Special Note: Lyrics in this chapter adapted from "Sittin’ on the Dock of the Bay" sung by Otis Redding in 1967, original lyrics by Otis Redding and Steve Cropper, and from "These Arms of Mine" by Otis Redding.
Special Note 2: Thanks to everyone who gave advice on football -- Kat and Hannibalsbabe and Hill, if I remember right... (and please speak up if I don't... and please speak up if I got it wrong in the story, despite your careful explanations...)
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Part Six: A Matter of Trust, Piece 2
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Ray tossed his helmet up in the air and caught it over and over again, while BA messed with the radio. There was nothing really wrong with the PRC-25. Mostly BA just needed something to mess with instead of just sitting there. Just waiting.
Murdock sat on his bunk and watched Ray toss his helmet. Ray had picked the helmet up over at the base in Phu Bai. The previous owner, who wouldn’t be needing it anymore, had written "Wet Birds Don’t Fly At Night" in a firm hand across the back of it, and Murdock was trying to figure out what he might have meant by that as the helmet turned over and over. The "Wet Birds" part was mostly covered over by the compress bandage and condoms Ray had stuck in his helmet band. To Murdock, this seemed all the more ominous. "Don’t Fly At Night." "Don’t Fly At Night." "Don’t Fly At Night." He was glad it was morning.
Hannibal pushed in through the door of the hutch, grinning around an unlit cigar. "’Kay, guys, lets load it up." He paused. Looked around. Looked at Murdock. "Where’s Face?"
Murdock groaned silently. Why not give him an easy assignment. Like digging latrines for all of 2nd Division. No, he had to look after the kid. "Er…"
Face pushed through the door behind Hannibal.
Face grinned at Murdock and tossed him some candy bars and a couple packs of Marlboros. Then he went over to BA and Ray and dumped out the extra pack he’d been carrying. Pop up flares. Frags. A couple smoke and tear gas grenades. A couple dozen little cans of peaches in heavy syrup.
BA and Ray started picking through the stuff Face had brought. Face looked up at Hannibal and grinned.
"You about ready, Lieutenant?" Hannibal asked. But he was grinning back at Face.
Murdock brushed the hair out of his eyes, put his helmet on, and stood up.
BA helped Ray hoist the radio up on his shoulders and Ray helped BA adjust the 60. Ammo for the big machine gun criss-crossed BA’s barrel chest, and he looked even more fierce than usual.
They all grabbed their packs and followed Hannibal out the door.
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Face fell into step beside Hannibal as they walked toward the airfield. Murdock moved a few steps behind. "
…talked to Frank this morning, and he said it’s pretty hot up there still."
Hannibal looked over at Face appraisingly. "They said they burned out the North Forest pretty good last week."
"That was last week. Couple choppers bought it yesterday coming through the valley."
Hannibal nodded. He patted Face on the shoulder, then moved ahead a little and caught up with BA and Ray. Murdock fell into step with Face.
They walked along together companionably for awhile.
The sun was out. It wasn’t real warm yet, but after all the rain they’d been getting, everybody was out on the base, guys sitting, smoking, guys roughhousing outside the showers, guys drinking coffee and talking by the comm bunker.
Somebody’d commandeered a radio and set it up outside the mess hall. ARVN was playing "Sittin’ on the Dock of the Bay," and the volume was all the way up. A bunch of newbies were throwing a football back and forth.
One of the guys spotted Face, and tossed the ball over. "Hey, Peck! Where’s my stuff?"
Face caught the football and chucked it back. "Next Wednesday. Coming in with the nurses."
There were a couple "hallelujahs" and "amens" and somebody said, "fresh meat, man" and somebody else said, "gotta get me somma that."
One of the grunts, a tall, skinny guy with pimples who looked about as young as Face, reached over and turned down the radio.
The music stopped, but Murdock kept singing, pure Otis Redding, throaty and smooth at the same time.
