Matterhorn Page 26

  “Good. They had a good night’s rest. Tell Lieutenant Fitch to build a zone and we’ll get him in some fresh power sources. Also, send him this message.” He paused while Stevens dug out a small green note pad. “Upon resupply proceed immediately Hill 1609. Prepare LZ for future use as Fire Support Base Sky Cap. Imperative you be there 1200 hours tomorrow. Code that,” Simpson continued, “and I want those power sources delivered ASAP. That outfit’s been candy-assing enough out there. I don’t want any more excuses for them sitting on their butts.”

  Simpson started to walk out into the darkness.

  “Uh, sir, what about the emergency medevacs and rations?” Stevens asked.

  Simpson stopped. “Lieutenant, what would you do if you had command? You’ve got a company out in the bush under the guidance of completely inexperienced officers. They eat their rations too quickly and then run out because they are slowed down by immersion foot caused by their own neglect. As a consequence, they are at the moment way behind schedule in opening a very important fire support base. They are also, I presume, a little hungry and their feet hurt.” He smiled at his joke. “If they succeed in building the LZ on Hill 1609 on schedule, they’ll have all the helicopters they like by noon tomorrow. The first thing a young officer has to learn is to take responsibility for his actions and to have some pride. Pride, Lieutenant Stevens. It’s what the Marine Corps is built on.”

  Because of the Cam Lo operation, no Marine chopper could be diverted to carry a few batteries to a company in the bush. Stevens contacted every outfit he could think of. He finally found an Army Huey that was free for the morning, having carried a general from Da Nang up to Dong Ha. He talked the pilot into making a quick run.

  At Checkpoint Echo, with K-bars, machetes, and Jackson’s method of throwing their bodies against the brush, they slowly opened a small patch of crumpled, twisted vegetation in the broad valley floor. Above them on all sides, the mountains towered dark and green, their tops hidden by clouds.

  Stevens’s message to expect a Huey had come in the clear. The order to create Fire Support Base Sky Cap had come coded. All the actuals gathered around Relsnik as he worked out the code. When he read the order there was stunned silence. Mellas pulled his map from his side pocket and found Hill 1609. It was at the source of the river that flowed from the mountains to their east down to Checkpoint Echo, where it joined the river that they had followed the night before. He looked at the peaks. Their tops were hidden by clouds. Goodwin came over to him. “Where the fuck is it, Jack?” he asked. Mellas pointed. “Shit, Jack,” Goodwin said. One by one, each of the actuals looked at where Mellas’s finger was pointing. Upon seeing the location, Hawke went into the hawk dance, screeching “Sky Cap! Sky Cap! Snark! Snark! Sky Cap!” He cupped his hands and shouted “Sky Cap! Kahoo! Kahoo!” The cry echoed back. He stopped and held up both hands toward the mountains in the hawk power sign and gave two more cries of “Snark! Snark!” Then he rested both hands on the top of his head and just stood there, his back to the group, looking east toward the mountains.

  Fitch took command. “Get your medevacs ready,” he said. “We’ll be kicking off as soon as we get resupplied. We’ll have twenty minutes for chow. Don’t let them go hog wild or they’ll get sick. One C-rat, you got me? One.” Fitch again turned to squint at the barrier of green to their east. “Kendall, it’s your turn to have point. You can’t get lost going up a river.” Kendall flushed, but then smiled when Fitch and the others grinned good-naturedly at him.

  Jackson told Mellas that he didn’t want to be squad leader any longer. “I just don’t like telling my friends what to do all the time.”

  “You mean you can’t take the heat. What do you want me to do, put Cortell in charge? Or maybe you’d like Parker making the decisions?”

  Jackson looked at the ground, unwilling to meet the lieutenant’s eyes.

  “Do you think I give a flying fuck about how you feel right now?” Mellas went on. “I’ve got to have a good squad leader. I’ve got to have one.”

  Jackson fiddled with a grenade hanging from his belt suspenders. “Janc’s probably been back from R & R over a week,” he said. “He’s just sitting on his ass at VCB. I only was supposed to have it temporarily.”

  Mellas’s voice changed. “Goddamn it, Jackson, we need you.”

