Nam Sense (31 page)

My week in Bangkok was a vacation I would never forget. Now I knew why Landell returned for a second time. The mood of the Thai people contrasted so starkly with their Vietnamese counterparts because nothing hung over them to choke their spirit. There was no anguish over loved ones away at war, no flood of refugees, and no threat of terrorism. Their economy was thriving, Americans were well liked, and the government was stable. As a result, I left Bangkok with a renewed respect for Asian people.

There was no sorrow or emotional attachment when the time came for Molly and me to part, even though I felt our relationship was a little more than just a successful business arrangement. But any GI who experienced a similar furlough would undoubtedly feel the same. At any rate, when I returned to Vietnam I recommended Bangkok to future R & R travelers. I also made it clear that their stay would not be complete without a visit to Susie’s Bath House, and a massage from number 21…Molly.

My return to Vietnam from Bangkok was far less depressing than my previous return from R & R in Hawaii, especially since my tour of duty has been whittled down to just twenty-five days. Now it would be easy to focus beyond the war all the way to home. There was also a rumor that short-timer’s were getting an early-out by up to ten days. The Army already used early releases before Christmas as a gimmick to bolster public support, so if the rumor is true, it was one I heartily endorsed.

I arrived at Camp Evans with my attitude refreshed, but I was still in the Army and Top Boyce was right there to remind me. As usual, he was pissed off. This time it was because I had stretched the normal ten days of vacation and travel time into sixteen ghost days.

“Well, well, look who’s here,” he said sarcastically. “The prodigal NCO returns. I’ve been waiting for you, Staff Sergeant Wiknik.”

“Staff Sergeant? Me?” I couldn’t believe my ears.

“That’s right. The Army fucked-up and promoted you in spite of yourself. That means you can spend the rest of your tour as Lieutenant Cramer’s Platoon Sergeant.”

That hit me like a ton of bricks. “Wait a minute, Top! What happened to Wakefield?”

“He went home on emergency leave, so we won’t be seeing him again. Now get your shit packed because you’re going back to the field tomorrow.”

“Please don’t make me go,” I moaned, not sure if he was serious about sending me out again. “I’d be no good in the field anymore. I’ve lost my edge. My desire to fight is gone. I’m just too short for that shit. Can’t you find work for me here in the rear? I’ll do anything.”

He studied me for a few moments before smiling slyly. “I hate to see a grown man beg, so I’ll make an exception in your case. You can stay and work for me, but if I hear so much as a whimper about any job you’re given, your ass goes back to the field if I have to drag you there myself.”

“Okay, Top,” I grinned ambitiously. “Just tell me what you want me to do?”

He did not answer right away, as if relishing the moment. Then he leaned in close to emphasize my new duties. “Each morning, it will be your responsibility to make sure everyone falls out for roll-call. After breakfast, you’ll organize a litter clean-up of the entire battalion area. That means all around the chopper pad and the bunker line. You will also set up the mess hall duty rosters and schedule all able-bodied personnel for various details that come from brigade headquarters.”

“I can handle all that,” I nodded, thinking he was finished. Man, I have it made, I thought to myself. Piece of cake.

“You’re not getting off that easy,” he smirked. “Your most important job will be to personally clean and maintain the battalion latrines. That means both the enlisted men’s and the officer’s. Everyone deserves a pleasant place to shit, so I expect you to make those toilets something to be proud of. You got any questions?”

“No, Top,” I answered dejectedly. I was relieved to be staying in the rear, but was unsure of what I had gotten myself into. I did find it rather ironic that I arrived in Vietnam burning shit and now I would leave burning shit. At least it’s safer than being shot at.

The duty rosters and litter pick-up required only token effort, but the latrines were a different story. The buildings were in horrendous condition. No one had cleaned or repaired anything in nearly a month. The shit buckets were overflowing, newspapers and magazines were scattered on the floors, window screens were torn, and several had missing toilet seats.

The repairs took several days because the needed materials were not readily available, forcing me to commandeer items from different latrines around Camp Evans. I must have looked especially impressive lugging around stolen toilet seats. I also tore boards and screens off vacant hooches and borrowed the latest magazines from the mobile library on its weekly visit.

After completing the repairs, I easily fell into a daily routine and found that life as a shit burner was not half-bad. My nights were free, giving me plenty of time to spend with Silig. However, he was not as optimistic about the future as I was. Silig’s wounds were nearly healed, which meant he would soon return to the field, and he was not looking forward to it.

