from behind, around its family bunker. Its inhabitants, a papasan of perhaps forty-five and a somewhat younger mamasan, were genuinely startled. The Marines filled their thatch porch and they sat motionless, panicked eyes peering toward the next hootch, looking for an avenue of escape.

Snake turned to Dan, who watched the villagers solemnly. “Tell 'em they help us, they won't get hurt.”

Dan translated. The expressions of the Vietnamese did not change. Snake pulled out a picture of Baby Cakes, taken months before out in the Arizona. He showed it to the terrified papasan, and employed a sort of sign language as he talked. “Couple days ago. Right out here. Him and another dude, took away by the NVA. Understand VC? Khong biet? O.K. Where'd they take 'em?”

Dan translated again. He was already becoming angry. He sensed that the man knew exactly what Snake was talking about. He also sensed that the man was not going to help, no matter what he knew. The man's eyes peered straight into Dan, seemingly inoffensive, but asking him a harsh, unarticulated question with their very passive resistance. Why do you fight for them? Why do you help kill us?

“Khong biet,” the man answered.

Dan spoke rapidly, his flash of anger surprising even Snake. “I know you are lying to me,” Dan responded. “If I find out you were lying I will kill you. You have one more chance. What happened to them?”

The man was terrified, but his eyes continued to peer coldly through Dan's. He shrugged, a seemingly helpless gesture. “I do not know. Sometimes there are VC. Sometimes there are Marines. But I do not see VC with Marines.”

Dan appeared furious. Snake grabbed him by the shoulder and smiled to the papasan. “O.K., Papasan.”

He asked Dan softly, “Is he lying, Dan? Papasan bullshit Marines?” Dan nodded, breathing quickly, upset by the confrontation, the battle over hostages, that reminded him of his own loss to the VC.

Snake ignored the papasan for one second, then turned quickly, striking him in the face with the back of his hand. Papasan's head jerked madly from the blow.

Snake walked to him, showing him the picture again. “Now, motherfucker. Take a good look. O dau, huh? Where'd they go?”

Papasan talked quickly, his hands at his shoulders in a helpless shrug. On and on he babbled, motioning with his hands, pouring out his frustrations.

Finally Goodrich cut him off. He rubbed his own face, peering uneasily down the village trail. He was wishing he had not come on the patrol. He wanted to hurry up and end it. He felt certain they were going to be ambushed if they stayed out very long.

“Come on, Snake. We're out here to find Baby Cakes, not to beat on gooks. If you think he knows something, let's take him back with us and send him in.”

Snake still stared angrily at the papasan, who was eyeing Goodrich hopefully. “And what the fuck good would that do, Senator? He'd be interrogated for three days and we'd be outa here tomorrow or the next day and Baby Cakes and Ogre would be God knows where by then. Nope.” Snake peered intently at the man. “He knows something. Dan says so.”

Goodrich grimaced, nervous and unimpressed by Dan's conclusions. “How the hell does he know?”

“That fucker just knows, man. If you grew up with gooks you'd know, too.” Snake pondered it. “Oh, well. It might be better to let him think he's off the hook and then come back to him. But we'll have to sneak up on him, or he'll sky out. Let's go peep the others.” Snake winked to Dan, giving him a reassuring grin. “Tell him ‘thanks.’ Tell him I'm sorry I hit him.”

Dan stared coldly at papasan, translating. Papasan was still wary, but visibly relieved. He nodded quickly, nursing the side of his head. The killer team departed, moving to the next hootch.

Bagger motioned back toward papasan's hootch as they left. “You know what I don't like about him? He ain't old.” He asked Dan in a hoarse whisper. “He VC, Dan?”

Dan pondered it, and answered judiciously: “Mebbe.”

There were more than a dozen hootches scattered through the ville. The squad crept up on each one, interrogating villagers, showing them the picture of Baby Cakes, seeking information. They found none. Each villager was properly, almost dutifully fearful of them, but none volunteered information. Several hours passed. They probed the outer reaches of the village, following trails into the grass, looking for clues that did not exist.

Finally Snake had had enough. He tilted his helmet back and addressed Cat Man. “I say we go back and pick up old papasan and take him to the scene, man. Go over where they were blowing the bomb and walk out in different directions and play Hot and Cold. You know, peep him out, see what scares him. That old dude knows something.”

Bagger agreed. “He ain't old. I'll bet he's a gook. No shit.”

They crept back toward the first hootch at the other end of the ville. Papasan sat on his porch, rocking on his haunches, smoking. He saw them approach when they were about fifty feet away, and rose as if to run.

Snake called to him. “Dung Lai, motherfucker! You ain't going anywhere.” Papasan froze resignedly. Running was for younger men. He was too old to make it to the sawgrass.

Cat Man grabbed him. Snake walked up. “You come with us.” He noticed the mamasan, who was surveying them with a suspicious bitterness. “You come, too, you old hag. C'mon! Lai day!” Mamasan howled, complaining as she walked out from her porch to join them. “Shut up, bitch.”

