Court Martial (10 page)

Arnason nodded. The small band of renegade Bru were causing the NVA to hold back over a division of infantry to guard and
reinforce the trails and supply depots in Laos. The NVA wanted the Bru dead and would give anything to find their secret villages
in the jungle.

The small interpreter leaned over and looked out the open doorway. “It is time to join the Bru warriors for the
numpah.”

Arnason got up on his feet. “Let’s go, Woods, Sanchez… Warner.” The men struggled to their feet, trying to work the knots
out of their tired muscles at the same time as they were slipping on their gear. They took everything with them but their
backpacks. “Sanchez, bring one of your claymores with you… and the hand detonator.”

Arnason led the way across the clearing to where the Bru chiefs and some of their senior warriors waited. The dark shadows
had filled the narrow valley and it looked almost as if night had fallen already. The interpreter took a seat next toarnason
and spoke a greeting to the Bru chieftains for the Americans. It was very important that no one was offended during the ceremony.

Sergeant Arnason noticed the American dog tag hanging from the old chief’s neck almost as soon as he got within sight of the
chief. He controlled his curiosity until the interpreter had made all the proper introductions and thenarnason asked the chief
where he had found the small metal tag.

“One of his warriors found it sticking in the side of a cliff near a tiger’s den.” The interpreter nodded over at the old
chief’s son who was wearing a beautiful necklace that was made from a set of huge tiger claws.

Arnason spoke to the Sedang interpreter. “Ask the chief if I could look at the steel tag, because it has a name on it and
I would like to know if it belonged to one of my missing men.”

The interpreter spoke and the old chief smiled and removed the dog tag. He handed the leather thong and tag toarnason, who
nodded and smiled as he took it. The tag was shiny from being worn around the chief’s neck and the stamped name and identification
was easy to read:

FILLMORE

BILLY-BOB

Arnason’s eyes slipped over his ex-teammate’s social security number and blood type and rested on his religion:

PENTECOSTAL

“Fillmore’s…” arnason spoke to Woods. “I guess we can report back that he’s dead.”

“We could,” Woods shifted his position and slid closer toarnason to whisper, “but he comes from a dirt-poor family down South.
They’ll draw his missing-in-action pay until someone
confirms
his death. We haven’t
seen any
body or bones.”

“You’re right. Let the rich motherfuckers
pay at
least. Seeing’s the poor folk are fighting the war for them.” arnason was bitter.

Warner ignored the comment. He agreed with the sergeant, even though he was from an extremely wealthy family; he was a rare
case in Vietnam.

“The chief would like for you to drink first.” The Sedang interpreter held the long bamboo straw over to the sergeant. There
was no way to cheat when drinking from the huge ten-gallon community bowl because a piece of bamboo had been laid across the
open top of the jar and a spur from the bamboo had been bent down into the milky liquid. Each person drank from his straw
until the tip of the bamboo spur was out of the rice wine, and then the jug was filled to the top again and another person
drank using his straw. At any given time there were a dozen straws in the jug at once, but only one person drinking at a time.

Arnason finished drinking and sucked in a deep breath of air. “Whew!”

The Montagnards laughed and slapped their bare legs. The Americans were funny. The chief nodded in approval of Arnason’s prowess
and drank from his straw.

Sergeant Arnason waited until all the men sitting around the clay jug had taken a turn drinking the rice wine before removing
his treasured custom-made Randall survival knife from his ammunition belt. He took his time removing the blackened blade from
its leather sheath. The Montagnard warriors sitting around the wine jug were impressed whenarnason showed them how sharp the
blade was by shaving some hair off the back of his forearm, but when he removed the cap from the handle of the knife and removed
the matches and fishing line complete with hooks, the chief’s eyes lit up.

Arnason slipped the blade back into its sheath and handed it to the old man. He spoke to his interpreter. “Tell the chief
that the knife was made by a man in my country who is famous for making knives. Tell him also that the knife can be turned
into a spear by putting a bamboo shaft in the handle.”

The interpreter spoke rapidly to the chief and poked with his hands as if he were using a spear. The old man laughed and nodded.

