Chapter
13
Vietnam - 1968
The same night - at the rear
Benny
Walker, a skinny, pimple-faced, radio operator, sat alone in the Colonel's
command bunker. It was a slow night and he was listening to a tape recorded
letter from his pen-pal, Robin Greene. Her friendly voice chattered
on and on about College life and how awful the meal plan food was. He
wondered how good she would think it tasted if she were stuck in the
Infantry, like his friend Larry, and had eaten only Army chow or nothing
at all for almost a year.
Benny knew Robin because she answered an ad asking kids from home to
become pen-pals with guys serving in Vietnam. His parents bought the
precious recorder, without telling him in advance, and he received it
a week after arriving in-country. He couldn't have been more surprised,
when he opened the package. His family's letter was stuck inside the
machine and Robin's first letter was in an unopened, padded, mailing
envelope, addressed to his parents' home, in Wisconsin.
"Hi,
son!" His dad's voice came from the recorder. "Hi, sweetheart."
It was his mom. "Hi, Benny!" His kid sister's voice floated
into the air. "You're supposed to tape over our letter and send
your news back to us." His mother's voice jumped back in. "The
salesman said we can use the same tape many, many times before it has
to be replaced. I put in an extra package of batteries, for when these
wear-out. "I
went behind your back and signed you up for a pen-pal." His mother
sheepishly admitted. "Please don't be mad. I know I should have
asked you first, but I was afraid you'd say no, without even giving
the idea a chance. The envelope is the first letter from your pen-pal.
It's a girl, named Robin Greene. Don't worry, we haven't listened to
it. We may be butinskys, but lucky for you, we aren't nosy as well."
There was laughter in the background.
"Say! Leave us out of that." His father objected. "You're
the family butinsky."
"Yeah!" His sister added, laughing. "We're just along
for the ride."
"Stop clowning around." His mom reprimanded. "I wrote
Robin's name and address on the empty envelope. Please use it, honey.
It could be fun and, even if it isn't, maybe corresponding with a stranger
will take your mind off of the war for a few minutes."
The letter continued with tid-bits from their currently hassled life,
how much they missed him, along with instructions to get enough rest,
eat enough food, and stay as safe as possible. Benny
absently ran a hand over his closely cropped hair, then rubbed his cheek,
glad Robin couldn't see his terrible crew-cut or his bad skin. To date,
they hadn't exchanged photographs and neither one had the first idea
what the other looked like. As always, Robin ended by asking him to
take extra good care of himself and to try and return home unhurt. This
time, she also asked if they could meet, when his tour was over.
"We've been doing the recorded letter thing for almost a year now
and by the time you get this one you'll be about due to come home. What
did you call it? Oh, yeah - you're on the short list. It would be so
great to meet face to face. Do you think we could - you know, after
you visit with your folks? Anyway, gotta go study. Write back soon.
Bye." The tape ended.
By the time he got around to answering Robin's tape, so many days had
passed, that she was more than right. This night was the last of his
tour and, tomorrow, he would begin the journey home. By this day next
week, he hoped to be sitting in his parents' living room, where they
would all be watching something on TV. He chuckled picturing his dad
in his usual spot - the recliner, and his mom and sister on either side
of him - on the sofa, shoes off, their crossed legs up on the coffee
table. As the evening passed, somehow the three of them would automatically
cross their legs the other way, in unison.
It never failed to crack-up his dad.
Benny was stuck in a rear area that didn't see much action, which meant
that his tape would be as ho-hum as Robin's, but in the middle of a
war, no news was the only kind anyone wanted from the front. Of course,
Benny was stationed at the back of the front, but still ...
He didn't have much to report, since his last letter, except that he
really was coming home. Maybe he'd take Robin up on her offer to get
together. He was acting as company clerk, no one would say 'boo' if
his route home included the town where Robin attended university. She
had such a sweet voice, always had something cheerful to say and sent
great care packages - things only someone who really was nice would
do.
