“Frankly, he’s way out of his depth. Dimitri’s much happier when he’s on the high seas.”
“Well, you’ve only got a few more months before we’ll be demobbed, which will please everyone except the Tank.”
“Why? Doesn’t he want to go home?”
“No, he’s requested a transfer to the Marines, which I will happily support. He wants to stay in the military when his year is up. If he had your brain, he’d end up a general.”
“If we had to go into battle,” said Alex, “I’d rather have him by my side than any general.”
* * *
The platoon were on a routine patrol when the order came through. They only had seventeen days to serve before they would be shipped back to the States, having completed their tour of duty.
Lieutenant Lowell asked HQ to repeat the order before he put down the field phone and gathered his men around him. “There’s been a skirmish nearby. One of our patrols was ambushed, and we’ve been ordered to go and support them.”
“At last,” said the Tank. His comrades didn’t look quite so convinced. Like Alex, they had been ticking off the days.
“Three Huey helicopters are already on their way to the combat area with orders to evacuate the wounded and transport the dead back to HQ.” The word “dead” heightened Alex’s awareness that the 116th was about to take part in its first
serious mission.
The Tank was first on his feet, with Corporal Karpenko only a yard behind, while the rest of the platoon quickly formed a crocodile, with Private Baker bringing up the rear.
“No one speaks except me,” said Lowell as they entered no-man’s-land. “Even a cough could alert the enemy and put the whole unit in danger.”
For an hour they edged slowly and cautiously through the undergrowth and into enemy territory. Lieutenant Lowell checked his compass against the grid reference on his map every few minutes. Suddenly, the sound of gunfire made the map redundant. They fell to the ground and crawled on their bellies toward the battlefield.
Alex looked up to see the first of the three Hueys circling above, searching the dense tropical forest for a patch of flat ground on which they could land.
On, on they crept. Never in his life had Alex felt so alert. Even so, he couldn’t help wondering where he might be in an hour’s time. At least he no longer felt he’d wasted a year of his life.
He suddenly spotted the enemy about a hundred yards ahead of him. They hadn’t seen the approaching American platoon, because their attention was focused on the helicopter onto which the first of the wounded were being carried on stretchers by the medevac team, who were completely unaware that the Vietcong were hidden in the undergrowth only yards away from them.
Lowell raised his hand to indicate that the platoon should change direction, and circle the enemy. Each one of them knew that surprise was their best weapon. But as they edged closer and closer, Baker knelt on a fallen twig. It snapped, producing a noise that sounded like a firecracker. The soldier bringing up the rear of the Vietcong unit swung around and stared into Lowell’s eyes.
“K? thù!” he cried.
The lieutenant leaped to his feet and began firing his M16 as he charged toward the enemy, with the rest of his unit following closely behind. Almost half the Vietcong were killed before they could return fire, but the lieutenant was hit, and fell face down in the marshy swamp. Alex immediately took his place, with the Tank by his side.
The battle, if that’s how you could describe it, only lasted for a few minutes, and the Vietcong unit had been wiped out by the time the first helicopter rose slowly into the air and headed back to base. The second was still hovering overhead, waiting to take its place.
Alex remembered his hours of training. First, make sure the enemy are no longer a threat. He and the Tank checked the sixteen bodies. Fifteen were dead, but one lay writhing in agony, blood pouring from his mouth and stomach, aware that death was only moments away. Alex remembered the second order; he raised his gun and pointed it directly at the young man’s forehead, but although it might have been described in the handbook as a mercy killing, he couldn’t pull the trigger.
The third order was to check your own men, and evacuate the wounded, followed by the dead, who must be returned to their homeland and buried with full honors, not left to rot on a foreign field. And then the final order. The officer in command and any non-commissioned officers must be the last to leave the battlefield.
Alex left the dying North Vietnamese soldier and rushed to Lowell’s side. The lieutenant was unconscious. Alex checked his pulse, a faint beat. The Tank lifted him gently onto his shoulder and carried him through the undergrowth to the waiting helicopter, before coming back to assist the walking wounded to safety. When he returned to the scene of the battle, he found Alex kneeling over the bodies of Baker and Boyle. They were the last to be placed aboard the second helicopter before it rose into the air.
The rest of the unit struggled up the hill toward a small open space as the third helicopter came in to land. Alex waited until everyone was on board, before he turned around to make a final check of the battlefield.
That was when he saw him. Somehow the one surviving Vietcong had managed to haul himself onto his knees and was aiming his rifle directly at Alex.
The Tank leaped off the helicopter and ran down the hill toward him, firing at the same time. Alex could only watch as the lone Vietcong soldier was jolted backward, a full clip of bullets hitting him, but he still managed to pull the trigger once.
As if he was watching in slow motion, Alex saw the Tank fall to his knees and collapse on the ground next to the dead Vietcong soldier. Moments later Alex was bending over his friend. “No!” he screamed. “No, no, no!”
It took four men to carry the lifeless body back up the hill and place it inside the third helicopter. Alex was the last to climb on board and felt ashamed that he had allowed his closest friend to die.
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