Face turned to Murdock, and Murdock waggled his eyebrows at him and sang, "...sittin’ here restin’ my bones, and this loneliness won’t leave me alone." Face smiled at him oddly, and Murdock kept on, softer now, more personal. "Ten thousand miles I roam, just to make this war my home...."
Murdock broke off singing when BA gave him a shove. "Shu’up, fool. ‘Nuf I gotta be here. Don’t gotta listen to you."
Face grabbed Murdock’s arm. Steadied him. Looked at him.
"Hey, Lieutenant Faceman!" the skinny grunt called out. "Hey, how ‘bout some a them pictures like you got Marty?"
Face pulled his gaze away. Shouted, "Can’t do it, Stras. Corrupting a minor’s illegal over here."
"Oh, man. It’s okay for me to shoot gooks but y’all won’t give me no dirty pictures?"
Somebody tossed Strasburg the ball, and he fumbled it, caught it, then threw a wobbly pass back in Face’s direction.
Ray ran back and intercepted the ball, then tossed it up a couple times like he had his helmet. Wet Birds Don’t Fly at Night. Some of the guys back by the mess tent hollered at him to give back the ball.
Ray threw it up again and Face grabbed for it. But Ray shouldered him out of the way. "You’re too small to play football, Faceman," Ray said, turning the ball over in his hands. "Better leave that to me and BA."
They faced off a moment, chin to chin.
"Some of us rely more on finesse than size," Face said. His eyes were hard and cold.
Murdock rolled his eyes.
"And I’m not that small, asshole," Face added.
Hannibal looked back at them. "Cool it, Ray."
Ray muttered under his breath, then made a long pass that just missed some guys carrying their trays out of the mess. Somebody hollered.
Murdock moved up by Face’s shoulder again, lighting up a cigarette. "That what you mean by finesse?"
Face grimaced. Adjusted his pack a little as they passed the ordinance shed.
"So you were a football player, huh?"
The kid nodded.
"Running back?"
"I didn’t play defense."
"Could have fooled me."
Face gave him an odd look. Again. "I’m really good at running, that’s all." Murdock nodded. Smiled. Why didn’t that surprise him?
Face reached over, suddenly, and took the cigarette out of Murdock’s hand. Looked at him. Raised the cigarette to his lips.
Murdock watched as he pulled in smoke, paused, then let it drift out from between his moist, slightly parted lips.
Fuck he was good. Murdock could feel a flush in his cheeks that had nothing to do with the sun. He wanted to lick his own lips, move in closer, but he didn’t, forced himself to look away.
Every time Murdock started getting close to the kid, every time he read him, Face did something to deflect his attention. Cracked a joke. Redirected the conversation. Asked a question. Flirted.
Was that all it was? Murdock getting too close, and the kid seeing his weak spot... playing on it...
"These arms of mine, they are burning, burning from wanting you. These arms of mine, they are wanting, wanting to hold you..." The words floated through the air behind them as they continued on toward the LZ, floated through Murdock’s head.
Otis, you know me too well, Murdock thought.
"And if you would let them hold you, oh how grateful I will be..."
Murdock sighed. And walked a little faster. Tried to leave the words behind. Music always sounded like advice to him, especially when it was Otis. (But what kind of advice was that?)
Murdock’s grandpa hadn’t been much of one for advice. Murdock’s grandpa had sent him off to Vietnam with a ten dollar bill (to be kept in his wallet in case of emergency) and the words "Don’t back up any farther than you have to." Which at first, Murdock thought was about driving, but now he figured could have more tactical implications. Philosophical implications. Stuff Grandpa said was like that. Stuff Otis said was just trouble.
They finally got to the airfield, and Murdock took over, organizing their transportation. They were flying over to Air Base Lucille and hiking in from there. Murdock got them a Huey and by 0920 they were in the air.
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The Colonel liked to ride shotgun and Ray liked to run the gun. Everybody else grabbed on and hunkered down.
Nobody paid them much mind at Lucille, when they got there. Lucille was right on the edge of the action, and had her own problems.