“I’ve got forty days left,” Silig lamented, “but that doesn’t make me short enough to stay in the rear. I guess I can deal with going back out to the field, but I hate the idea of being with Cramer again. It was his fault Siner and I got wounded. If Cramer does one more stupid thing, I think I’ll shoot him myself!”

“Don’t get too radical,” I laughed, brushing aside his idle threat. “Look at the bright side, with Wakefield gone you’ll be the new Platoon Sergeant. That will give you a role in the decision-making.”

“Maybe,” he grumbled. “I just wish you and Siner were there to help.”

“Let’s get a beer,” I said, trying not to be reminded of Siner’s departure and how I abandoned the platoon. “I’m sick of hearing about Cramer.”

“Yeah,” Silig muttered. “Fuck it. Don’t mean nothin.’”

As each day clicked by, Top continued searching for the ultimate revenge job before I would slip from his grasp forever. To my dismay, his perseverance paid off.

“Do you know what this is?” he asked, waving a typed form in my face. “This is an authorization to release a GI prisoner to your custody. I want you to fly down to Da Nang and escort him back to Camp Evans for a court martial hearing.”

“Uh…Ok…What did he do?” I stammered, wondering if the prisoner was a harmless nutcase or a hardcore NCO murderer. “Do I know this guy?”

“His name is Private Leroy Clifton and he’s been AWOL for almost a year. The dumb shit was living with the Vietnamese when the Marines caught him. They’ve got him locked up at the 524th Quartermaster Depot.”

“Why don’t the MPs just bring him back?” I asked.

“Because,” Top announced with a spiteful grin, “as a Staff Sergeant this is the kind of job you’re getting paid to perform. Now get over to the supply shed and sign out a .45 pistol and a set of handcuffs. I expect you back here with Clifton by noon tomorrow.”

“Okay,” I nodded confidently. “See you tomorrow.”

The task sounded easy enough. I imagined that Private Clifton was a passive soldier who became emotionally attached to the Vietnamese and stayed with them to help rebuild their lives. Or, he went AWOL to escape the war but got tired of hiding and was now ready to accept his punishment. Whatever his story was, I just figured Clifton was a hapless slob caught in military red tape and that my escorting him back was just a formality.

Late that afternoon, I arrived at the 524th Quartermaster Depot in the center of the sprawling Da Nang air base. The Marine compound, with only eight hooches, two supply sheds, a wooden headquarters building, and a small mess hall, was tiny compared to the surrounding military city. A dirt driveway circled behind the hooches to a motor pool where several jeeps and large trucks were parked. I thought it was odd that there were no bunkers or fighting positions.

When I walked into the office I barely got the chance to announce myself when a strangely exuberant 2nd Lieutenant greeted me. He acted so giddy that he never noticed my failure to salute. Perhaps the .45 slung low on my hip and the handcuffs hanging from my belt made him think I was a tough guy who commanded unquestioned respect.

“Hi ya, Sarge,” he said with a silly grin. “I’m Lieutenant Butch Reinholtz. Are you here for Clifton?”

“That’s right,” I nodded officially, trying to act the part of a bounty hunter. “I plan on us leaving first thing in the morning. Now, can I see him?”

“Sure, this way,” he pointed as we started walking. Then he proudly boasted, “This is my first command.”

“Is that so?” I remarked, trying not to laugh at the announcement while glancing at his pressed fatigues and flattop haircut. “I would have never guessed.”

“Yup, this compound is my responsibility.”

“It must be tough running things around here,” I added, wondering if Reinholtz just arrived in-country that morning. “Just what does your outfit do?”

“We’re a housing unit for Marines who work on the air base. We’ve got truckers, freight handlers, communication operators, cooks, all kinds of people.”

“So why do you have a jail?”

“It’s not really a jail. It’s just a temporary lockup for troublemakers and criminals.”

“Criminals?” I asked sarcastically. “Are you telling me that you’ve already judged Clifton and found him guilty?” Reinholtz was obviously embarrassed by the question, but did not respond.

When we turned the corner, the sight of their lockup shocked me. It was a metal freight container with the words “The Big House” neatly painted above the door. Steel bars were welded across rough-cut window openings and a huge padlock held the door shut. The only comfort it offered was the shaded location; otherwise, the daytime temperatures inside would have exceeded human limit. I peered in the shadowy box for a closer look, only to see a set of white teeth, flared nostrils, and a pair of eyes that glared back. Private Clifton was the biggest black man I had ever seen.