  Jackson looked up at Mellas. The idea made him stop. No one had ever needed him like this in his life. He tried to see it the lieutenant’s way. Cortell was probably the only other guy in the squad who could lead it. He was so smart it was scary, but Cortell’s kind of smart was deep smart. Out here, it was fast smart that counted: his kind. He’d felt OK being a fire team leader, but then Janc still carried the real load and took the consequences if he screwed up. That was just it. Janc never screwed up. Maybe he, Jackson, would, and if he did, he would never get another chance to lead again. But if he didn’t lead now, he wouldn’t get another chance either. He’d written home about being a squad leader. Imagine, him, in charge of twelve guys. His old man had never been in charge of anybody. Jackson looked at the lieutenant’s young earnest face. Fuck China. “I can take the heat, Lieutenant,” he almost whispered.

  The two of them stood there, looking at each other, silent for perhaps three seconds. Then Mellas spoke. “You’re the squad leader and I’m the platoon commander. Whether we like it or not, there it is.”

  “Yeah, there it is,” Jackson said. He started toward his squad’s sector and then turned to look back at Mellas. “But when Janc gets back, I quit.”

  “OK, Jackson. It’s a deal.”

  Half an hour later they heard the sound of a helicopter. They strained to catch a glimpse. Someone shouted and pointed. The sound grew to a roar and a dark bulb flitted briefly across the clouds and was then lost. The roar returned. Fitch popped a smoke grenade and thick red smoke began to coil upward from the foliage. An Army Huey slick flashed overhead, then banked in a graceful climbing turn to the left.

  “Big John Bravo, this is Bitterroot Seven. I’ve got a red smoke next to a blue line. Over.”

  FAC-man’s voice came over the radio, assuring the pilot that they were by a river and it wasn’t a trap. “Wind down here is negligible. Your best approach is from the south. Zone’s secure. Over.”

  The helicopter, numbers gleaming, turned to the south, turned again, and made its approach. It set gently down, the air vibrating with the blades. The whine of the turbine ceased and the blades whiffled to a halt. The pilot, dressed in a crisp flight suit, stepped out of the bird. Cassidy had a work party ready to receive the supplies. Fitch and Hawke met the pilot at the edge of the rotor blades. Mellas, unable to hold himself back, walked out for a closer look.

  A crew member handed out two boxes of batteries to two of the work party. A third Marine stepped up, waiting for his load of C-rations. Mellas saw the crew member shrug his shoulders. The Marine turned to look at Cassidy, stunned. Mellas rushed over to the small group who were just shaking hands with the pilot. “Hey, you got any food?” he burst in.

  The pilot, a warrant officer about Mellas’s age, looked at him. “No,” he said puzzled. “Why? You guys out?”

  “Well, no,” Mellas lied. “Just wondered if maybe they threw on something.”

  The pilot looked around him. He seemed excited about being so far out in the bush and helping out another service. “Jesus, you guys smell,” he said with a smile. “You been here long?”

  “No,” Fitch said. “We just got in this morning.” He looked at Mellas and Hawke, obviously wondering what could have gone wrong with the resupply.

  “This morning?” The pilot looked at Mellas. “Whatever possessed you people to hump down here at night?”

  Mellas’s chin was trembling. “We thought we’d avoid the heat,” he managed to choke out. He turned and walked away.

  “What’s with him?” the pilot asked Fitch and Hawke.

  “He’s a little tired,” Hawke said. “Had point all night. Don’t take it personally.”

  “Sure. I can understand that.”

  “Say,” Hawke added, “if you could do us another favor, we’d really apprec
iate a huss.”

  “Name it. I got to wait around while the general talks to your guys in Dong Ha. Glad to do something.”

  “Well, we got some guys that are due to go on R & R, things like that. Then there’s another guy who’s really overdue to go home. The company shouldn’t be carrying him. It’d sure help morale if we could get them out.”

  “Sure. How many you got?”

  “How many can you take?” Hawke asked evenly. “They’re all fairly light.”

  The worst cases of immersion foot hobbled up to the edge of the landing zone. They exchanged their better clothing with those staying behind. By the time they were helped aboard by the crew chief, they looked very bad indeed. Cortell and Jackson struggled up to the side of the slick with Williams. They looked inquiringly at the crew chief and pilot, who were transfixed by the bloated discolored hands wrapped around the pole. The crew chief lost control and gagged but managed not to throw up.

