The Last Road Home (25 page)

He sighed. “I made the mistake of being the best shot in my basic training outfit. Next thing I knew I was in California at sniper school. Guess I could have objected to it, but I have a strong belief in destiny. God must want me out here for a reason, to teach me something. All I can do is have faith.”

I rolled to one elbow and fixed on him. He was genuine, a gentle guy. “What you going to do when you get home, Mo?”

“Try to finish school, I hope, then find me a little church that needs a preacher. What about you?”

I raised my hand in front of my face and folded and unfolded my fingers. “Hell, I don't know. Might go to France.”

“You know somebody in France?”

“A girl.”

“How'd you meet her?”

“In a tobacco patch.”

“Can't wait to hear that story.”

“Her momma and daddy were sharecroppers.”

“Now, wait a minute. Her momma and daddy were French sharecroppers?”

“They're black as you are.”

The pause was long. “Junebug, my man, you are full of surprises. The two of y'all get to courting?”

“Grew up together, then it just seemed to come natural. Crazy, ain't it?”

“Why's she in France?”

“Went after the Klan threatened to kill us.”

“I'm surprised they didn't. How'd she get there?”

“She went to New York, then hired on with a lady who travels.”

“And you're still carrying the torch for her?” He sounded disbelieving, like I'd told him there really was a Santa Claus. “I'm beginning to understand what's got you so bitter, Junebug. Being a good Southern boy, you think what you did is a sin, don't you?”

The night critters went silent, or at least I wasn't able to hear them. “No. She's not a sin. But the fact I killed her brother is.” I watched a streak of light flash high in the sky. “And she don't know I did it.”

Mo's voice became serious. “I see your troubles.” He didn't ask me why I killed Lightning. “Do you need forgiveness, Junebug?”

“No.”

“Then what do you need?”

“Peace.”

I heard Mo scratching his face. “Junebug, in the Bible, Romans 7, verse 21, Paul says that, as mere men, we cannot always control the evil that lives in us, and sometimes we sin because we're not strong enough to fight it off, that we're all subject to the power of the devil. But even when we fail, Junebug, God will forgive us if we ask. Do you want me to pray with you?”

“No. But you can pray for me.”

C
HAPTER
51

I
shook Mo awake before sunup. “Time to go hunting.” I took the point and moved beyond the bamboo onto a small walking path leading downhill toward a stream. We got cover in some elephant grass. With the binoculars I could see a trail on the other side of the creek. It came out of the heavy bush and led toward where the water was just a trickle, a good crossing point. The sun had just started its climb in the east when I spotted movement at the edge of the trees.

One came out, then another. Both were wearing the ragged clothes of a farmer, but each carried a pack strapped to his back. I knew they were satchel charges. The little bastards were sappers looking to fade into a village, then surprise some marine base in the middle of the night. I pointed them out to Mo and handed him the glasses. “Use your football fields and watch the tops of the grass.”

Mo stared through the binoculars longer than he needed to. He was sucking up the reality that he was expected to kill a live human being. In this moment he would decide. Just like I had been, Mo was scared. It was hard the first time.

He lowered the binoculars and picked up the Remington, sighting and adjusting. I got ready with the M-14 in case he changed his mind. I was focused on the targets, and the boom of his rifle startled me. The man in front jerked sideways. Mo chambered another round. The second one was crouching, trying to figure out where we were when his head exploded. Mo dropped his forehead on his rifle.

I slapped him on the back. “Good job.” I lifted the M-14. Taking aim at the backpack of the lead guy, I punched a round. The charge blew up, setting off the second one as well. When I looked through the glasses again, there were body pieces scattered here and there. I grabbed Mo by the scruff of his shirt. “Let's get the hell out of here.”

We moved steadily, stopping for water breaks every two or three hours. By sundown, we were halfway home. We shimmied up a big banyan tree and tied ourselves in the crook of branches to wait out the night. It took all the next day to make it back to the hill leading to Huy's village and the rice paddy dike.

The sun was fading, and I didn't want to be walking up to the guard post in the dark, so we hurried down the hillside and came out of the jungle a hundred yards from the crossing. I squatted in the dusky light and watched through the fog lifting off the paddy water for a minute to make sure the way was clear.

I was surprised to see Huy's boonie hat at the far end of the dike. We started across and I called his name. “Huy,
chao anh
.” He didn't move. When we got within fifty feet, I saw why. I began to run. The boy was tied to a stake; the rope strapped from his neck to his waist. His skinny arms lay on the ground at his feet. They had been cut off just below the shoulders. He had been left to bleed to death. Streaks of tears had dried on his dirty face. Flies and insects crawled all over him. I puked.

“God almighty,” said Mo. “God almighty.”

I was on my knees heaving my guts. “Cut him down, Mo.” He did and gently lowered Huy to the ground. The gold wristwatch was stuffed in his mouth. I should have left him alone. I couldn't stand up. This was my fault. All I could do was kneel on the ground and cover my head with my arms.