The five men just adjusted their packs, put on their helmets, and melted into the jungle.
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They walked for a long time. Maybe five hours.
Hannibal took point sometimes, ‘cause he liked it. But mostly BA led their way through the dappled jungle dark, moving with surprising grace and care. His eyes were on the trail and on the green and in the air and back again. Looking for snipers and ambushes and punji pits. Mines, bombs, threads. Everything could kill you here, and that made everybody tired. Tired and wired. Everything was funny and terrible at the same time. Sometimes somebody would die and you’d laugh because when the bullets hit, his hand went up, his left hand, like he was waving goodbye. Then you’d lose it over somebody else and not even know their name. Funny and terrible. Terrible and funny.
Ray watched BA’s back. They were buddies. They’d gotten in some kind of trouble together, Murdock didn’t know what exactly. Something to do with bathtub gin and the maintenance shed. A ’52 Edsel. They were pretty much together all the time. Hell with anybody else.
Murdock and Face brought up the rear. Hannibal had grinned at the two of them, he had this dangerous way of grinning, and told Murdock to watch Face’s back.
You could probably see Face stiffen from Okinawa. What was Hannibal trying to do? Murdock couldn’t figure out his plan, here. He would shove the two of them together, then say something like that, make Face all nervous again.
But everything seemed to push some button with the kid. You couldn’t give him a cup of coffee without him stuttering and glaring and making sure you got three things back for it by the end of the day.
He was better if you just ignored him. Then he’d be all over the place, bantering back and forth with a cool grin with nurses, holding your light, talking with some of the newbies, telling them stories, chilling them out.
"You don’t have to," Face said as he and Murdock followed Hannibal up a thin piece of trail.
"Don’t have to what?"
"Watch my back."
Murdock rolled his eyes. "Ain’t the way it works aroun’ here, muchacho."
"I can watch my own back."
"Then how come it got all smashed up?"
The kid clammed up, then, pressing his lips together. Watching.
He did a lot of watching. He’d work on something, to keep you from noticing. A beer, a blonde. Polishing his already impeccably clean jungle boots. Running a deck of cards through his fingers in a comfortable shuffle, moving easily along the trail. But his attention never wavered much from him and BA and Ray and Hannibal. Like he was studying them out, trying to make sense of them.
He would listen to BA and Ray talk back and forth. He watched Hannibal like a hawk, like maybe he was trying to memorize how he picked his bottle of beer up off the bar, how he walked when he was pissed off, that little swagger, how he rested his hand on Murdock’s shoulder once in awhile when the two of them were talking.
He’d watch Murdock even more. Not ever getting too close, never touching, even the smacks and punches and grab-ass that most everybody played at a little.
Sometimes it pissed Murdock off, all that watching. But mostly he liked it.
He’d been pretty lonesome so far, as part of the team. Group. Whatever. He knew why he’d been left behind when BA and Ray took off places before, why he hadn’t rated talking to. He’d been the cherry and everybody knew it was the cherry that got popped when it all came down.
He knew why BA and Ray didn’t exclude him now. Not really. Face was the cherry now. If anybody was going to die, it was going to be him.
But it was tough for Murdock to reconcile himself to being on the inside. He felt like he was in the middle, trying to hold everything together. He could let go of the kid and maybe BA and Ray would take him in a little. Hannibal had said to look out for Face, but it wasn’t really an order. He found, though, that he really didn’t want to leave the kid out in the cold. He didn’t know anything about him. (I’m really good at running, that’s all.) Almost nothing. He was a pretty boy, a conman. He pissed Murdock off on a regular basis without even trying. He used flirting like somebody else would use an AK-47. But Murdock liked that the kid was watching him, looking to him. He liked the kid, period.
He really liked the kid.
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The Colonel called a halt as the sun started setting through the trees, and they dug in. He told Ray that he’d be taking first watch, and told Murdock and Face to share a foxhole under the shelter of a fallen log on one side of their little camp.