  “If there’s not enough room,” Cortell said, “we could tie him to the skids.”

  “No, it’s not that,” the pilot managed to say, still trying to hold his breath. He waved toward the chopper door. The Marines who were already aboard pulled the body in.

  Corporal Arran carried Pat onto the chopper with him. Pat lay still, his eyes staring blankly, waiting for his handler to fix the hunger and sickness. He tried to lick Arran’s hand.

  The two Vietnamese Kit Carsons walked nervously onto the small zone. Everyone watched them silently. Most of the Marines had forgotten that they existed. The Kit Carsons crawled into the body of the chopper. The Marines on board ignored them.

  Hippy had been waiting with the gun squad in the high grass at the edge of the zone. When the pilot climbed back into the chopper, he knew for certain that he was going home. He turned and handed Young his machine gun, as if exchanging colors. Then he grinned to break the solemnity. “Don’t forget you’re the only chuck left in guns,” he said. “Since you can’t wear a noose, maybe this will help.” He lifted his peace medallion from his neck and handed it to Young.

  He shook hands slowly with Mole. “They’re all yours, Mole. Promise me, no Pancho Villa bullshit. You make sure they keep the fucking ammo in the cans and not all over their chests so it’ll shoot when they need it.” Mole nodded. “You hang in there, Mallory,” Hippy said, and shook his hand, too. Mallory nodded rapidly.

  Jacobs shook Hippy’s hand and then offered to help him out to the chopper. Hippy refused the offer and walked out of the war one step at a time.

  Twenty minutes after the chopper left, the company waded into the river, following Kendall. The clouds had lowered and a steady rain spattered the water. Within an hour they were moving between steep hills whose tops came into and out of view through the clouds. In another hour they were moving between low cliffs that got gradually higher as they moved east toward Sky Cap.

  Late that afternoon, knee-deep in the rushing water, Parker collapsed, his contorted jaw clamping his teeth together. His scream echoed up and down the river between the rocky cliffs.

  Mellas reached Parker before Fredrickson. Cortell was cradling his head out of the water. Parker’s eyes rolled and blood dribbled down his chin from his lacerated tongue. Mellas tore off a branch and stuffed it into Parker’s mouth. By the time Doc Fredrickson got there, the fit seemed to have passed. Parker was sweating heavily, even with the water flowing over his body. “Why didn’t you tell someone you were epileptic?” Fredrickson asked softly.

  Parker just stared at him, “What’s epiletic?”

  Fredrickson looked at Mellas, surprise on his face. He started shaking down his thermometer, his forehead creased with worry. “It ain’t like anything I saw in Field Med,” he said.

  Fitch was on the radio asking what was holding things up. He ordered Kendall to push off, and the column began to move past them. Parker attempted to get up, but Fredrickson pushed him down. His temperature was 105 degrees.

  The senior squid, Sheller, arrived. He, Fredrickson, and Mellas talked quietly where Parker couldn’t hear them. Rain fell steadily, soundless in the river’s roar. The clouds were at the cliff tops. If the whole company went back to the LZ at Checkpoint Echo, it would delay Sky Cap’s opening by a full day. If Fitch sent Parker back with a single platoon, a single platoon might get hit in a canyon going back and a reduced company might get hit in a canyon going forward. They couldn’t get Parker back to Echo before dark anyway, so an evacuation there was problematical before morning. Humping in the dark also increased the risk of injuries. Mellas suggested getting a bird to work its way up the river. Because the canyon walls blocked the PRC-25s line-of-sight transmissions, Relsnik couldn’t contact battalion. Daniels managed to contact a forward air observer on a weather check above the clouds who acted as a relay. The word came back. Flying in a canyon with its erratic winds was risky—a blade could hit a cliff. Unless it was a clear emergency, they wouldn’t risk a chopper and its crew. With malaria, dystenery, and many other tropical diseases, temperatures of 105 were common and not immediately life-threatening. They could medevac Parker when they opened the LZ on 1609.

  Sheller asked, “You think you can hump, Parker?”

  “What the fuck you think?” Parker spat out. “I got a choice?”

  Parker rose shakily to his feet. There was sweat on his face, mixing with the rain. He picked up his pack, shrugged into it, and stepped off into the river.

