Shame on you, Captain. You should’ve known that.
“One exception, ‘though he ain’t really our officer,” he continued.
“That’s Brightly. He’s career through and through. He’ll stay in and might even make general.” Pausing, he smiled, “If he doesn’t, it won’t be because he didn’t think he was capable of handling the duties of a general officer.”
I laughed softly. “Yes, he is a confident young man, isn’t he?”
“To a fault, Six.”
After a short lull, he said, “What about you, sir? Ever had any doubts ‘bout staying in?”
“Nary a one. Can’t ever remember a time I didn’t want to be a soldier.
Mac says it’s ‘cause of World War II. Hell, might be right. That’s the time of life I first remember, and everybody was in uniform except Mom.”
“What about you, Top? You grow up wanting to soldier?”
“Hell, no! Never even thought about it till the war came along. Joined up at seventeen—it was expected of me—but knew I’d be back on the farm soon as the thing was over.”
“So?”
“Well, I never saw much of the war, you know, just the tail end of it. Spent some time guarding a muddy ordnance dump in France and saw war’s end in Austria. So, anyway, I was high on the list for occupation duty. Pulled it, then, just ‘fore my hitch was up, and as I was getting ready to come home, it suddenly struck me. Hell, I don’t want to be no farmer. Soldiering is more fun than farming. Occupation duty’s better than digging taters.”
“Found a home, huh?”
“Yeah, guess so. Next day told the first sergeant to whip another four on me. He did. Figured I’d pull that tour and then maybe get out—my folks really wanted me back on the farm. But four years later, I was running for cover at a place called Chipyong-ni, cursing the Chinese birthrate while I was doing so.”
I laughed. “What outfit, Top?”
“Why, the ‘First Team,’ of course. Fifth Cav, as a matter of fact. Joined it as a replacement in ’51.”
“They were at… uh… Chipyong-ni?” I asked. I recalled some of the old-timers talking about the battle but remembered few of the details.
“Yeah. Some of the Second Infantry’s folk were surrounded, and the Fifth Cav went in to relieve ’em. Task Force Crombez, remember it well. Cold enough to freeze brass balls off a monkey; damn, it was cold. That’s the one good thing ‘bout this war, Six. Don’t have to worry about freezing your nuts off.”
I nodded.
“Anyway, went into Korea as a corporal and came out of it with two rockers—one of which I was allowed to keep. By then, there’s no question of getting out. Goddamn Army was in my blood, know what I mean?”
And I nodded again.
“There’ll be some of these kids, these men, come out of this thing the same way. None of ’em might believe it right now. Probably tell you you’re out of your goddamn mind if you even suggest such a thing. But there’s some of ’em who’ll stay in and others who’ll go back on the farm, or on the street, or wherever, and suddenly find they’re bored as hell. Find themselves missing a little bit of everything they’re cursing right now. And sooner or later, they’ll find their way back in.”
“Suppose you’re right.”
“And them that don’t, with very rare exception, will harbor few regrets for having been here—although again, they’d tell you you’re out of your goddamn mind if you suggested such a thing tonight.”
He paused as if in thought, then said, “Don’t know why that is. Way of war, I guess. Or maybe it’s because very damn few of our soldiers, of us, will ever again do anything as… uh… as big in life as we’re doing right now. Am I making any sense, sir?”
“Yeah, you are, Top. And you said it better than I ever could.”
He smiled and let his thoughts drift for a moment. I did the same.
“Think the truce will hold, Six?” he asked, opening the second of our two beers and passing one of them to me.
“Like I told Halloway, Top, it beats the shit outa me. But, yes, I think it’ll stick. North seems to want it; least that’s what the papers say. Christmas truce held up pretty well. You know, couple flare-ups here and there, but guess that’s to be expected.”
“Well, hope you’re right. Snuffie could use a little downtime. ‘Course, like I said at our parley, difference ‘tween offensive and defensive humping is goddamn little.”
Darkness had fallen, which meant we could no longer smoke openly, and neither of us could enjoy what remained of our second beer without an occasional drag on a cigarette. Putting his head under a poncho, Sergeant Sullivan lit two cigarettes, and then, cupping them closely, we continued our conversation.
“Dirty filthy habit,” he said. “Ought to give ’em up. And by God I will! I’ll give ’em up ‘fore I do ROTC duty. Don’t want them cadets influenced the wrong way.”
“Shit, we ought to both give ’em up, Top. ROTC duty aside, it’d make the hump here on the plain easier. ‘Course, if we quit tomorrow, might catch an AK-47 round through a healthy lung next week, huh?”
He smiled. “Yeah, you’re right. Wait till this thing’s over. Then we’ll both give ’em up the day we hit the good old U.S. of A. Okay, Six?”
“Okay, Top.”
“Shake?”
We did.
And again there was a lull in our conversation as each of us, I suppose, tried to think of other things to talk about. Because this evening discourse was important, refreshing. Neither of us could talk to others in the company quite as candidly as we talked to each other. We were both somewhat distanced from the others, he as the company’s senior NCO and me as its commander.
“You hear about Cooper?” he asked, suddenly.
“Our sergeant major? No.”
“Got himself a direct commission—to captain! Getting himself a company in the mech battalion. You believe that, Six?”
“Well, shit, I’m happy as hell to hear it. You know, Top, he said he was gonna do it, back there at An Khe. Don’t think any of us took him seriously at the time. Uh… he’s younger than you, isn’t he?”
“Sure, Couldn’t have got a commission if he weren’t. But see, I’m having more fun than he is. Least I was ‘fore he got a company. But he’ll make a good commander. Jess is a soldier’s soldier.”
And so are you, First Sergeant, I thought to myself. You could take a company right now without missing a beat.
“And he’s worked with me before,” he continued, “back in the late fifties, in Germany. He’ll do well.”
We sat in silence for several minutes before I asked, “Anything happening on the admin side I ought to know about?”
“Naw, just routine. Gonna have to get Young in 1st Platoon in to English for some emergency dental work, got a tooth that went bad on him. Smathers, also in 1st Platoon, is complaining of dizzy spells. Doc Heard says we don’t have no choice but to send him in for a looksee. I’ll have both of ’em on the morning log bird. Burke, Three Six, signed his extension papers this evening and is catching hell from the rest of the platoon, none of whom think he’s quite sane. But he wants to be a door gunner, so we’ll probably be losing him ‘fore too long. Uh… let’s see, anything else? Oh, yeah, Sweet Willie’s Pfc stripe came down. Shit, Six, we ought to have a little ceremony.”
Suddenly we heard a faint fusillade of small-arms fire somewhere in the distance.
“Probably a bunch of the little people celebrating Tet,” the Bull remarked, then a bit moodily, “wish I was somewhere celebrating something, anything.”
“Well, when this thing’s over we’ll do that very thing, Top.”
Brightening, he said, “Goddamn right we will, Six! When we get back to the States, the two of us, just the two of us, will get us a bottle of Rebel Yell and sit down in the sand someplace and get drunk as skunks, okay?”