Bagger squinted at her. “She's a gook, too. How come she's got no kids? I'll bet she's a damn nurse or something.”

Cannonball took her hands and turned them palms up. “Look at this shit, man! She ain’ even got a callus! Not one damn rough spot on her hands! She ain’ no mamasan. Bagger's right. I'll bet she's a damn NVA nurse!”

He lifted her lips. She tried to turn her head away, staring hotly at him. He slapped her hard on the cheek, raising an immediate welt, then pulled her upper lip again. “Look at these teeth, ma-a-an. She ain’ even chewed betel nut! How can she live out here an’ not chew betel nut? Ain’ no way, man. She's a goddamn nurse.”

Snake called to Dan, then pointed to the woman. “She VC?”

Dan walked slowly to her, examining her as he approached. The skin too white, too unpocked to have survived for forty years on Go Noi. The hair pulled into a villager's bun, but almost rich, not as coarse. The eyes, surveying him with an intelligence, a knowing hotness that understood more than a suffering mamasan could ever comprehend.

He reached for her breasts. She intercepted his hands. He hit her hard in the face, then continued his quest. He stared directly into her eyes, feeling the breasts, remembering his own wife's withered set, even before she bore him children and drained herself to sustain them. Too much milk. She has eaten too well when younger, thought Dan. She is not a villager. She could not be from Go Noi.

Dan continued to stare directly into her eyes as he spoke. “She VC. Fucking A, uh huh. No shit.”

Goodrich, already fearful of being ambushed, was becoming uneasy with the increasing anger of the other squad members. It had become worse with every frustrated attempt to gather information. He wanted out. If he had thought he could make it safely, he would have bolted from the patrol and made his own way back to the company. But the mile of killer weeds …

He attempted to speak calmly. “Look. Let's take them back, so some trained interrogators can work on them. I know the company will stay another couple days if we get something out of these people. Come on. Let's get the hell out of here. I'm getting flaky.”

“You been flaky all your life.” Snake walked slowly over to the papasan and stared coolly at him. “We're right on the verge, Senator. I ain't leaving now. Look at him. He's shaking like a drunk with the DTs.” Snake laughed shortly, remembering mornings with Old Bones. “Fucker looks like my old man.” He felt the man's muscles. “Bagger's right. You're a gook, all right. Har-r-r-d-core. So's your old lady. You VC, huh?”

The man shook his head frantically, and produced a can cuoc identification card. Snake laughed. “Ohhh, good thinking, Papasan. Even got yourself a can cuoc.” He slapped the man on the back of the head. “Oh, I'll bet my ass you know where Ogre and Baby Cakes are. I'll just bet my ass.”

The hootch was at the end of the village. It was the nearest living space to where the incident had occurred. Snake pushed the papasan toward the spot where Ogre and Baby Cakes disappeared. The others followed. Cannonball prodded the mamasan with his rifle barrel. She now frowned tightly, her face rigid with hate. They stood at the spot for a few moments, Dan pumping both captives with acid, angry questions. Neither showed a revealing emotion.

Snake stood in the parched earth where the engineer's explosive bag had erupted, totally stumped. He examined the faces of papasan and mamasan. They both wore masks: mamasan, cold and hating, daring to be disgusted, as a woman may. Papasan, attempting to acquiesce just enough to survive the interrogation, shrewdly misunderstanding the harder questions. “Khong biet,” said papasan, over and over. “Khong biet.”

Finally Snake grabbed papasan by the nape of the neck and pushed him back toward his hootch. “Come on, Luke. We gonna take a look around your house.” They walked back in their cluster, once again through the back way.

Cat Man noticed it first. Just the slightest drop. There in the soft dirt of a corrugated potato patch, the rows perfectly aligned, the powdery gray dirt holding wilted sticks that jutted out crookedly toward the baking sun. Two dips, like saddles, where the rain of the night before had settled the dirt. Unnatural.

Cat Man walked into the patch and stood before the dips. The dirt of the dips was wetter than the other portions of the patch. It slumped, cracked at the top from having settled.

Snake squinted, walking toward the hootch. “Whatcha got, Cat Man?”

Cat Man stood silently, glaring at the dirt, not wanting to accept the possibility, yet vibrating from its very feasibility. “Get a shovel.”

Goodrich searched the hootch and found a spade, his own insides electrified. He jogged out and handed it to Cat Man. The others moved solemnly to where Cat Man stood. Cat Man extended the shovel to papasan. “Dig.”

Papasan eyed the dirt warily. He feigned ignorance again. “Khong biet—”

Cat Man, the calm one, exploded. He kicked the man in the ass, then swung his rifle butt and struck him in the head. The man cowered in the dirt, his hands before his face. Cat Man grabbed him by the shirt and lifted him off the ground and shook him mightily, swearing at him in Spanish. He threw him back to the dirt, dealing him several kicks in the stomach, then picked up the shovel and threw it at him.