When Can I Stop Running?

ONE – FIREBASE LYNCH & LISTENING POST-1

ONE – FIREBASE LYNCH & LISTENING POSTJohn Kowalski and Louis Gladwell (aka ‘Polack’ and ‘LG’) drew the short straws earlier that afternoon, which meant they would be spending the night by themselves in a Listening Post roughly 500 meters outside the wire – deep in the Iron Triangle jungles of Vietnam. In that morning’s company briefing, First Squad of First Platoon was delegated to provide two warm bodies to man one of the four Listening Posts (LP’s) for that night. As there were seven members in the squad, they elected to use varied lengths of straws; the shortest two drawn would get the “coveted” assignment – the assignment dreaded by all.

Four LP teams of two would be going out that night, each heading out on a compass azimuth to position themselves evenly around Firebase Lynch. Dubbed “human early warning systems” and “bait for the enemy,” their job was only to hide, listen, and report any potential threats to the firebase. Polack and LG were assigned the approaches from the east. Ambush patrols were also leaving at the same time, but those squad-sized elements would be looking for a fight and would set up two clicks farther out. Two companies, Alpha and Charlie, were providing security for the forward artillery base and would remain on ready alert in the event of a ground attack on the base, or in case one of the ambush teams got into trouble.

Both soldiers were from the Detroit area; their homes were only four miles apart on the east side of the city. The two ‘hometown boys’ quickly discovered each other in the base and gave one another a complete run down of any news from their common neighborhood – an extremely welcome touch of home some thousands of miles away.

John was six feet tall, weighed 170 pounds, and was normally fair-complected, but the hot tropical sun had baked his skin to a dark bronze. He sported medium-brown hair, somewhat bleached out now, and a light mustache, both slightly longer than regulation. He’d been away from the main base camp and forward fire support bases for almost a month. Out in the jungles, personal grooming is way down on the list of daily priorities. There’s no one to impress, and nobody cares how you look. His shaggy hair was definitely not an issue.

Louis stood a couple of inches taller, but his build was slightly on the lankier side than John’s. He was African-American, with light, caramel-colored skin. His face was long and narrow, and his forehead and cheeks were lightly pitted with old scars. His frizzy black Afro was picked out a little more than three inches into a perfect circle surrounding his head. An olive drab-colored boony hat rested atop of his puff of hair, swaying and shimmying about, reacting to each movement. LG tried growing a goatee since arriving in-country but had only acquired a dozen or so half-inch long hairs that spread across his chin. He checked his hand mirror daily, anxious for any signs of goatee progress, not willing to give up the plan.

LG played basketball at Detroit’s Pershing High School and was named to the “All-State” team during his final two years. He carried a newspaper clipping detailing his success in his wallet and was extremely proud of that achievement. John also played basketball, but he had attended a Catholic high school with only two-hundred students. Both graduated in 1969, but never had a chance to play against one another because of the separation of leagues within the city. St. Thomas Apostle was a ‘Class D’ school due to its small size, and Pershing, a ‘Class A’ with over a thousand students. LG flunked some classes in his first semester at college and had his scholarship revoked; Uncle Sam was quick to find him afterward. Whenever Alpha Company spent a day or two in Cu Chi or one of these firebases, John and LG would both play basketball wherever they found a hoop mounted on a backboard. Pick-up games were always available but they never played on the same team. LG’s team, always the dominant force, seldom lost a game.

Polack had arrived at the main base camp for the 25th Infantry Division in Cu Chi a month before LG – which meant he had experienced a full 30 more days of bunker guard, going out on patrols, and living through ambushes while humping through the jungle. You learned quickly in-county – there was no other choice – but time passed slowly, and a month of experience was worth a great deal there. Because he was grateful to his own mentors after his arrival at the camp, Polack was eager to help other ‘Cherries’ learn the ropes. LG – as irrepressible as he was – sensed Polack’s sincerity, and appreciated his comraderie. LG had a quick smile, and a mischievous sense of humor. It wasn’t long before the two became best buds. Although they were not in the same squad, both were part of the 1st platoon, 1st Battalion, 27th Infantry Wolfhounds, which operated in the areas northwest of Saigon.

“Hey brother man,” Polack called over to his partner, a smirk growing on his face, “you gonna tie down that boony hat?”

LG looked at Polack with an incredulous look on his face. Before he could respond, Polack added, “You do know that if you sneeze, or there’s a sudden breeze, that hat’s gonna take flight and fly with the wind.”

LG suddenly realized the dig, rolled his eyes and shot Polack a one finger salute. “You know, man, I don’t understand why I gotta wear this thing at all. It’s f*****g up my ‘do!” LG reached up to ensure that his boony hat was still in place, and the ball of hair remained centered above his head.

“You’re trippin, man! If you go out without a hat, you’ll come back with a commune of bugs living in your hair. You should put it on the right way,” Polack suggested.

“It ain’t gonna happen, my brother. I sprayed bug juice in my hair – notice the sheen?” LG primped his hair again. “That should stop them bugs from getting in. Besides, I’ve worked too hard on this over the last week just to let it get f****d up on an overnight.”

Polack laughed, “Don’t forget that RTO’s get picked off by snipers because of their antennae, which, by the way, are much shorter than you and your floating lid.”

“Ha – Ha,” LG mocked sarcastically, “It don’t mean nothin’.”