“He is very pleased with your gift.”

The Sedan Montagnard nodded in approval and added, “Montagnard people like knives.”

David Woods saw the look of envy in the young chief’s eyes and did one of the smartest things he could have done. He removed
his Randall knife off his web gear and handed it to the young chief. The knives were both survival models, except Woods’s
knife had a stainless steel blade.

The young chief grinned, showing all his stained teeth, and spoke rapidly to one of his warriors, who then disappeared into
one of the longhouses.

Arnason lifted the claymore up in the air so that everyone sitting on the porch could see it. “Ask the chief if his warriors
know how to use this.”

“He say yes. Many of his people have been soldiers with the CIDG camps in Vietnam.”

“Good. We’ve brought nine of them with us that he can have.” arnason nodded. A claymore ambush in the jungle was a deadly
thing.

“Chief say for you to drink more
num-pah.”

Arnason nodded and leaned over to take his straw. He saw a bug floating on top of the white liquid and started drinking. He
could feel a buzz start in the back of his head and was thankful that he had thought ahead and taken a handful of pills that
included aspirin and no-shit tablets.

The Montagnard warrior returned carrying a small handwoven cloth in both hands. He took a seat next to the young chief and
waited until the leader reached over and took the package. All the warriors drank from the jar before the young chief whispered
to his father and the old man raised his hand for everyone to be quiet. Many of the villagers had been watching the drinking
party from the shadows.

“What’s going on?” Arnason’s voice was becoming thick.

“Shit… you’ve got me.” Sanchez was already drunk.

“Man… this wine goes right to your head.” Warner was feeling the effects worse than Sanchez.

The chief started talking rapidly in Montagnard and kept patting the cloth package. He spoke for a good five minutes and then
opened the top of the cloth and removed a thick metal bracelet. He held it in the air for everyone to see, and all the Montagnards
gasped in awe, including the Sedang interpreter. The old chief presented the bracelet to Sergeant Arnason.

“Thank you, Chief.” arnason nodded and smiled.

The young chief removed another bracelet from the cloth and presented it to David Woods, who thanked him and blushed.

The interpreter remained silent. He was shocked over what had just occurred. The young chief removed three more bracelets
from the cloth and presented the rest of the team with Bru friendship bracelets.

The wine flowed until way past midnight.arnason and all of his team, with the exception of Koski, were very drunk. The Montagnards
had not been offended by Koski’s refusal to drink; they realized that a war was going on and some of the warriors had to be
able to fight in case of a surprise attack.

Koski started carrying the Americans back to the long-house in the bright moonlight that filtered through the overhanging
trees. He didn’t waste time putting them inside but dropped each of them on the porch. As soon as Warner closed his eyes he
threw up. Sanchez heard Warner and threw up next to him over the edge of the raised platform. It was good that they were so
drunk they didn’t see the village dogs eating their vomit.

It was the hot rays from the morning sun that finally forcedarnason to roll over and groan.

“You should be getting up, Sergeant.” Koski’s voice sounded like cannons in Arnason’s ears.

“Oh… ugh!” arnason tried swallowing but the stomach acids from his vomit had burned his throat.

“There’s a stream nearby where you can wash up.” Koski helpedarnason to his feet.

“Never
again... ever!” arnason forced out the words. “I don’t give a fuck if it insults the whole Asian nation!”

Koski glanced over and saw Woods blink. “Let’s go. Time to get your sorry asses moving!” Warner rolled over onto his side
and then quickly crab-walked to the edge of the porch to gag.

Koski supported Arnason as they walked across the open area between the longhouses. Some of the villagers looked up, but most
of them ignored the drunk Americans. They all knew that
num-pah was
very powerful stuff. Koski loweredarnason next to the narrow stream and turned to go back and get another of his teammates.
Woods and Sanchez were staggering across the clearing. Koski stepped aside and let them pass. He grinned and was very glad
that he had not taken part in the rice wine. Warner was lying flat on his back when Koski returned to the porch.

