Another Day at the Office

Beanball was really depressed, almost totally wiped-out. Yesterday he had a letter from home, the first in several weeks. It was his very own Dear John letter. Kathy had for some perverse reason sent along a Polaroid snapshot of herself, hand in hand, with a longhaired hippy at a demonstration. He couldn’t help remembering the night before he shipped out when Kathy had lain-back on rumpled sheets and sworn everlasting love.

Beanball readjusted his boony-hat and wiped away the salt sweat running down his forehead. Everything was damp. His shirt had large circles of sweat under each arm, and his socks would need to be changed again soon. Bill was wearing his third pair of boots since coming in country. The mold had destroyed the first two pair had nearly done its evil work on the current pair.

The squad had been out in the bush for six hours, and wouldn’t be return to the firebase for at least another six. The goddamned sergeant was a lifer who never let up. It was Beanball’s biggest complaint. More reasonable men led other squads. They might go outside the perimeter and only advance a few clicks before finding a nice safe spot to settle. Harry the Horse though just had to go looking for trouble. Sometimes he would take the squad out for two days deep into Indian Country. Others squads ate and drank as they pleased, but The Horse made his squad eat only native foods so they would smell the same as the enemy. Beanball was so tired of rice he swore never to eat it again if he got safely back to the World.

The squad was set up in a classic “L” ambush pattern for only an hour, but it seemed more like twelve. Though Beanball had good night vision, there was little to see within the forest. After awhile the shadows began to suggest forms, and the squad’s imagination would turn every shadow into Charlie. Nothing moved. There wasn't even a little breeze to help evaporate the sweat from the squad’s uniforms. The jungle was silent except for the beating of the men’s hearts. They lay half covered in the leaves and debris along the trail selected by The Horse for their ambush. They could smell the rotten foliage, and a stinking little stream running down hill in back of their layout.

The silence was broken when the claymore exploded. Then the M-60 started chopping away down the trail. It must have been an effective surprise because it took a long time before the AK’s began to answer the squad’s fire. The sound of the firefight covered the screams of the wounded. Beanball was firing steadily, but had only strobe-like muzzle flashes to aim at. Someone lofted a grenade down into the kill-zone, and the firing began to wane. The squad stopped firing and lay silent on their weapons. Sometimes The Horse would make them wait for half an hour before going out to get a body count. Beanball waited, mentally cursing The Horse.

Finally, the clicking of The Horse’s cricket signaled permission to carefully checkout the kill-zone. This was the most dangerous part of the mission. Beanball crawled through the mud until he could see the twisted body of the enemy sprawled along the trail. From his point of view, Beanball could make out three unmoving small figures. They were dressed in uniform, so they must have been NVA instead of Cong. Beanball waited for the next step, and there came another click from the darkness. Beanball squeezed off two rounds into each of the bodies he could see. He could hear the rest of the squad firing their insurance rounds. The jungle became silent again for a little while, then the squad was ordered down to the trail by another click.

Beanball’s teeth were chattering as he searched the bodies, and began to move up the trail to rejoin the rest of the squad. Now maybe The Horse would let them go home. The squad was grouping up around the sergeant. That probably meant they would get chewed out during debrief, but there was a powerful need to be close together just after a firefight. Had anyone been hit? Tonight it appeared everyone was O.K., and the squad began to file away into the darkness in the direction of the firebase. Beanball’s heart was still pounding when the AK’s began sweeping through the squad’s file.

Everyone fell to the ground, and someone was screaming. A hand grenade rolled out of the darkness and exploded. Beanball could feel the shrapnel cut the air around him. The Squad recovered quickly and began to deliver effective fire back into the darkness. They inched back toward one another closing the intervals, and forming a defensive circle. It was clear the squad had taken casualties, but would have to wait. The squad kept firing long after the enemy’s fire stopped. Again they waited and the hours stretched off into eternity. The darkness began to fade.

Dawn light in the jungle is diffuse, and it seems much longer for day to displace night. When your body’s adrenalin levels still haven’t returned to normal after a fight, time remains strange. For some the time passed in a heartbeat, for others years passed with each sweep of the second hand. Beanball was numb, and began to wish he had some decent grass to help him down from the excitement. He heard a soft rustling in the tall grass, and noticed for the first time they were on the edge of the jungle. They lay just outside the cleared fire zones surrounded the firebase – home.

The Horse was checking his men. “Beanball. Are you all right?”

“I think so, Sarg. A little numb. I think I may have twisted something back there when they hit us.”

“You idiot. You’ve been shot. Just lay still until I get Doc up here.”

Shot! Beanball looked down and finally it dawned on him it was blood, and not sweat making his pants so wet. The leg was numb, but it hadn’t started really hurting yet. “Shock. It must be shock. Oh shit. Oh Momma, don’t let it be bad.” Then Beanball fainted.

When Beanball woke up he found himself lying on a stretcher beside the chopper LZ. In the distance he could hear the Whup, Whup of Medivac. “Easy, Beanball. Easy.” It was Doc. “You’ve got a million dollar wound, kid. You’re going to Japan and maybe even back to the World.”