few times. When I was in language school at Monterey, we used to go up on weekends to watch the riots. Ever see any of them?”
Forsythe grinned with pride. “See ’em, I was in ’em.”
“What’d the rest of the guys in the platoon say when they found out you used to run around with all the screaming freaks?”
“Not much. They figure anybody that hates the military can’t be all bad. . . . A lot of the guys in the platoon are wise to how fucked up this war is, practically anybody with any college.”
“That’s good news. I was afraid I might end up in some gung ho outfit.”
Forsythe tilted his head sideways and started grinning. “Are you fucking serious, man? The only gung ho bastards are the lifers. A lot of guys hate the Gooks, but they hate being in Nam worse.”
Forsythe took the frags out of his grenade pouch and laid them on the shooting support. He then walked to the rear of the bunker to get his magazines and rifle. Payne, who had been unusually quiet, approached him and whispered, “You been partying?”
Chalice heard Forsythe whisper back, “A little.”
Payne, still whispering, asked in an irritated voice. “How come you didn’t let me in on it?”
“You weren’t around. Besides, it wasn’t my stuff.” This ended the conversation, and Chalice didn’t think much of it except that Forsythe didn’t look as if he’d been drinking.
A few minutes later Tony 5 returned. He and Chalice stood watch while Forsythe and Payne sat down in the rear. Tony told him to memorize the terrain so he would know his fields of fire, and also to remember the location of each upright object. “When it gets dark, the bushes and fence posts start moving. I don’t want you killing any of ’em.”
Chalice tried to concentrate on the positions of different objects, but the peaceful beauty of the valley lulled his mind. The setting sun colored the sky with a soft red glow, its oblique rays casting long shadows along the darkening rice paddies. The green trees interspersed among the native huts seemed almost black. Some children who had been playing against the slope of the hill started heading towards the village. Two of them rode a water buffalo, their short legs barely reaching a third of the way down its broad sides. It plodded slowly home, head hanging down. Three kids in white shirts and khaki shorts followed behind it, their bare feet kicking up water as they ran. Just as they reached the village, the red glow faded into the mountains and night spread towards them from the east like drifting smoke.
“It’s nine o’clock,” Tony said. “Professor, your watch lasts till eleven fifteen, then wake Payne. Forsythe, you’ve got third watch.”
“How the hell did I luck out?”
“Why don’t you try getting your sweet ass to the bunker the same time as everybody else? Your luck might change. . . . Besides, you had second watch last night.”
“So I did. How ’bout that.”
Tony turned to Chalice. “I’ll be sleeping right in back of the bunker. If you see or hear anything, and I mean anything, wake me up. I’m gonna crash now.”
“Me too,” Payne said, following Tony out the door.
Forsythe got up and walked towards Chalice. “I’m not tired yet. I think I’ll see some of the light show.”
“Light show? You mean the illumination flares?”
“That’s just part of it. You ain’t seen nothing yet.”
Chalice was thinking, ‘This guy has to be a head,’ when he heard a sharp pop, followed by a green burst of light above the bunker. “What was the pop before the illume went off?”
“That’s the parachute. They fire them out of mortar tubes, and when they get high enough a little chute pops open so they float down slowly.”
“Isn’t there enough time between the pop and the flare lighting for a Gook to hit the deck?”
“Yeah, there’s almost enough time for him to dig a foxhole. I guess if he were riding in a tank, we’d have him dead to rights.
Learning to Kill: Stories