The Phantom Blooper (4 page)

My invisible audience of black Marines groans, then cheers.

"In Detroit, grass was five hundred dollars a lid. In Atlanta, it was free. To the northern heads, this was incredible."

Someone says, "Hey, man, keep on the grass!" and the bloods laugh.

A shell comes in squealing, squealing like a stuck pig, a fat iron Communist pig bred in Moscow to have a thirty-second hard-on for Americans. But instead of
boom
there's only a silly
whomp
as the shell detonates in a mud hole. Concussion shakes the bunker. Sand falls from the ceiling of perforated steel planking, logs, and sandbags.

Someone coughs, then chokes. I shake sand out of my hair and scrape damp sand from the back of my neck. Someone pounds the choker on the back. The choker hawks up a loogie and spits it onto the back of my hand. "Shit," I say, as I wipe off the back of my hand on somebody else's leg.

John Wayne continues: "So this guy named Lincoln came onto
The Tonight Show
, see? He was a basketball hero and a celebrity rail-splitter who got--no, listen--who got himself elected President, now, he was elected President because his face--no, really, this is no shit--because his face--yes, his
face
--accidentally got engraved on all of the fucking pennies!"

The bloods laugh, howl, and beat on sandbags with fists and rifle butts. They tell me how full of shit I am and they threaten to pee.

Whomp
. Shrapnel bites into oil drums, sandbags, and wood.

John Wayne says, "Jefferson Davis got elected President of the Confederate States of America on a platform of a chicken in every pot and pot in every chicken.

"So the DamYankees loaded up with rolling papers and pistols--yeah, yeah, that's right--their pistols were all really big--and they put these really big dope fuses into their cannons and then they all rode on steamboats down to New Orleans, Louisiana.

"Down in the French Quarter they scored about one ton of Acapulco Gold from some black jazz musicians they met in a strip joint on Bourbon Street."

We toke in silence but with enthusiasm.

Finally, someone says, "Okay, man, so what happened then?"

John Wayne says, "What happened then? Well, let's see...The Civil War soldiers all got hammered out of their minds together and then the war was over and everybody got laid. Of course, the DamYankees lied about it and told Walter Cronkite that they won and so that's what they put on TV."

The black grunts laugh and laugh.

Someone says, "Hey, Joker, do your Charlie Chaplin! Yeah, that's it! Do Charlie Chaplin in the dark!"

Someone says, "Charlie got a bloop gun!"

Black John Wayne says, "Joker, m'man, you are a humorous person. So tell us the rest of it, man. What happens next?"

"How the fuck do
I
know?" I say in my own voice. "I'm just making up this bullshit as I go along."

Black John Wayne laughs and Godzilla's paw pounds me on the back in the dark. Black John Wayne says to someone, "Shoot me the handset, blood." Then he talks in a very low voice, calling in his November Lima, his night location, which is at an ambush site outside the wire, and his Papa Lima, his present location, which is about three hundred yards east of Hill 881 North. He gives the grid coordinates and a sit-rep of all secure, grunts, and drops the handset.

I say, "Pulling another hairy mission, J.W.?"

A booming laugh, then a pause. "Yeah, man. Life is real hard out here in the bad bush. We pulling a definite number-ten hump. Transmission ends." Another laugh. "I wish I was president and Nixon was a grunt."

"You have got to belay all this 'Black Confederacy' bullshit, J.W."

Pause. "Sergeant Joker, you got a personal problem? Hey, bro, what evil lurks in the hearts of men, I do know. You got a problem, m'man, run it by me. I will reach out and make it good, because Black John Wayne is a problem solver."

"LPs, J.W. I need LPs."

"Hey, man, don't even talk to Black John Wayne about no Mickey Mouse listening posts and none of that other gung ho Audie Murphy whitebread shit. I no longer choose to participate in the mindset of morally disoriented bloodthirsty chucks. Black John Wayne has smoked more than his share of little gold niggers, from Con Thien to the Rockpile and down in the Arizona Territory. But no longer do I desire to relate to this oppressive and corrupt environment."

The black Marines cheer while Black John Wayne continues, talking with the tone of a backwoods preacher delivering a fiery sermon: "Black Confederacy
secedes
from your Viet Nam death trip."

With one voice the men in the bunker say, "Amen."

