Authors: Chris Lynch,Chris Lynch
Free-Fire Zone (8 page)
After several seconds and an insane number of rounds, he stops, and we listen while the smoke wafts over us.
“Free-fire, gentlemen!” he says, and despite how supercharged that was, I see his gun muzzle vibrating more than mine. “I think you will find the building is secure.”
There is no mistaking that the lieutenant is showing off now, trying to regain some of the top dogness that he lost so much of today.
“McClean, Hunter, Marquette, go in and check that out. The rest of you come with me.”
“You shot it all up,” Cherry says to him. “Maybe you want to go in and check it out yourself, lieutenant?”
Jupp's small smile slips sideways and right off his face.
There is a
game
going on here. Even I have come to recognize what Lt. Jupp won't be doing under any
circumstances â such as going blindly into an enemy hut no matter how many bullets he's pumped into it. And if
I
know it â¦
“Do as you're told, soldiers,” Jupp says.
The rest of us follow along, including Cherry, as Jupp swaggers up to the last building. I look back behind me to see the three who were told to go into that hut are very much not going in. They stand there observing what we are up to.
What we are up to is:
Rat-at-at-at-at-at-at-at-at-at-at-at-at-at-at-at!
The air is again filled with smoke and burn and Jupp's once-again confident voice.
“In you go, Corporal Cherry,” he says.
Cherry stands there. “You coming with me?”
Jupp's phony smile tells us all we need to know about what he thinks of this game.
“I gave you an order, Cherry.”
“Do you
ever
get your hands dirty, lieutenant?”
I never thought before that
lieutenant
was a dirty word. But the way Cherry says it now, it is filthy.
“Never mind,” Squid says, and he starts stomping toward the canvas door.
“Oh no you don't,” I shout at my short-timer pal, grabbing him by the backpack and hauling him out of the way. “For crying out loud, I'll do it.”
And I do. Before anybody can stop me â not that I can sense anybody thinking of stopping me â I march right up and right through that entrance.
And I scream.
I scream because I fall. It's as if the floor isn't where it's supposed to be. Like I've stepped into a trapdoor that opens onto hell itself.
It is a trapdoor all right, but not quite to hell. Hell wouldn't hurt this bad.
“Ah, ah, ah!” I scream, as the guys surround me. My leg has gone under the floor of the hut, disappearing all the way up to my thigh as the two-piece trapdoor fell away beneath me. All my weight, plus the extra weight of all my gear, has driven me down and right on top of a long metal shaft, like a pencil-thin spike, that has shot right through my boot, my foot, and my boot again. It feels like a lace of fire sizzling up through me.
Cherry and Squid run up and try and pull me out.
“Ahhhhh!” The pain is a hundred times worse when they tug on me. The trapdoors themselves are actually more torture, covered in similar long spikes that close in and clamp on to my leg when I am coming up out of the thing. Like a bear trap of knives. “No, no no, no, stop!”
Squid drops me like I am made of hornets, backs away flapping his hands helplessly. Cherry and Marquette
take over, working first to try and wedge the two doors apart.
The pain is making me insane. I try and look at my leg but my vision keeps getting all watery, and my hollering is so intense that it looks like the whole world is quaking instead of just me.
“Lieutenant?” somebody shouts. Then another somebody, then all of them. The guys from the other hut are here now, too, and I see everybody, pretty much, except Jupp.
I finally see Jupp's face, peering over the top of the crowd, looking about a million miles away. Then, I see him yanked right out of the picture as Lt. Bien shoves his way to the front, crouches down over me, and puts both arms down into the trap up to his elbows â just before I pass out, still screaming.
T
here are two letters waiting for me when I come around in the hospital. One is from Ivan, which I save for later like you do with the best part of your supper, and the other is from Morris. Not that Morris is like broccoli or anything, it's just, well, there's only one Ivan.
Hey Rudi Man,
I guess this is overdue, huh? I had two letters from you before I even got one back to you. Sorry about that but, jeez, who'd have ever thought you would turn out to be the big writer of the group, right? Anyway, the good part is, I got my wish and I'm a radioman now, so I'm going to be calling you once I get the hang of tracking you guys down. One of the perks of my job, you see, is being able to make phone calls just like we were back home and I needed to ask you a math question or something. (That's a joke, Rudi, pay attention.)
The war has been ok for me so far. As much as wars can be ok. I'm not dead, which is a plus. At least I don't think I am. When I was on the USS
Boston,
we got hit â by our own guys! And I think I survived that, although I may be dead and just don't recognize dead yet.
I am in the Brown Water Navy now, pal. Which might very well be what death looks and feels and smells like. We are in the thick of things all the time, shooting it out with the VC all up and down the Mekong. I am on a Zippo. You know, like the cigarette lighters? We've got napalm flamethrowers mounted on this thing. It's crazy what all different kinds of killing gear we have on this one boat. And for defense? It's mostly caging and sandbags. We get shot at all the time.
I had a pal, pal. He was on both the
Boston
and the Zippo with me. Not a pal like you guys, nobody will ever be that. But a pal, still. He got killed. My God, Rudi, when a pal gets killed â¦
We don't ever want that to happen. That's the big thing. Never.