“Let’s go, party boy.” Koski chuckled. “Don’t they teach people in Bloomfield Hills how to drink?”

“Fuck you, Koski! You Hamtramck Polacks are given beer in your baby bottles!” Warner tried opening his eyes and groaned. “Oh…
I’m going to fucking die… am I fucking drunk!”

“Come on, the cold water down in the stream will do you good.”

“Koski, I can’t fucking move.... I mean it. If I move, I’ll
die!”

Koski reached over and grabbed Warner’s arm. He pulled him across the porch until he could get a good grip on him and then
threw him over his shoulder.

“Oh! Please!”

“Shut up!” Koski carried Warner gently to the stream and set him down.arnason had removed all his clothes and was stretched
out on his back in the shallow water. Woods and Sanchez were splashing water on their heads. Warner looked at his teammates
and then staggered out into the center of the waterway and sat down. The ice-cold mountain stream felt so good that Warner
lay back in it and let the fast-moving water rush around his throbbing head.

Koski returned to the longhouse and gathered the team’s gear together on the porch. He looked around for the Sedang interpreter
and saw him exit one of the communal houses where he had spent the night with one of the younger girls. Koski carried the
team’s weapons and web gear down to the stream.arnason was getting dressed and Sanchez and Woods had joined Warner in the
center of the cold stream. A group of Montagnard boys had gathered on the bank and watched as the crazy Americans tried sobering
up.

“How are you feeling, Sarge?” Koski askedarnason.

“Better… but I still don’t think I’m alive.”

“That’s a nice bracelet you got last night.” Koski pointed toarnason’s wrist.

“You got one too, didn’t you?”

“Sure, but mine is made out of brass.... Yours is gold.”

Arnason lifted his arm and looked at the intricately carved pencil-thick gold bracelet. “Holy… ! I didn’t even notice last
night!” arnason turned the band on his arm and admired the chain of elephants, tigers, and monkeys that encircled the gold
friendship band.

“Woods got a gold one too. I think they’re very special.” Koski nodded over at Woods, who was still too drunk to notice the
gold band on his wrist.

“It is a great honor to have a Bru armband made from yellow metal.” The interpreter had joined them by the stream. “An Bru
people will protect you and you will never go without food and protection in the jungle.”

“Why Woods and me?”

“You gave the chiefs some very good gifts and their honor was at stake. Actually, it was one of the smartest moves that you
could make with them. They were very scared about bringing Americans into their village.”

Arnason’s thoughts went to the time and he looked down at his watch. “We have three and a half hours to set up a drop zone.”
arnason changed the subject from the gold bracelets to the task at hand. “Have the Bru selected a site for the air drop?”

“Yes. Chief’s son will take us there when you are ready.” The Sedang interpreter pointed back to the chief’s longhouse, where
the young chief waited in the shade of his porch.

“Is he sober already?”

The interpreter shrugged. It didn’t matter if he was sober, as long as he could take them to the selected site for the air
drop of weapons and ammunition.

“Let’s get our stuff together. We’ve got to move out in an hour!” arnason yelled at his teammates in the water.

Code words had been prearranged back at the First Cavalry Division Headquarters for the air drops, and the bundles of weapons,
ammunition, medical supplies, and canned foods had all been rigged before the recon team had left the base area. All that
was needed was forarnason to signal the forward air controller and give the grid coordinates for the drop zone and the time.

Pain ripped along the base of Warner’s skull with every step he took. It was extremely difficult to concentrate on the trail.
He reached into his jacket pocket and removed the vial that contained powerful pain pills that were supposed to be taken only
in the event of serious gunshot wounds and they couldn’t be airlifted quickly by medevac. Warner figured the pain in his head
was as bad as any gunshot could be and took two of the pills. Woods saw Warner take the pills and held out his hand. Anything
was better than suffering from the rice-wine hangover, even getting shot.

The Montagnard guides stopped walking a couple of hours after noon and spoke to the interpreter.

Arnason waited in the shade of a large wild banana tree while the Montagnards discussed where the drop should take place.
The interpreter joined Arnason after a couple of minutes.