I felt Mo's hand on my shoulder. “There's nothing we can do for him, Junebug. We got to get out of here. We can come back in the morning.”

I struggled to stand up. Anger so dark it filled everything in the universe took me over. I saw the devil standing on that mountain, fire shooting from his hand. My mind calmed. “You go on back, Mo.”

“I'm not leaving you.” He tried to pull my arm.

I moved the barrel of the M-14 to his chest. “You go on back, Mo. I'll be along directly. Don't argue now, just get moving.”

Mo stepped closer to stare me down, and I could see the edge of his jaw twitch. When he stretched out his hand, I took it. Mo closed his eyes and bowed his head. After a minute, he released me and headed across the berm without looking back.

I dragged my finger in the blood from Huy's clothes, streaked it along the sides of my face, then across my forehead. I took the poncho from my rucksack and covered him. I sat with the boy while I waited for complete darkness before walking toward the village. There was no hurry.

My head started to throb. I circled behind the village, staying in the shadows. The smell of rice and vegetables cooking drifted on the air, and I could hear the singsong chatter of women. I eased to a place that had a good view of the common area. Whoever did this to Huy was here somewhere.

I squatted and watched for half an hour before three men, dressed in the black garb of VC cadre, strapped with bandoliers and carrying AK-47s, appeared from trees behind the hootches across from me. They stacked their weapons like a tripod and chose a log at the edge of the gathering place to sit. A couple of women brought bowls of food for them.

I heard a clatter from the other end of the village, and a woman came running up to the three men. She screamed in their faces, then threw something one of them had to dodge. He got to his feet and knocked her flat with his fist. I figured her to be Huy's momma. They'd murdered her child, and she had to leave the boy where he was or risk punishment for everyone in the village. This way, they would only kill her. Before he could hit the woman again, I stood and walked into the light of the cooking fires, raking a single burst above their heads. Everything went silent, chopsticks frozen in place between bowl and mouth.

I made a direct line to the VC. Only their eyes moved: They were wondering if they could get to the AK-47s behind them. I motioned up with the M-14. After they stood, I shoved them shoulder-to-shoulder, took a step back, and stitched 7.62 rounds across their legs. They fell, grabbing and crying out in pain, attempting to drag themselves by their elbows in some futile escape attempt. One by one, I kicked and shoved each of the three men along the ground to where everyone could see, then picked up Huy's momma.

I rolled the log they'd been sitting on to where they lay in the dirt. When I stretched the first one's arm over the wood and unhooked the machete from my pack, he began to slobber and beg. It took two hard strokes to cut all the way through the bone. The villagers began wailing and waving their hands. The other two men were squirming, trying to crawl. The second man got his turn to suffer what they had done to Huy.

When I extended the last man's arm over the log, Momma grabbed my shoulder and gently pulled the machete from my hand. “
Lam uhhu, Lam uhhu
.” She bent down to the last man. He was just a teenager. She rubbed his young face gently, stood up, and then, screaming Vietnamese words I couldn't understand, the old woman hacked him to pieces.

All three lay facedown in the bloody dirt. I took the machete and walked out of the village. When I reached Huy's body, I knelt down and stroked his head. All he was guilty of was being a kid who liked c-rat peaches.

C
HAPTER
52

S
ixteen months in the jungle had taught me to feel what I couldn't see. I turned around to look toward the village. At that moment I realized I should have searched for any other VC. The sudden impact felt like a baseball bat slamming into my chest, knocking me backward. There was no pain, just a sense of falling, of being sucked down a pitch-black, silent hole. Eventually, I emerged into a soft, calming white light. I could see my body lying face-up in the water at the bottom of the dike and the hole ripped into my chest, but felt nothing. This was a peaceful and warm place, and I no longer cared about that body. Dying wasn't so bad. I wondered if Fancy would miss me.

It felt like time was passing, but it didn't seem important. When the abrupt noise of guns and shouting erupted, it destroyed the white light, and I was pulled back through the tunnel. “Here he is! Junebug, Junebug, can you hear me?” Strong hands dragged me out of the water. “He's got a sucking chest. I think he's dead.” I became aware of the hot burning in my chest, but couldn't move my hand to touch it. I screamed at them to leave me alone, but realized they couldn't hear me. I wanted to go back to the other place.

“I got a pulse. Hold that compression tight and let me get this jelly gauze on. It'll seal the hole.” Seconds later I felt a rushing sensation, and a great gush of air sucked in and stayed. “Get him on the stretcher and haul ass. Call for a dust-off and tell 'em to hurry.”

I heard myself moan. “Hold on, Junebug, we got you. Can you hit him with the morphine, Doc?” I felt the jab of the strettes in my leg. “Hang in there.” I could barely make out Mo's face. I wanted to raise my arm, but didn't have the strength. The pain eased and I floated toward the light again.

The next time I woke up, I could hear but not see. Maybe I had died after all. I started to panic, thinking I was in a death box. Then the downdraft from rotating blades blew the towel off my face, and I was being shoved into the belly of a chopper. “They're going to get you fixed up, Junebug. Time for you to go home.” Mo gripped my palm and grinned at me. “I'll be doing that praying for you, count on that. You're a good man, brother. Tell that gal of yours hello for me.” I tried to smile. When the chopper lifted off, my head flopped to one side. I wasn't on the ride alone. There was a body bag beside me.