  “You think he’s faking?” Mellas asked Sheller.

  “You don’t fake a temperature like that and a bloody tongue, sir. I think he’s really sick. I’d turn the company around and medevac him from Echo.”

  “Nevah hoppin,” Fredrickson said.

  “There it is,” said Mellas.

  At dusk Fitch ordered Kendall to climb out of the canyon to find a safe position for the night. It was a difficult, dangerous climb that took two hours. One of Goodwin’s men fell backward, badly bruising a knee, when a root he was holding pulled loose. Everyone breathed with relief that the man’s back wasn’t hurt—he could still carry his own gear.

  At the top, Mellas met Kendall in the dark. He was guiding everyone to his position. “Nice job today, Kendall,” he said.

  Kendall nodded. “Hard to get lost in a fucking canyon,” he said, “even for me.”

  Mellas laughed. He wondered why he had been so hard on Kendall. It wasn’t Kendall’s idea to be out here. Was it such a great failing not to be cut out to be a Marine infantry officer? Maybe in war it was.

  Fog set in. They could hear the steady roar of the river far below them, an ominous and frightening noise because it would muffle the sound of anyone sneaking up on them. It had been their sixth day in a row without food.

  Two hours before midnight, someone from Kendall’s platoon screamed for a corpsman. A kid had suddenly gone into a fit, his temperature shooting dangerously upward. At two in the morning, Parker went into convulsions again. His choked screaming was that of a man no longer in control of his mind. When Fredrickson tried to take his temperature, Parker continued to jerk his head violently, saying “no” to someone who wasn’t present, spitting out the thermometer. Fredrickson stuck it under his armpit. “One hundred and six, Lieutenant,” Fredrickson said. “That’s outside the body. His brain is cooking.”

  Parker started crying, “I don’t want to die. Not here. Not here. I don’t want to die.”

  Cortell clasped his hands and prayed. “You believe in Jesus, Parker, I know you do,” he said. He poured water on the soaked field dressing that Fredrickson had placed on Parker’s forehead.

  Sheller arrived and looked into Parker’s eyes with a flashlight. “Challand over with Third Platoon’s got the exact same thing,” he said. “It’s nothing I ever seen. We don’t get them cooled down, though, they’ll die.” He looked up at Mellas. “We’ll get an emergency medevac this time for sure. The question is where.”

  Mellas’s mind raced. Here above the canyon they were in jungle with 200-foot trees, and the fog came right to the ground. The canyon had narrowed considerably since Parker’s first episode, but it had been clear of fog. I
t seemed the only choice. He remembered a wide spot just before Kendall took them off the river. He radioed Fitch.

  Ten minutes later Vancouver was leading the way down to the river. Parker and Challand, the kid from Kendall’s platoon, were both slung in ponchos. Parker kept moaning, so they stuffed part of his shirt in his mouth.

  Mellas and Vancouver emerged from the jungle onto the canyon rim, somewhat ahead of the rest. They were a good forty feet above the river. Mellas’s heart sank. Was the flat area upstream or down? He looked at his watch. Daylight in another hour. It had taken them two hours to make it to the river. He knew he was close, but what if he wasn’t? They could be trapped in the river in the dark and moving in the wrong direction. They’d lose both Parker and Challand. It was his call.

  He huddled over his map, hiding the dim red glow of his flashlight. The breeze made his back cold. He squinted into the dark, trying to identify any terrain feature that would help him make the right choice.

  There was a loud groan and a sound of falling rocks as the litter bearers emerged from the jungle. Jackson came up to him. “Doc says we got to cool Parker off quick, sir. Parker ain’t even making sense anymore.”

  “Get the rope,” Mellas said. “We’ll take him over the edge right here. I think we got to be close to the spot.”

  “Here?”

  “Here, goddamn it. Get some security set up behind us.”

  Jackson put Tilghman, Amarillo, Broyer, and Pollini in an arc behind them to serve as a human trip wire against any NVA who might have zeroed in on their noise. He looped the rope around a tree, and he and Mellas dangled both ends into the darkness of the canyon. Mellas pulled it back up, relieved to find both ends wet. That meant that the first rapeller would reach the bottom safely. It also meant that the river was right next to the cliff, so the wide spot wasn’t here.