Neither of them said anything to that. Just started digging, trying to keep out of each other’s way. A little hard when you’re digging out the same foxhole.
Murdock tried to shake loose the tension that was creeping up his arms, up into his neck. He hadn’t had a cigarette in nine hours. Nine hours, seventeen minutes. That was the trouble with this ground shit. When he was in the air, he could chain smoke all he wanted. He’d flown twenty-six hours straight one time, when things were pretty bad down in Phu Bai. Taking out casualties, taking in replacements. Coming back for the replacements when they became casualties. Smoking his way back and forth, falling out of his chopper when they finally made him take off for awhile. Couldn’t sleep, just laid there, smoking.
The Colonel wouldn’t let them smoke in the green. Period. Light draws fire, and everybody knew about somebody who’d bought it that way.
The sun ducked down beneath the horizon just as they sat down to eat. Murdock let out a howl, tipping his head back and letting the tension flow out through his throat.
When he lowered his head, Ray and BA were glaring at him. Face was looking at him. Hannibal handed him a tin of peaches.
"There are no wolves in Vietnam, Murdock," he said.
He nodded. "Roger, Colonel."
No smoking and no howling.
He finished off the peaches and took out a candy bar.
The Colonel stowed his gear, then hunkered down in the center of their little circle. Mist was starting to rise up out of the ground around them, and it felt like they were isolated there in the near dark.
"There’s a camp twenty-three klicks from our position," Hannibal said. He spread a map out in front of him. "We’ve got a report that maybe a dozen men are being held there. A dozen VC keeping the camp. We’re going to get them out."
The Colonel took a cigar out of his pocket, smelled it, then stuck it, unlit, into his mouth. "We should get there before nightfall tomorrow, by 1800 hours. Go in quiet, then move in fast."
Hannibal folded the map and tucked it away, then drew with his finger in the damp, red earth. "This is the layout." He looked at BA. "You and Ray will plant the sixty over on this side and run cover while I come in the center and Face and Murdock come in on the right."
Murdock made a little noise in his throat. Hannibal’s plans always sounded logical, but...
The Colonel looked over at Murdock, then clapped him on the shoulder, smiling. "It’ll be a piece of cake, Captain."
"Ain’t no cake here," BA muttered. Hannibal ignored him.
"Once we’ve got the prisoners, we’ll move out fast. There’s a footbridge over the Song Toh River just two klicks west of the camp. VC have been using it to transport weapons and supplies, and we’ll take that out once we’re over. Secondary objective." Hannibal smoothed his hand over the map he’d drawn, and it disappeared back into dirt. "Any questions?"
Murdock took off his helmet and scratched his head. "We got any more peaches?"
Hannibal grinned, and Ray chucked a can at him. "We’re going to try to make it back on foot. There’s not much room for bringing a chopper into the area. But if there are too many guys who need carrying, we can radio in."
He looked at each of them in turn, assessing. Murdock tried to look steady. God he needed a cigarette.
"Get some sleep. Ray’s got first watch, then BA, Face, Murdock. I’ll take last watch. We’ll move at sunrise."
Everybody settled in. Murdock and Face both sat up against the log, dangling their feet into their foxhole. Murdock ripped open another chocolate bar so he’d have something to do with his hands, but then he didn’t want it. He just held it, feeling it soften between his fingers.
He finally looked at the kid. Face had his head tilted back and was staring up at the sky, through the canopy of trees that leaned over them. Murdock shivered a little. It was getting cold.
"Loggers use chewing tobacco. While they’re working, I mean," Face said softly. "They can’t smoke in the woods either." He wrinkled his nose a little. "Chewing tobacco isn’t very attractive, though."
"How’d you know?"
"You’re hurting? You don’t hide things very well."
"I never had to." Murdock eased his head back onto the log behind him. Stared up at the stars. Wondered what else he was giving away. Jeez, giving stuff away, refusing to take anything... he was going to destroy the kid’s whole sense of world commerce. "I was pretty much alone most of the time, growing up."