Just as LG finished his sentence, another shirtless African-American soldier arrived. His Afro hairstyle was identical to LG’s, but instead of a hat, a long, black metal hair pick (“rake”) stuck out from his ball of hair. It sat off to the side, and, worn like a tilted crown, reminded John of how Jughead wore his hat in the ‘Archie’ comic books. His skin color was like dark chocolate, and there was a twenty-inch braided black shoelace encircling his neck; a four-inch braided cross hung from the necklace and dangled over his chest. A similarly fashioned two-inch wide black bracelet ringed his right wrist. His boots were untied and unlaced from half of the eyelets; the laces tucked inside. ‘Exceptionally casual today... he must think he’s back home in Alabama,’ John thought.

The soldier wore a black leather holster on his right hip, the flap securing a military .45 caliber pistol. His jungle fatigues were worn, faded, and two sizes too big. James smiled and his perfect white teeth gleamed in the receding sunlight. A member of the First Platoon, he was a scrawny guy from Mobile and stood at least six inches shorter than the rest of his brethren in the platoon. As a result of his size, James often volunteered to check out enemy tunnels whenever the First Platoon uncovered them. As a tunnel rat, he’d soon find himself spending a lot of time underground after the Wolfhounds would discover dozens of tunnels and caches in this area during the coming months.

James and his squad spent the day humping through the jungle and turned up in the general area where Polack and LG were staying that night.

“Hey, Bloooooods,” he called, dragging out the pronunciation of the second word in a long drawl. In his left hand, James held an ice-cold can of Coke, which sweated profusely in the humid air, moisture running down and dripping onto the ground. He moved in front of LG, held out his right fist waist-high between the two men, and then began a ritual handshake referred to as ‘DAP.’ Their hands moved up and down each other’s arms, touching shoulders, snapping fingers, beating chests, slapping palms, bumping fists, and finally ending in a traditional brotherhood handshake.

“Y’all need to be careful out there tonight,” he stated without missing a beat. “We saw beaucoup signs out on the trails today; a blind man could see that Charlie – and I mean lots of them – are out there just diddy-bopping along like they own the place.” Finished with the greeting, James moved to Polack, and they began the ritual while he continued, “This be a bad mofo, my brothers, the smell of death is everywhere. Every hair on the back of my neck stood tall the whole time we humped today. There was also something in the air... hard to explain... a feeling! You know the one you get when you think somebody’s laying back and watching you from the shadows?” Finishing his greeting, James stepped back a couple of paces.

Polack and LG both listened intently and could only shake their heads in affirmation while waiting for James to continue.

“Well, that’s how it was, my brothers. We didn’t see any of them today, but I do know for sure the man’s out there, scoping us out and putting a plan together. You brothers keep your heads down and don’t be no heroes out there.” James raised the can of Coke and chugged it until empty.

“Damn, this s**t is good! You want me to get y’all one?”

“No time, James, but thanks for the offer, brother,” LG responded for the pair.

“Well, look here,” James drawled, crushing the empty Coke can and tossing it into the nearby garbage barrel. “I just wanted to make sure I caught y’all before leaving so I could throw some luck your way! I’m hip about spending the night in the dark jungle, especially as part of an LP – I do know it can be a motherfucker! The beast is out there and will try to f**k with your head. Stay sharp, be strong, and don’t let it in!”

Polack and LG smiled and chimed together in responding, “Thanks, brother man!”

“We’ll be cool,” Polack added.

“Well, alright then! See y’all in the morning.” The three soldiers slapped low outstretched hands and James turned to leave. Before walking away, he looked up to LG’s head,

“I like what you doin’ with the new ‘do, brother. Lookin’ good!” The compliment resulted in an enormous smile from the tallest of the trio. “But that hat got to go, my man!” LG’s smile quickly disappeared, replaced by the frown he’d worn earlier. James raised his right fist and softly beat it against his chest once then walked away toward the mess tent shaking his head back and forth in amusement.

The two men returned the salute and then turned to one another.

“So what you think, Polack?”

“About what? Your hat?”

“Naw, man! f**k the hat!” LG kicked at the ground in retaliation, his toe upending a divot of dirt that sailed toward his partner, found its mark, and covered his boots in a shower of red dust.

Polack jumped in surprise. “What the...?” he started to say in annoyance, but stopped when he saw LG’s wide grin. Both men burst out laughing and after a few seconds slapped hands before resuming gathering their supplies.

LG was first to speak up,

“Come on, bro, let’s be serious here.” The tall man spread out his hands, palms up, in a pleading gesture.

Polack’s demeanor changed.

“Okay, okay! Lay it on me,” Polack conceded, tucking his hands into the back pockets of his trousers and appearing more attentive.

Polack couldn’t help but notice that the scene surrounding the two men was a beehive of activity. Dusk was only thirty minutes away, and troops across the firebase were scrambling to prepare for the coming night. Artillery crews worked on the battery of six Howitzers. Men were busy removing 105 mm rounds from storage containers and tossing the empty wooden crates onto the other side of the wall of sandbags surrounding the guns. In the morning, a work detail would fill these with dirt and use them to build living quarters for others on the firebase.

The teams leaving the firebase at night would travel lightly without the extra weight of rucksacks, helmets, and food. Each man would carry only the bare necessities: weapons, extra ammo, trip flares, claymore mines, grenades, camouflaged poncho liners tied to the back of their web gear, and one PRC-25 radio per group. The heat and humidity took a toll on everyone during the day, but the nights were extremely chilly and damp. Poncho liners kept them warm; soldiers cocooned themselves, using the liners as shields against the jungle bugs – especially the swarms of mosquitoes. All four ambush squads carried an M-60 machine g*n and extra belts of ammo; each member also had a single belt of 100 rounds to support the g*n.