IN THE COMPANY OF DEMONS

What struck me the most of my service in Vietnam, during 1967 and 1968, was that nothing was ever what I thought it would be. There was always some evil rising from the blood-soaked earth to threaten our mortality.

 I checked and rechecked everything until the crew was giving me the finger and cursing. Overlooking an insignificant detail became monstrous when confronting the enemy, especially when the odds were ten to one against you.

There were battles fought in Vietnam where Marine regiments came under attack by enemy forces of 20,000.  Army Intelligence, the Pentagon, and the Johnson administration failed to believe a third-world country thirty times smaller than the United States possessed the ability to win.

Between the border of Laos and Vietnam, the UH-1 malfunctioned. The helicopter needed to land on the edge of enemy territory. The pilot wanted to stay with the aircraft and admitted he carried five hundred pounds of drugs. He went so far as to ask if we would hump the load for a share of the profits. My orders were to retreat and blow everything.  It broke his heart to see his precious metal insect and drugs turn into fire, smoke, and dust, the metal shell melting under the intense heat of the incendiary grenades and explosives.

We ran through the night and reached an LZ, supported by a platoon of 20 Army foot soldiers. No one knew of the impending catastrophe about to befall their position.  Within the following weeks, the LZ became the focal point of a massive NVA attack, and every occupant died.

 I attempted to initiate an evacuation without success. The best alternative was to move another 20 miles inland toward Khe San. We would wait out the next day, rest up, then make our journey under night’s blanket.

We situated ourselves at a corner of the LZ, facing west toward the enemy, built a campfire, and filled ourselves with the candy bars and peanut butter we carried. I am not sure who began the conversation about God, death, and the hereafter, but I disliked any discourse dealing with mortality. Such discussion led to realizing the hopeless reality.  We had Heaven’s Café, in case our lives were lost. Einstein began to sing Amazing Grace, and we joined in. The tune and words soothed my anxiety.

 When I looked at the sound of shuffling boots, I found a half dozen armed men staring at us. I recognized the faces but did not know them. We met men like these before, troops without souls, who listened to demons.  At the sound of my voice, Einstein stopped, and the crew came alert.  Hercules posed a hand signal, his expression conveying his thoughts of alarm. 

I tried to be upbeat and friendly. “Hi. Sit down, and take a load off.”

 The crew and I were together for eight months, and we had seen and participated in all manner of acts incongruent with civilized men. I was everything except na?ve; just nothing was ever what I thought it would be. I often wondered if a dark cloud hung over me or this was the fate of everyone who served in the Kingdom.

 The voice was deep and carried a thick southern accent of words almost impossible to decipher. I never heard anything like it, but the gesture was unmistakable. The speaker pointed to Einstein.  “We want to speak to your man over there for a minute.”

 Einstein took a few steps back. I stood, pulled the M-16 from behind my shoulder, and flipped the magazine to automatic. We practiced the 2-Point Tactical Strap maneuver until the whole procedure took three seconds. I casually knelt as if I was tying my lace and removed the guard strap from my Kubar Chaos Knife. 

Ignorance was the best policy in the Army. Intelligent people were conserved smart asses. “Uh, just to whom are you referring?” I asked. 

The talker possessed sergeant’s stripes. “Ha. A comedian.” He kept his eyes on me but spoke to his comrades.  I saw their weapons shift in their arms. “Just how many you got with you?”

We survived the enemy that day, only to stand before a firing squad of Americans. I heard Oliver Hardy in my mind’s ear: “Well, here’s another fine kettle of fish you got us into!”

The crew moved apart in slow motion as they instinctively created a more difficult target. “Uh, how many of what?” I asked.

The sergeant’s voice was firmer and threatening. “Look here, boy, don’t mess with us. It isn’t a good idea. Just give up your folks, and we’ll be on our way.”

I most certainly disliked the phrase, “Just give up your folks.” I was confident, the six members of the lynching party were no match for us, and if need be, we could take out the whole LZ if we wanted, but that wasn’t in my plans. “Best to get the hell out of there as quickly as possible,” was my only thought.

 “Sorry, Sarge. I can’t oblige. We came together, and we leave together. Them thars duh rules, boy! I hope you do not challenge us because you do not want to go there. Trust me on this. We work for a general and not a unit, and you will all be the ones swinging, but, hey, I’m not telling you what to do. May I suggest you turn around and get your sorry asses out of here before we open fire and ask questions afterward? Each of you is already a target. Now, I’m giving you the last chance to either disappear,  get your commanding officer, or return with an army to take us out; otherwise, we will get about our business and be gone before you can whistle, Dixie.”

He gave me the finger combined with a nasty look to strike the fear of God in me, then walked away. Einstein began to sing again. “Einstein! Stop! Will you? No need to add fuel to the fire.”  

It was time to go. There was no gain to any confrontation. It was one thing to hunt the enemy; quite another kill a bunch of dumb-ass shit-kicking Americans.

We sidled down the steepest side of the mound, circled, and began our excursion into friendly territory.  We stopped after a couple of hours to catch our breath. Einstein started tuning in the radio. “What are you doing?” I asked.

He glanced up, his saucer brown eyes dancing in their sockets. “Nothing, Boss. Just checking coordinates.”

“What for?” “Oh, just had a thought.”

“Ha. Why doesn’t that surprise me?  And pray to tell, what is this thought?”

“I’m going to call in artillery coordinates from the 41st and smoke their asses, that’s what.”

I nicknamed Einstein because he was a genius. There was no sense arguing with superior intelligence. “Okay. Then make it fast. I’d like to make it back before something else creeps out from a hole to kill us.”

“Roger that, Boss. Just need a minute to give the right authorization codes.”

 I was popping a couple of amphetamines when he gambled up to me. “Okay, Boss, let’s go.”

We jogged single file, Messkit taking the lead and Hercules pulling up the rear. Only the sounds of our boots on the loam of the jungle floor, combined with our panting, rose above the jungle sounds and muffled artillery explosions.  When the loud detonations occurred behind us, we did not stop running. Friendly fire was not, and whatever happened no longer had our name attached to it.   

“Well, this is what you get for being shitheads,” I mumbled.

“What was that?” Einstein asked.

“Just like old man river, just keep rolling, man.  Nothing happening back there concerns us.”

“Roger that, Boss.”

END

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