"Hi ya, Robin. Benny here. Gee, it was really terrific of you to
send the care package. You can't believe how crazy everyone went - like
it was Christmas or something. The rolls of T-P were a huge hit and
I can't even begin to describe the feeding frenzy when we got a whiff
of the chocolate. The food here isn't bad, but getting something homemade,
well, I can't tell you how great it was. Needless to say, we made short
order of the brownies. Everyone sends their thanks."
Robin knew the brownies were only OK and made from a mix (so, not exactly
homemade), but it was something personal she could do for Benny and
she wasn't exactly a gourmet cook. Sending the toilet paper was her
roommate's idea.
"Get the two-ply, quilted, kind, with little flowers on it."
Marcy suggested. "My friend's brother said it's the best thing
you can get from home ... besides food. Can you imagine, guys in the
field use leaves, when they run out of T-P." Both girls shuddered
at the thought.
"Nothing
much going on here. Just the usual --" His radio burst into life,
interrupting his dictation.
"Fire Base Sierra Echo X-ray, this is Ginger Rogers!" The
panicked voice shouted. "We are surrounded! Request immediate extraction!"
The rat-a-tat of rapid fire weapons was audible over the wire. "Repeat,
request immediate extraction!"
"Colonel!" Benny yelled, jumping out of his chair, knocking
it over backward, and bolting for the door. He spotted the Colonel returning
from a leisurely stroll around the compound. He cupped his hand around
the side of his mouth and yelled again. "Colonel! It's Ginger Rogers,
sir. There's trouble!"
The Colonel dropped his cigarette to the dirt, ground it out with the
toe of his boot and came to the radio at a walk. He snatched up the
handset and barked into it. "Ginger Rogers, this is Fire Base Sierra
Echo X-ray. Who do I have?"
"Sergeant Phil Baker. There's VC everywhere! Request immediate
extraction!"
"That's a negative, Sergeant. Request for extraction denied. Your
unit must retrieve or destroy Fred Astair's cargo. I repeat, retrieve
or destroy, at all cost."
"We cannot reach that destination. We're being over-run! It's like
they were waiting for us; like they knew we were coming. We're out-manned
and out-gunned. Most of my men are down. My radio operator is dead and
my medic's been hit. I repeat, request immediate extraction!"
"You have your orders. I don't care how you do it, but get those
men in there and do the job you were sent to do." There was no
reply. "Ginger Rogers, come in!" Silence. "Ginger Rogers!
Do you read me?"
The non-stop hail of gunfire continued to be audible over the still
live radio, but there was no answer from the Sergeant, named Phil Baker.
The Colonel threw down the handset and stormed out of his quarters,
letting the door bang behind him.
The persistent sound of the distant battle pierced Benny's eardrums,
then came a sudden loud blast, then nothing. He stood in shock, reliving
the unbelievably barbarous episode that was over in a matter of seconds.
The Colonel took his usual evening constitutional. It put him away from
the command bunker, though his men were on a top priority, take no prisoners,
mission. (The second mission to end in total disaster in as many days.)
When Benny shouted that the men were on the wire and in trouble, rather
than making a mad dash for the radio, the Colonel wasted valuable seconds
crushing out his cigarette, and maintained his leisurely pace. He made
no offer to pull the men out or even let them retreat. In fact, though
the mission and its men were clearly doomed, he ordered them to stay.
Had he intentionally abandoned his own men? Did he want them to die?
The voice of the now dead Sergeant echoed inside Benny's head.
It's like they were waiting for us; like they knew we were coming. He
covered his ears with his hands, trying to make it stop, but the Sergeant
kept asking for the lives of his men, kept repeating the Army's three
magic words - the ones that meant losses were too high; the situation
no win; hopeless. Request immediate extraction.
Benny tried, unsuccessfully, to deny what happened, wished he was wrong,
but knew that he wasn't. As the mental instant replay came to an end,
Benny Walker, just barely nineteen years old, sank to his knees on the
floor.
The tape recorder clicked off.