But enough about me, let's talk about me.
Just kidding. How about you? I have to say there was quite a leap between the first letter you sent me and the second. Really, really great that you fit so well in the Marines. I was happy â and shocked â to hear how well that was going. Because, to be honest ⦠ah, well you know. We all secretly
peed ourselves, on your behalf, when you got drafted. It's good that you're so good at following orders. It's good that you found an organization that can appreciate your particular talents.
That second letter, Rudi man, I have to say was an eye opener. Confirmed killer now. Wow. I mean it. Wow. Me, I don't know. I mean, sure, I shoot, they insist I do more than sit on the phone all day since that's not likely to advance the cause much, so I do shoot at people on a pretty regular basis. But I don't know for sure if I ever hit anybody or not. And to be honest with you, I don't want to know. I would like to return home as much like I was before as possible. Who'd have ever thought, huh man? That this young, we would be handling this kind of firepower? That we would be controlling people's whole lives with our decisions every day?
But you. You KNOW, don't you? There is no maybe in your close-combat world. You have killed, Rudi. I just got a chill when I wrote that down, you know that kind of thing that zings up your spine and back down again?
There is certain stuff a guy just has to do. I am really impressed that you have found yourself able to do whatever it takes. So do whatever it takes to get yourself home in one piece. We want you home.
You. We want you home. Our old Rudi. Remember, doofus, you don't have to like it. Just because you have to do it doesn't mean you have to like it.
I will try to get a call through to you soon. Meanwhile, watch yourself and keep safe.
Your pal,
Morris
Here's the thing you have to love about Morris. He's a really smart guy, but he doesn't act like it. Beck, for example, is a great guy. But he's a really smart guy who acts like a really smart guy. That's not as good.
Here's what you don't have to love about Morris, or at least I don't. He's not in charge of me. He's not my mother or my teacher or my priest or my commanding officer. I don't have to do what he says to do because I don't have to want what he wants. I'm no kid anymore, which maybe he can't understand because he can't see me.
And maybe he wants to see the same old Rudi come home, and maybe that's nice of him. But I don't want to bring that idiot home. I don't ever want to see him again, to tell you the truth, and that's up to me no matter what Morris says.
I was smart to save my Ivan letter for dessert. Because while all three of my best buddies are still my best buddies, the guy who is most likely to understand what I'm doing and where I'm going is always going
to be Ivan. He's not going to come up all brainy like Beck would or all parental like Morris. He's just built different.
Hi,
You gotta stop it, Rudi.
Ok, that maybe wasn't the best way to start this but you know I ain't much of a writer and you ain't much of a reader so it's best for everybody if I just get right in and right out here.
You gotta stop saying you are doing everything for me. It is great of you to say so, but I don't want that, man, you understand? You gotta do stuff for yourself, become the soldier you want to be for yourself. If I have helped you in any way to become more of a man and be less afraid and be maybe a little tougher (well, let's hope a LOT tougher) than you were before you shipped out, then that is enough for me to know. If you serve your country and serve your unit and serve yourself in an honorable and successful manner then that is all that anybody can ask. Do your job the best you can and grow up and then get home again. I am proud of you. I was proud of you when you got on the boat out of Oakland (really,
it was only then that I completely believed) instead of the bus to Canada. From this point on you don't need to impress me any further. Got it?
Things are going ok here. I'm a sniper, which is good.
So, I mean it, if you get yourself all killed or injured I will slap you silly ya little jerk.
Best wishes,
Ivan
P.S. I mean it.
I am laughing out loud now because of course he doesn't mean it, which is making my leg hurt even more. Which makes me laugh even more because this injury would make Ivan slap me silly â both because of all what he just said, and because slapping me silly was just always something he liked to do. I miss it. It's time for my medication.
The hospital at the base at Chu Lai is probably about as fancy as you could expect for being right smack in the middle of everything. It's kind of like a small airplane hangar with a row of big baby cribs lined up along each side, and long fluorescent strip lights hanging over each one. The nurse who has been taking
care of me mostly is named Carolyn and she is very tall and slim with black moppy hair, and while she is a little bit intimidating from my angle she is kind enough to be much smaller than she is.
“Here ya go, dingbat,” she says, bringing me my little cup of pain pills and another cup of water. I swallow both quickly while she leans on the rails of my baby crib. I find the rails embarrassing, but do enjoy the leaning. She's called me dingbat from the minute I got here even though she couldn't even have known yet.
“When I get out of here would you like to go out with me sometime?” I ask, and I get a rush from just the asking. I can't even believe I'm doing it. Because that's just not like me at all, to even be able to talk to a tall girl. Somehow, now it's easy.
“You know, I never get asked that,” she says.
“Really? Wow. That's great because I would imagine with all the â”
“See now, sweetie, I was just joking with you there. Know what I mean? There are like fifty million servicemen for every nurse, and by the time I see them they are not only wounded and needy and looking for their mommy, but they are also medicated. So, sweet as you are ⦠I am
awfully
more popular than I need to be already. But on the bright side, you do have visitors.”