"Raised by wolves? That would explain a lot about the whole howling thing…"
Murdock chuckled.
"What’s Texas like?" Face asked.
"Smooth big wide open, just like the sky. ‘Cept green. Well, kind of green brown. And you can’t breathe it." He was quiet a moment. "What’s California like? I been places, but never California."
"California’s warm. Nice and warm and dry. That’s the only thing I miss. Here it’s always hot and sticky or cold and damp. I hate being cold."
"You got more blankies on your bunk than anybody I ever saw."
"Doesn’t help. I’m still cold."
Suddenly, in his mind, Murdock was pressing his body against the kid’s in their cozy little foxhole, wrapping his arms around him, holding him close. Keeping him warm. Warm.
His face felt flushed, and he turned away.
He wondered, sometimes, if other people saw things in their heads like he did. Clear.
He’d always seen things that way, like you see sparkly rocks beneath a clean stream. But after being in ‘Nam for awhile (No, not just being here. After seeing what you’ve seen. After doing what you did. {fire, cold fire, puff the magic dragon} after what you did) they started coming unannounced.
Before, he’d lie on his back and stare up at the stars and let them come. Pretty visions on a starry night. Taking him away.
But now, sometimes, they’d take him away at odd moments. Just flashes, but not pretty anymore. Not always. (Fire.)
This one was pretty. Pretty and warm and lovey and sweet. But dangerous. He felt like the kid could either push him over into black night or save him. Dangerous. Putting all his chickens in one henhouse and waiting for the wolves dangerous.
When he looked over at Face, moonlight was glinting though the trees and making his hair kind of silver and shimmery. Face looked back at him.
"You got enough chocolate to make it through tomorrow?"
But that wasn’t what his eyes were saying. His eyes were saying I see right through you, man, where have you been, where’d they make you go, what did they make you do, put all that sadness in your eyes, you’re too sweet for this, not like me, not like me...
Murdock blinked, wondered, suddenly, if people who could both sign and speak could say two things at once, could weave one conversation in and around another one, text and subtext, truth and lies, then flip flop, who’s on top, say Guinevere, say daffodil, say moonlight on cold water. Give us a happy ending and take it away at the same time. What was real? Chocolate or that other sweetness?
"It’s all right," Face said, turning away, leaning down, rubbing at a smudge of dirt on his boots. "I won’t..."
"Gentlemen," a voice said out of the darkness, "’Get some sleep’ was not a friendly suggestion. I don’t make friendly suggestions."
"Yes, sir."
"Yes, Colonel."
Shit.
I won’t... what?
I won’t take advantage of the fact that I can read you like a book? (You don’t hide things very well.) I won’t kill you for liking me? (Women always like me.)
Not just women, muchacho.
I won’t tell anybody you’re strung out from needing a cig. I won’t cover for you, so you better pull yourself together. I won’t take any shit, so just keep your hands to yourself tonight.
The kid pressed a handful of chocolate bars into Murdock’s hands. Grinned a little.
Laid down into the foxhole’s cold embrace.
Murdock settled himself carefully behind Face, and pulled his poncho over his head, making a lonely green cocoon.
They slept with their boots on, just like cowboys.
You couldn’t think about love all the time. Even when there was another body so very close to yours. The war intruded on Murdock’s thoughts as the night wore on. A cigarette might have helped him settle, helped him sleep. But instead he thought about the camp they were going into the next day. The men who were being held there. (Push that thought away.) He’d seen some of the prisoners who’d escaped from camps, or got rescued. He’d seen how they looked. He thought about if he’d do okay the next day, then thought yeah, he would. You had to think that, so he did. He tried not to think about the fact that "doing okay" would mean killing some people. Some more people. He already had too many dead people in his head. He tried to think about love again. Carefully, carefully he reached out his hand until his fingers touched the kid’s flack jacket. He slept.