Nam Sense by Jr. Arthur Wiknik Read Free Book Online Page B

re-supplied by truck and we would receive a hot meal at the same time. This particular thicket was about one hundred feet in diameter, plenty of room to conceal thirty men. But our available resting area became increasingly smaller at each visit. In basic training, soldiers were taught the field rule of digging a cat hole in which to bury their human waste. Some of the guys must have slept through that class because they would shit almost anywhere, leaving it uncovered for some poor slob to step in. There were few things more disgusting than cleaning someone’s turd from the cleats of a jungle boot.
    I could put up with the poor toilet training, but it didn’t seem like a good idea to come back to the same thicket so often. It was like inviting the Gooks to set up booby traps. I felt there was no other option but to speak with Bruckner about it.
    “Lieutenant,” I began, hoping he would accept my opinions in the spirit intended, “I think we’re taking a chance at returning to this location just to get hot food and mail. The Gooks must know our routine by now, so what’s to stop them from booby trapping the area?”
    “You don’t know when to quit, do you?” he asked, sounding irritated. “Why do you find it necessary to continue questioning my judgment?”
    “Well Sir, in practically every infantry class I attended, the instructors harped on how the VC takes advantage of our bad habits to set up their ambushes and booby traps. I’m just trying to keep the men from getting killed or wounded.”
    “This is not fuckin’ NCO school!” he shouted angrily. “This platoon will be run as I see fit, not by some chalkboard pipe dream! If the time ever comes when the men need to know the textbook explanation of a troop deployment, I’ll be sure to call on you! Now get back to your position and leave the thinking to me!”
    I didn’t realize Bruckner was so touchy, or that I was that aggravating. Whatever the case, his attitude convinced me that I should direct my energy toward keeping the men safe. If I ever need my backside protected, they’d be the ones more apt to do it, not Bruckner or Krol.”
    The next day, our company commander came out to visit the platoon. Captain Hartwell was a distinguished looking individual, about thirty years old. He spoke as if he had a strong educational background. He was a Lifer, but didn’t display the typical Lifer mentality I have been experiencing. While reviewing our defenses, he talked briefly with some of the men and seemed genuinely concerned that our basic needs were being met. Hartwell also spent several minutes speaking privately with Bruckner and Krol. When they finished, I was summoned to the CP.
    “Sergeant Wiknik,” Hartwell began in an accusing tone, “it’s been brought to our attention that you were given an assignment and failed to carry it out. Three days ago, Sergeant Burke observed your squad tucked in the bushes when you were supposed to be on a RIF. What have you got to say for yourself?”
    His knowing about my encounter with Burke caught me off guard. “It was a very hot day, Sir,” I answered, trying to stay as close to the truth without actually telling him the truth, “so we found a shady place to rest. One of my men, Specialist Harrison, felt we were being followed. So I radioed in a distant location so we could watch to see if anyone showed up, but instead, Burke found our lookout spot. He accused me of hiding from the enemy and not being able to read a map. That’s when we started to argue.”
    “If what you’re telling me is true, why would Burke make such an accusation?”
    “To me, Burke seems obsessed with killing Gooks and he’s jealous about us shooting that VC girl last week. Maybe he figured by trailing us, a VC might get flushed his way, but he got caught in his own scheme.”
    “Both your stories sound like bullshit,” replied Hartwell. “But I don’t have the time or energy to referee squabbling NCOs. You two are going to