He shrugged his shoulders and changed the subject.
“Well, what’s the plan for tomorrow, Six? How we gonna attack the ville?”
“We’re gonna do it like Benning taught us, First Sergeant, two up and one back: One Six on the left, Two Six on the right, and Three Six following. Way I see it—and by the way, I’ve already passed this on to our platoon leaders during the perimeter walk—Three Six will conduct the air assault. Then we’ll bring One Six and Two Six in on the hooks.
They’ll move off the LZ toward Thon Can Nhi, we’ll follow right behind them with Four Six, and then Three Six will fold in behind us. Inasmuch as you are the company air-movement officer, Top, how ‘bout whipping up a quick air-assault order ‘long those lines and getting it down to the platoons?”
He smiled at me and said, “Sir, it’s time you knew.”
I looked at him, perplexed.
“Think about it, Six. if you’ve already told Three Six they’re on the slicks, you’ve given your air-assault order. I mean, if they’re not the assault element, One Six and Two Six know they take the hooks. Platoon sergeants know how to get their people on the helicopters and know what their people have to do when they land. Four Six knows they always board the hooks, as do Willie, Doc Heard, and I. Andy, Blair, and our cannon cocker know they always accompany you on the slicks.
“And, Six, that’s the fucking company air-movement order!”
Sonofabitch! He’s right.
“Ah, Top,” I said, laughing, “at last I understand what you meant that first day when you said air-movement officer was the least taxing of your responsibilities.”
“Absolutely!” he said, smiling broadly. “God almighty, sir, I still can’t believe all that plastic you went through on the bridge just to tell us how to get on helicopters. I mean, stick orders, ACL, crossloading, contingencies en route, air density! I said to myself, Benning’s done warped this young captain’s mind.”
We were both laughing now.
“I mean this is the Cav, Six! Those helicopters are our horses, and any good trooper knows how to mount his fucking horse without a five-paragraph field order telling him where to find the stirrups!”
“I know, Top, I know,” I said, wiping at my eyes. “Thought at the time it was the best goddamn air-assault order ever written! Thought You all were screwed up for not recognizing it as such.”
Regaining my composure, I said, “Shit, Top, the bridge seems like a hundred years ago, huh?”
“Yeah, know what you mean. But actually, it don’t seem that long to me.
See, you’re still counting backwards, while I’m counting for ward.”
“That’s right, isn’t it. How long now before you start teaching others how to make war? Two more months?”
“Sixty-three days and a wake-up. Got my countdown figured just as close as any other snuffie.”
As we sat there in the mud with our ponchos about our shoulders me on my upturned helmet and the Bull atop an empty mermite, conversing idly, Dubray approached us—coffee in hand.
“Got here what’s the last of the fresh brewed, Top, sir,” he said, handing us the still-luke-warm coffee. “Heared you laughing. Wondered what’s funny.”
“Ah, Willie,” the Bull responded, “we were merely discussing the many facets of airmobile tactics. Far above you, I’m afraid, but many thanks for the java.”
Java! Who but the Bull would still refer to coffee as java? I thought, amused. He’s sitting here in Quang Trios mud while this miserable drizzle forms little rivulets of water on his poncho, but he would have been just as much at home in the mud of France nearly a quarter of a century ago. I sensed that Willie felt mildly rejected by Sergeant Sullivan’s somewhat callous remark. Then, suddenly brightening, he blurted out,
“Hey, Top, guy on the log bird, he say the Seventh got back their dead what they buried in the boonies!”
“What dead in the boonies?” the Bull asked. “What are you talking about, Willie?”
“Uh… don’t rightly know everything ‘bout it. Say something ‘bout burying ’em in the field after a big firefight, and the Man, he makes ’em go back and get ’em… or something.”
“You know anything about this, sir?” Sullivan asked, turning to me.
“Not much,” I responded, trying to recall what little I’d heard. “But, Willie, I think you, or maybe your friend on the log bird, might be a bit confused on when all this took place. A week or more ago—think it was the night ‘fore we left Evans—I was up at the TOC when the commanding general announced the Cav was approaching the west wall of the Citadel, severing the enemy’s supply lines into Hue. Anyway, same time, during the course of the evening brief, they mentioned that the Seventh had recovered their dead from a firefight a day or so before. As I understand it, they had no choice but to bury or leave several of their dead in the field, then go back and get ’em the next day. Hard choice, but shit, none of us here had to make it, and it probably saved lives. Any event, don’t think we should point fingers.”
“No, sir! Nothing like that,” the Bull said. “Mean, could’ve just as easily been us. And there ain’t no outfit in the division what’s kicked Charlie’s ass any harder than the Seventh. But every now and then, they just wade into something like this. I mean all the way back to LZ X-Ray in the la Drang. Must be the ghost of the Little Big Horn looking over their shoulders.”
“What’s a little big horn, Top?” Willie asked.
“Ah, Willie, I’m afraid that too is far above your head, but thanks for the java.”
As Sweet Willie Dubray walked off into the darkness, the Bull commented,
“Hate to hear that ‘bout the Seventh. Losing too many of our people in this war, too many of our NCOS. Good NCOS, irreplaceable NCOS, goddamn it!”
Uh oh! Here we go again on the NCO thing.
“I tell you, Six, we can’t keep fighting this fucking war alone!
Peacetime Army ain’t supposed to fight a war by itself! Mark my words, we’re gonna wake up one of these days and find we got all of those soldiers and officers out there, but no one left to teach either of ’em a fucking thing. Oh, we’ll have a bunch of people walking ‘round with stripes on their sleeves, but the old hard-core professionals will be gone. I mean, damn it, you just don’t produce an NCO overnight!”
“Well, that may be true, Top—shit, probably is—but if the powers that be are correct, we’ve turned the corner, and this thing’s gonna be history pretty soon; so we’re gonna save our NCO corps.”
“Yeah, perhaps so, if indeed victory’s now at hand. But you know how I feel about that. I’m telling you, Six, this thing’s turning sour! And what if it goes on another two, three years, huh?”
“Well, in that case, we’ll just have to keep on.”
“No, sir! Can’t just keep on for another two or three years by ourselves! The Army—the infantry—‘cause it’s all over here now, will turn itself inside out. You’ll take the best goddamn Army the country ever fielded and turn it fucking inside out!”
Not knowing how to respond, I said nothing, hoping he might change our conversation’s course. He didn’t.
“Hell, you know how long it takes to grow a good NCO, Six. You used to wear stripes, right?”
“Right, Top.”
“Served in the 82d Airplane Division, right?”
“Right, Top.”
“Right! ‘Course I never cared much for anything airborne, never understood why anybody would want to jump out of an airplane—just never made any sense to me. But the 82d’s a good outfit, and their NCO’s are sharp! Worked with one of their battle groups ten, twelve years ago down in Panama and never seen sharper sergeants. I mean you could ID ’em as NCO’s even if they weren’t wearing stripes.
“But the point is, Six, if this war goes on another two, three years, the fucking 82d ‘Airplane’ is gonna be ‘bout the only infantry division left with its NCO corps intact, ‘cause its ‘bout the only walking infantry that ain’t yet over here! Right?”
Oh, to hell with this. We’ve got to get some sleep.
“Top, you’re probably right, though I honestly think you’re overly concerned about it. But whether you’re right or not, it just doesn’t matter, ‘cause there’s nothing you or I can do about it. I mean, like they say, ‘Ours is not to reason why, ours is but to take Thon Can Nhi.’ In the morning, early in the morning.”
Grinning, he said, “Yeah, guess you’re right, Six. See you at first light.”
