Force Crombez, remember it well. Cold enough to freeze brass balls off a monkey; damn, it was cold. That’s the one good thing ‘bout this war, Six. Don’t have to worry about freezing your nuts off.”
I nodded.
“Anyway, went into Korea as a corporal and came out of it with two rockers—one of which I was allowed to keep. By then, there’s no question of getting out. Goddamn Army was in my blood, know what I mean?”
And I nodded again.
“There’ll be some of these kids, these men, come out of this thing the same way. None of ’em might believe it right now. Probably tell you you’re out of your goddamn mind if you even suggest such a thing. But there’s some of ’em who’ll stay in and others who’ll go back on the farm, or on the street, or wherever, and suddenly find they’re bored as hell. Find themselves missing a little bit of everything they’re cursing right now. And sooner or later, they’ll find their way back in.”
“Suppose you’re right.”
“And them that don’t, with very rare exception, will harbor few regrets for having been here—although again, they’d tell you you’re out of your goddamn mind if you suggested such a thing tonight.”
He paused as if in thought, then said, “Don’t know why that is. Way of war, I guess. Or maybe it’s because very damn few of our soldiers, of us, will ever again do anything as… uh… as big in life as we’re doing right now. Am I making any sense, sir?”
“Yeah, you are, Top. And you said it better than I ever could.”
He smiled and let his thoughts drift for a moment. I did the same.
“Think the truce will hold, Six?” he asked, opening the second of our two beers and passing one of them to me.
“Like I told Halloway, Top, it beats the shit outa me. But, yes, I think it’ll stick. North seems to want it; least that’s what the papers say. Christmas truce held up pretty well. You know, couple flare-ups here and there, but guess that’s to be expected.”
“Well, hope you’re right. Snuffie could use a little downtime. ‘Course, like I said at our parley, difference ‘tween offensive and defensive humping is goddamn little.”
Darkness had fallen, which meant we could no longer smoke openly, and neither of us could enjoy what remained of our second beer without an occasional drag on a cigarette. Putting his head under a poncho, Sergeant Sullivan lit two cigarettes, and then, cupping them closely, we continued our conversation.
“Dirty filthy habit,” he said. “Ought to give ’em up. And by God I will! I’ll give ’em up ‘fore I do ROTC duty. Don’t want them cadets influenced the wrong way.”
“Shit, we ought to both give ’em up, Top. ROTC duty aside, it’d make the hump here on the plain easier. ‘Course, if we quit tomorrow, might catch an AK-47 round through a healthy lung next week, huh?”
He smiled. “Yeah, you’re right. Wait till this thing’s over. Then we’ll both give ’em up the day we hit the good old U.S. of A. Okay, Six?”
“Okay, Top.”
“Shake?”
We did.
And again there was a lull in our conversation as each of us, I suppose, tried to think of other things to talk about. Because this evening discourse was important, refreshing. Neither of us could talk to others in the company quite as candidly as we talked to each other. We were both somewhat distanced from the others, he as the company’s senior NCO and me as its commander.
“You hear about Cooper?” he asked, suddenly.
“Our sergeant major? No.”
“Got himself a direct commission—to captain! Getting himself a company in the mech battalion. You believe that, Six?”
“Well, shit, I’m happy as hell to hear it. You know, Top, he said he was gonna do it, back there at An Khe. Don’t think any of us took him seriously at the time. Uh… he’s younger than you, isn’t he?”
“Sure, Couldn’t have got a commission if he weren’t. But see, I’m having more fun than he is. Least I was ‘fore he got a company. But he’ll make a good commander. Jess is a soldier’s soldier.”
And so are you, First Sergeant, I thought to myself. You could take a company right now without missing a beat.
“And he’s worked with me before,” he continued, “back in the late fifties, in Germany. He’ll do well.”
We sat in silence for several minutes before I asked, “Anything happening on the admin side I ought to know about?”
“Naw, just routine. Gonna have to get Young in 1st Platoon in to English for some emergency dental work, got a tooth that went bad on him. Smathers, also in 1st Platoon, is complaining of dizzy spells. Doc Heard says we don’t have no choice but to send him in for a looksee. I’ll have both of ’em on the morning log bird. Burke, Three Six, signed his extension papers this evening and is catching hell from the rest of the platoon, none of whom think he’s quite sane. But he wants to be a door gunner, so we’ll probably be losing him ‘fore too long. Uh… let’s see, anything else? Oh, yeah, Sweet Willie’s Pfc stripe came down. Shit, Six, we ought to have a little ceremony.”
Suddenly we heard a faint fusillade of small-arms fire somewhere in the distance.
“Probably a bunch of the little people celebrating Tet,” the Bull remarked, then a bit moodily, “wish I was somewhere celebrating something, anything.”
“Well, when this thing’s over we’ll do that very thing, Top.”
Brightening, he said, “Goddamn right we will, Six! When we get back to the States, the two of us, just the two of us, will get us a bottle of Rebel Yell and sit down in the sand someplace and get drunk as skunks, okay?”
“It’s a promise, Top.”
But we wouldn’t. We’d never see each other again—which I suppose is also the way of war.
17. First Day of the Tet Offensive: 30 January
“Arizona Three, this is Comanche Six. Over.”
“This is Arizona Base. Go.”
Go? Where did this guy learn his radio procedure? Been talking to too many helicopter pilots.
“This is Comanche, Roger. We had an enemy probe of our November Delta Papa. Burst of automatic- weapons fire about zero five ago. I’ve got one lightly wounded. Do not, I say again, do not require medevac before first light. Request dust off at that time. How copy? Over.”
“Roger, Comanche. Solid copy. Uh. dust off at first light… break. Be advised we’re under attack at this location. Out!”
Well, that’s a switch! Hell of a way to start a truce—shooting at us in our NDP and then attacking what had always been a sacred refuge for us boonie rats—battalion headquarters.
The Bull, having just returned from One Six’s piece of the perimeter, informed me our injured soldier had indeed suffered only a minor, somewhat embarrassing, flesh wound to his buttock, one that required little more than a Band-Aid.
“It’s not a good wound, Six,” he said. “Certainly not good enough to return him Stateside. Fact, I’ll bet it gets him no farther than the battalion aid station. Probably be back out here on the evening log bird.”
He paused for a moment and then said, “On the other hand, hope it ain’t a bad omen. You know, we haven’t had a single soul so much as scratched since leaving the bridge. Hell, we ain’t even ever been fired on in our NDP!”
“Yeah, we’ve been lucky. Just glad the young stud’s okay. And I don’t believe in omens, Top.”
He nodded, smiling.
“But you know, Top, it was sort of strange the way they hit us here tonight. As if they were just passing by and decided to throw something our way—almost like an afterthought. What do you make of it?”
“Beats the hell out of me, Six.” Then, grinning and looking at his watch, he said, “But it was a hell of a short truce, wasn’t it. Must have lasted all of seven or eight hours. And shit, don’t think I’ve ever heard more red leg