Black John Wayne says, "Guilty rich kids marching for peace just wasting they shoe leather. Dumb grunts is stopping this evil war,
a--men
, and they won't never know the truth back in the World, the truth that the grunts have the power, the real power, because the fucking pogue lifers and the corrupt politicians are not
even
going to admit the facts, not even."

Black John Wayne waits for the "Right ons" to die down, then continues. "This heavily armed and highly motivated reinforced rifle squad of homeboys will go back to the block. We be tin-starred marshals of revolutionary justice. With my squad back in the World I could take over half of Brooklyn. Peace through superior firepower! Fire
power
to the people! History is not over yet! History
collects
its debts!"

The squad cheers so loud and claps so hard that for a few moments even the banging of the shells outside is drowned out.

I grunt. I say, "We got to have LPs. We're light. A ground attack could walk right over the wire. The gooks know that something is going down and until we sky out we're wide open to get hit. I got no time for your bullshit political rap, J.W. I'm not interested in politics."

Black John Wayne says, "Joker, m'man, you may not be interested in politics, but politics is interested in you. Or maybe you be here as a tourist? Politics is not hard to understand. Politics is somebody's nightstick upside your head. Hey, man, can you dig my progressive talk? Don't you know why the Phantom Blooper is here, man? The Phantom Blooper has come to take your white ass to school. Bone Six, that bad ol' Blooper, he everywhere, man. He maybe sitting in this bunker with us right now."

I say, "J.W., I'm sick of listening to your race-war movie."

Black John Wayne says, "Why, you silly Alabama white trash, you are misinformed. The white man is not the enemy. One day, by and by, you will see the revolt of the Uncle Tom white people. That's some cold shit, man, but there it is.

"The devil is a green man, the money man. They tell us we are small. But we not small, we tall, we be kings, and the President is not God in a black limousine. They calling you 'nigger' too, Joker. You just ain't got the word."

I say, "Sounds like a giant liquor-store robbery to me, J.W. Rich people got all the money. You take the money away from them. Then you got the money."

"We won't fight for money," says Black John Wayne, "we will fight to say that Uncle Sam ain't no damned uncle of mine. Uncle Sam he say to these Vietnams, you can live, but you can't be men. Dance and sing for us and be little yellow niggers, Mr. VCs, and we might be big-hearted and let you live. Uncle Sam say, 'Stick 'em up, your balls or your life.'"

Black John Wayne's voice booms inside the bunker: "Whitebread America find it impossible to relate to why these Vietnams stand up and fight. The green man don't care about nothing that much no more, he fat, he forgot what it like to fight. They traded in they balls for a split-level house, a nigger maid, and a lifetime supply of TV dinners, a long time ago. Dignity, m'man, that's what the Vietnams want, and that's why my homeboys want. I'm a black man with a brain, a black brain, and I am a very dangerous person. We
are
men! We
want
our dignity! If they fuck with us, they are going to die. Nobody ever calls me nigger when I'm carrying my grenade launcher."

"RIGHT ON!" someone says, and the bunker shakes with shouts of "RIGHT ON! RIGHT ON! RIGHT ON!" until everybody is hoarse.

I say, "I want LPs. Get me some warm bodies that can move like they got a purpose, J.W. All I got standing lines are New Guys. Name your price. Six cases of beer, next resupply."

A shell hits very close to the bunker.
Whomp
. The bunker trembles.

"What's wrong with these zips?" someone says. "Can't they take a joke?"

Black John Wayne laughs. "Mr. Charles ain't
even
about to waste a pretty homeboy like me." He laughs again, enjoying himself. "Joker, you are a real bone-headed box of rocks. I ever tell you that?"

I say, "J.W., I am not the Virgin Mary and you are not the baby Jesus. I want three LPs out, most ricky-tick. That's immediately fucking now. Do it now, J.W. or you
will
wake up with a piece of the world nailed to the side of your head."

Before Black John Wayne can reply, we hear Beaver Cleaver's loud mouth at the bunker entrance. Beaver Cleaver never stops talking; sweet-talking everybody on the planet is Beaver Cleaver's hobby.

Everyone relaxes. If Beaver Cleaver has left his personal bunker it means that he has received an all-clear from Hill 881 South and the incoming is over. For now.

"Is Black John Wayne here?" says the Beaver's voice in the dark.