“Cabbage!” the guys yelp before Carolyn shushes them down. It's Hunter and Squid and Marquette. Carolyn moves on to the next crib, and they all start giving me the eyes like I'm Mr. Lucky or something. Then all three produce what look like sharpened chopsticks and start poking me with them, hard.
“Ow, I get it, ow, I get it,” I say, twisting as far away from them as my cage bed will allow me to. “I could go a long time without getting stabbed with sticks again, I can tell you that.”
“Oh,” Hunter says, “about that. We have decided to change your nickname to Pincushion. How's that, Cabbage?”
“No,” I say. “As a matter of fact, you might want to consider calling me Rudi.”
“Rudi?” Marquette says. “That's a stupid name. Why would we want to call you that?”
“Yeah,” I say. “I suppose. What are you doing here, anyway? I thought I was GI Joke to you?”
“You are GI Joke. But you're
our
joke. And you got guts, Cabbage, I have to give you that. You ain't satisfied to sit back and let somebody else do the dirty work, that's for sure. So, even if you are a dummy, I can appreciate that.”
“Thanks,” I say. “It's nice to be appreciated.”
“You are,” Squid says, and he hands me a coloring book and a box of crayons. It has sixty-four colors in it, which is a lot.
I look up at him to try and tell if this is a joke gift, but he has such a giant stupid grin on his face I don't suppose it matters much either way.
And I don't even feel like I need to embarrass myself further by telling them how much I still like coloring books when I'm bored. Especially Superman coloring books like this one.
“Thanks, guys,” I say.
“So,” Hunter asks, “how's the leg? I gotta tell you, man, it was pretty disgusting to look at at first.”
“At first?” I say. “How 'bout this?” I whip back the covers to show off my foot and leg, which are swollen to only about twice normal size now.
“Ahhh.”
All three brave warriors shrink away from the bed, recoiling as if I've released a deep-sea monster from under the sheet. Which is not far off.
The color and texture of the leg is like a relief map of the central highlands, all swirly green and purple bruising, punctuated by splats of stitching and ooze leaking out yellow here and there onto the sheet.
“Oh, put it away, put it away,” Marquette says, laughing and gagging at the same time.
When I cover up again they return to my bedside.
“The shots they give me to fight infection are the worst part,” I say. “Because of the dung they put on the spike tips, man, they have to give me regular injections they shoot right into the wounds. Kinda hurts, kinda a whole lot.”
“Yeoo,” Squid says.
“Yeoo is right. Man, I am itching to get back out there. How's it all going, anyway?”
“Eh,” Hunter says, “it's kind of gone back to the way it was before. A lot of pointless patrols, a little bit of shooting into the trees, but nothing like all the fun we had when you were around.”
“What about the corporals? The lieutenant?”
“Please,” Marquette says, disgusted.
“Things are kind of tense, kind of worse than before,” Hunter says. “Nobody talks to nobody else. Nobody seems to want to do anything but watch the clock tick off the days, and just get out.”
“I got two and a half weeks, Cabbage,” Squid says brightly.
“I know it,” I say, matching his tone but not quite his enthusiasm. I can't shake the feeling that he was right before â a lot could happen in two and a half weeks.
“And Sunshine, man,” Hunter says, “he's darker
than he ever was and getting worse all the time. He needs to do a lot more shooting than he's doing now. Needs an outlet to blow off some very scary steam.”
“Yeah,” Marquette says, looking partly cloudy himself at the moment. “I'll tell you what, if somebody â”
“Hey, dingbat,” Carolyn says, sweeping back in with more company, “you win our Private Popular prize today.”
Walking right up to me behind her is Lt. Jupp.
Marquette doesn't even say anything as he turns and walks out.
“Okay,” Squid says, leaving next. “Get better, man, and get back to us. I would hate to go home without fighting alongside you one more time, man, and that's the truth.”
I don't know if I have heard a nicer compliment since I've been here. Or before that, either.
“See, ya, Cabbage,” Hunter says, and swoops off.
“Well, I guess that's just the loneliness of command,” Jupp says, laughing without laughing. “If I come around every day, maybe the hospital will empty out completely and we'll be at twice the strength in battle.”
“Ah, lieutenant, they were just leaving anyway,” I say. “You'd be surprised how quick a talk between grunts can get stupid boring.”
“Maybe I would,” he says, “maybe I wouldn't.”
“And besides,” I say, “I had a lot of serious paperwork to get to.” I hold up my Superman coloring book.
He smiles, in a kind of sad way I have not seen before. I didn't want that.
“How are you, Cabbage?” he says softly. I don't want that, either. I want him to shout unnecessarily like he always does, because this other thing is making me uneasy. But I know he can't shout because it's a hospital.
“I'm good, sir. Just getting through these last stages of healing so they'll give me the all-clear to come back and fight for you.”
He shakes his head. “You are something, private. A lot of men would want no part of coming back after what happened. You know ⦠if you wanted to ⦠this is enough of an injury to send you back to ⦠where are you from again?”
“Boston. And I don't want to go there. I am a Marine, sir, and this is where I should be. Well, not here, exactly. I don't like sleeping in a bed with side rails for one thing. But here in Vietnam, or wherever the fighting takes me, is where I belong.”