* * *

I saw hands with gloves and faces with masks, and I slept without dreaming for what seemed like a very long time. When my eyes opened, the stark brightness hurt and I had to blink several times to be able to focus. White walls, white ceilings, white lights, white sheets, not at all like the peaceful place from before. Only the floor was different, a blue linoleum. I turned my head to the right, and in the bed next to me was a guy with his head totally wrapped in white gauze except for his nose, one ear, and a small opening for his mouth. He lifted his hand to touch his face, and I could see the skin had been burned off in some places below the wrist. I checked my own head, but all the handiwork was on the left side of my chest and extended below my rib cage.

I tried to turn to my right side to get a better view, but pain shot through me so bad it took my breath. I looked up and could see medicine lines running from my left arm to bags over my head, the same way they'd done on Grandma. The tube poking from my chest ran toward the floor.

I did my best to lie absolutely still and put my mind somewhere else. I closed my eyes and pictured Fancy in her pigtails when she was little, and us talking under the tobacco barn shelter, and kissing that first time. I thought about collecting bottles and eating blackberries. Lying there that night listening to the moans of pain and the screams of nightmares playing out in the minds of those around me caused my own dream horrors, like the sound of Lightning's body hitting the bottom of the well. And Huy tied to that stake.

A nurse made rounds the next morning and brought me pills and water. “Ma'am, where am I and how long have I been here?”

She was an older, strong-faced, motherly type, and I could tell she didn't take any crap. But there was kindness in her hazel green eyes. “You're in the Naval Support Activity Station Hospital in DaNang. Today makes a week.”

I swallowed the pills and water. “Any idea how long I'll be laid up?”

“As long as it takes to make sure you don't have any infection. That's what this tube”—she touched the one in my chest—“is for, to drain your damaged side.” She leaned over and brushed hair off my forehead. “Your war is over, sonny boy, so don't get any ideas that you're going back to the field. You're lucky you aren't in the morgue, so don't give me any trouble, you got it?” She gave me a smile and a pat on my good shoulder.

When she came that night, she talked while taking my temperature and checking my bandages. “The docs are saying about a week to let your strength build up. They need to make sure your upper body doesn't blow up with air on one side since you only got one lung working.”

A couple of times my blood pressure dropped and they had to lift the seal on the hole in my chest to let some air out. It was actually two weeks before the doctors decided I was stable enough for the ride to Japan. When the airplane lifted off, I gave a salute to Mo, and Gunny Phillips, and Hotah, and a place I knew would never leave me.

* * *

The navy hospital in Yokosuka, Japan, was a much bigger and livelier place, as modern as the hospital back home where Grandma stayed. They asked me if I wanted to make a phone call. Who the hell was I going to call? We got a lot of TLC from the docs and nurses, and the little Japanese aides were cute.

In addition to the chest wound, the skin on my feet peeled off in layers and smelled awful from jungle rot. They treated me with medicines for that and the leech bites on my ankles. My main doc came to see me early one morning after I'd been there a month. He was a tall, fairly young navy officer. His name tag said Dr. Halperin. “I know you understand your lung is collapsed, and so far, we've been fortunate that there's been no serious side effects from the bullet, like lead poisoning, or some other nasty infectious stuff that guys get in the jungle. With time, your lung might possibly reinflate, but probably not. Either way, any ideas you had about playing professional football, forget them.” He was a nice guy for a navy puke.

Some days I'd read newspapers that showed white kids protesting or running off to Canada so they wouldn't have to go to Vietnam. I thought about Mo. What kind of appreciation would he get fighting for a country that would rather see him back picking cotton?

When I was strong enough, rehabilitation folks began to work with me to try and bring my body back into shape. I'd lost over twenty pounds and looked more like a scarecrow than a marine. First it was simple things like moving my arms in a circle, knee bends, and agility tests with my hands. Over the next several weeks, it progressed to more strenuous stuff like walking short distances. The place in my back where my bad lung was would burn like forty hells. Understanding what bad shape I was in humbled me. It took three months before I learned that making do with one lung required me to think differently, and practice patience.

Mental issues were another can of worms entirely. I would dream about trying to cover the bullet hole in my chest, but it kept growing bigger and bigger until it was huge, then Huy's head would pop out from it. I saw Lightning and Twin, and the first Vietnamese man I'd killed while he looked me in the eyes. I would dream I was drowning in water, then realize it was an ocean of blood, so thick it choked me, so heavy it pulled me under. I swam for all I was worth, desperate for a log that would save me. Some nights I would take my pillow and blanket and lie underneath the bed, afraid to sleep.

In October mail caught up with me. There were three letters from Fancy and one from a life insurance company wanting me to continue my coverage when I was discharged. The last one from Fancy was dated in May.

Immediately I sat down and wrote.