“I figure dey send some honkie to fetch me, but not someone as scrawny as you be,” Clifton laughed as he sauntered to the window. “I guess da Army be runnin’ outta assholes who wanna die. I is goin’ tell you now, as soon as we leave here, I gonna choke you wif you handcuffs then shoot you wif you weapon.”

Try as I did, I could not swallow the giant lump stuck in my throat. “Shit, I’m in trouble,” I thought to myself. “Clifton is not some poor slob regretting a bad decision about going AWOL; he’s a hardcore outlaw with nothing to lose.” I knew enough to know that if he even remotely suspected I was afraid of him, I would be as good as dead. I had to do something quickly so he would think twice before trying to kill me. That’s when I dug deep for one last absurd performance.

“Heh, heh, heh,” I cackled with a demonic stare. “Go ahead you piece of shit, help me save the Army the aggravation of dealing with you.” Then I eased the .45 pistol from the holster and caressed it. “Look here, boy, I’ve killed plenty of Gooks during my tour, but no niggers. If you fuck with me, you’ll be my first. Heh…heh…heh.”

Clifton’s eyes narrowed and he slowly backed off to sit silently in the corner. I gave him a death scowl then briskly walked away with Lieutenant Reinholtz following close behind.

“Sergeant?” he asked in disbelief. “You wouldn’t really shoot him, would you?”

“You better god-damn believe I’ll shoot him!” I shouted for Clifton to hear. “I’m not going to let some stupid nigger fuck up my record. He can go back to Camp Evans under his own power or in a body bag. The choice is his.”

The Lieutenant stopped, unsure of what to do. I kept walking without looking back. Once I was out of sight I leaned against a tree, trembling from head to toe at the thought that this was probably my last day on earth. I was lamenting my predicament and cursing Top under my breath when the company clerk approached.

“Excuse me, Sergeant,” he began timidly. “Do you need a bunk for the night?”

I nodded yes, looking away to hide my fear. As we walked toward the NCO hooch the clerk kept looking at me. “Excuse me again, but do you mind if I ask how old you are? I mean, you look really young to be a Staff Sergeant. Did you have a high-ranking relative help to get you promoted?”

“I’m twenty-one,” I answered, half-laughing and half-thinking that I might not make it to twenty-two. “I’ve got no one looking out for me and this assignment proves it.”

“No shit? You’re only twenty-one? Man, it’s hard enough just to make Corporal in the Marines. You must be one tough bastard.”

“I’m not so tough. I’ve just been lucky,” I remarked off-handedly. “Rank sometimes comes easier in the infantry.”

“Why don’t you stay with us peons tonight? If you bunk with the NCOs, you’ll be stuck with Lifers who sit around every night talking about the good old days fighting the Korean War.”

His invitation sounded good and I figured I might as well spend the night with people I was comfortable with. Without much else to do after dark we played cards, drank a lot of beer, and made fun of Lieutenant Reinholtz. When things quieted down I fell asleep fantasizing about different ways to handcuff Clifton; left wrist to right ankle or left ankle to right wrist. If I had another set of handcuffs, I could do it both ways.

Just before dawn our sleep was interrupted by whistles and men running and shouting. At first, I thought we were under enemy attack but after the panic subsided I learned to my delight that Clifton had escaped!

What a relief! I could hardly keep a straight face, because I figured Clifton would have happily killed me. I didn’t question how he got loose and I didn’t care. I suspected at the time that Lieutenant Reinholtz believed I was serious about shooting Clifton and had let him go since a dead prisoner might reflect poorly on him. Either that, or Clifton believed I really was crazy enough to kill him and busted out to save himself.

I immediately called Top to tell him of Clifton’s escape. He gave me hell, saying something about not being able to do anything right. After I thanked him for his comments, Top ordered me to help the Marines search for Clifton. I agreed, but I had no intention of doing anything. If Clifton were found, I would be in danger again. Instead, I spent the better part of two days drinking at the NCO club, figuring that would be the last place Clifton would show up. I don’t know if they ever found him and I did not want to know.

When I got back to Camp Evans Top was waiting for me with his usual glare. “Staff Sergeant Wiknik,” his lecture began, “I have never in my career known anyone to dick around and waste time like you do. You fuck up every assignment, and always find a way to turn it into ghost time. You’ve fucked with my NCOs, pissed off every Lieutenant we’ve ever had, all the while knowing that you have the potential to be a model NCO. What have you to say for yourself?”

“Just doing my job,” I shrugged seriously. “Trying to save lives.”

“Well, your job is done,” he laughed, patting me on the shoulder.