Black John Wayne says, "Get out of my face, punk."

"Sergeant, I've got orders from the X.O. I'd like to have a word with you in private if I could."

"Negative."

"Sergeant, it was the Major's understanding that you and your squad were out on a night ambush."

Black John Wayne says, "You been misinformed."

The squad laughs.

"Sorry?" says the Beaver. "What did you say?"

"It don't mean nothing," says Black John Wayne. "Not even. You must have me confused with somebody who gives a shit."

The Beaver says, "Well, that's not why I stopped by. Actually, we need to discuss an operation. The Major has decided that one last search-and-clear sweep, on the last day of the evacuation, would be a nice addition to First Platoon's already outstanding combat record. If your people score a good body count, there might even be a promotion in it for you."

Black John Wayne laughs. "Shit. The Reaper he want to run up a body count of black men. Want to counter-frag me. LBJ he say we be the anchor of the northern defenses. We be the gallant little band holding the pass at Khe Sanh. So if we be here to fight, why we bugging out? This my last opportunity to be the black Davy Crockett. Pardon me if I just hunker down here until somebody inspires me with leadership."

The Beaver says, "Sergeant, the Major has issued written orders--"

"Decent. I'm all out of Sears and Roebuck catalogs to wipe my ass with. Dig it, chump?"

"Sergeant, the Major is your commanding officer."

Black John Wayne says, "The Reaper's Mickey Mouse orders don't mean shit to me, Jack. He a fucking pogue lifer the other other fucking pogue lifers left behind to shitcan him. Now he laying bad paper discharges on every black man that leave Khe Sanh alive. I'm ready to bust caps on his ugly ass."

"Respect the rank, Sergeant, not the man."

Black John Wayne says, "Beaver, you are tedious."

I say, "Beaver?"

"Yes?" says the Beaver. "Who's there?"

"It's me. The Joker."

"Excuse me, Private Joker, but this is between me and the Sergeant. Official platoon business. Now, I realize that as the former Platoon Sergeant--"

I say, "You got Eddie Haskell and Lumpy with you?"

"Who?"

"Your bodyguards. That little skinny skuz and the retarded fatbody."

From out of the dark comes the voice of Eddie Haskell, "Hey, go fuck yourself, Joker. That's not my name."

"We never did anything to you," whines Lumpy.

"Good. I just wanted to know where you were."

The Beaver says, "Sergeant, you
will
saddle up and stand by for a movement order."

Black John Wayne laughs his big booming laugh. "Beaver, you like one of them ol' bizarre shit-eatin' alligators we got back in New York City, man, crawlin' 'round down in the sewers. You some kind of
mu-tant
. You adapted to this world of shit and you thriving on it, you just love it here, you can't get enough. You be prayin' that the war don't
never
end. You the little-boy king of Fat City in Viet Nam, you livin' off the tit. You like some kind of back-shooting pink spider, man, and you do scare me. Deadly poison taste like fine wine to a mean little mother like you, because you are the product of a diabolical mind."

The Beaver says, "I don't mean to be critical, Sergeant. But, after all, I
am
the Platoon Sergeant. Is that not correct?"

"On paper," someone says.

The Beaver says, "But, Major Travis--"

"Shut up, Beaver," I say. "Stow it and belay it and you can just
dee-dee
the fuck out of my area. The Grim Reaper can sit up in Sandbag City in starched skivvies, scratching his balls and playing war with his grid maps and his grease pencils and giving himself the Navy Cross every time he gets a mosquito bite. That's just fucking outstanding. That's far out. But his area is off limits to that fucking pogue lifer and his brown-nosers until we give him a First Platoon passport, and we are not going to give him one. You want something from First Platoon, you don't
even
talk to Black John Wayne, you talk to me. I may be a slick-sleeved buck private to you, but I'm still H.M.I.C. around here."

"H.M.I.C.?"

"Head Motherfucker in Charge."

"Is that a fact?" says Beaver Cleaver.

I say, "Be advised, nobody from First Platoon is going to run any more of your dumb-ass sweeps. We will not pull patrols. We will not set ambushes. We will not go out on ops.

"Animal Mother took his squad out to waste the Phantom Blooper. Against my orders. They've been missing in action for a week now.

"No way I'm going to piss away any more of my people defending a position that the lifers have already decided to shitcan," I say.