Mike laughed. “Shingles? Just for a case of Coke? What do you think this is, Minnesota?”
“I’m from Wisconsin.”
“Minnesota, Wisconsin, whatever-I ain’t got shingles.”
“Well, what else you got?” For crying out loud, why couldn’t the guy just cooperate?
“Got some tin,” Mike said.
“All right, just give me that. We’ll make do.”
Mike looked at him. “Dammit, I don’t know why I feel sorry for you guys. The tin’s on the house. Keep your Coke.”
“Thanks!” Rick said. He paused, then added, “Nice crown.”
The tools were hardly state of the art, but Rick was able to take charge. In fact, he preferred a regular saw to an electric one because he enjoyed working with his hands so much. He’d never been in charge of anything before, but all those tables he’d made really helped him build the kennels. They didn’t have porches, but they did the job. It felt kind of good to be in charge after a lifetime of being simply a good worker. Anyway, now the dogs had nicer accommodations.
Cracker’s kennel was next to Tristie’s. She knew Rick had arranged that. She just knew, like she always knew when Rick, Cody, and Twenty-Twenty were coming before she saw them. She could smell them or hear them, or she would just know. Sometimes Bruno or Tristie knew first and would stand up and move to their gates. That was the sign for Cracker to move to her gate as well. So by the time the guys arrived, all three dogs would be sitting at the front of their kennels, waiting. Their guys always showed up first, and then Cracker, Bruno, and Tristie liked to jump around their kennels in celebration. They had the best guys.
The next assignment Rick pulled freaked him out: He’d be walking point in front of an entire company of 150 men. One hundred fifty! He remembered that night at the dinner table when he’d told his family he wanted to whip the world. Pretty easy to say in a frame house in a town in Wisconsin. Now he figured that, just in case, he should drop his parents a line. He wrote only that he was going out on his first big mission and that he’d write more later. Then he figured it was better not to worry them and tore up the letter.
That evening Rick brushed Cracker twice, murmuring her favorite words-“good girl”-the whole time. Then he told her, “We’re going to have a whole company following us. This is big stuff.” Over and over he said, “It’s big stuff, girl, big stuff.” But he didn’t know whether that was true. It could be another dud.
In the late afternoon Cody and Twenty both got back from the field looking like, well, like they just got back from a war. They didn’t say a word through dinner and left the mess hall immediately. Nobody spoke as they walked to the kennels.
Instead of sitting among the trees like they usually did, they all sat behind a warehouse. Cracker galloped to where Bruno and Tristie were chasing rats in a rice paddy. In the distance Rick watched some locals going through the base garbage dump. Cody stuck a piece of gum in his mouth. Twenty-Twenty lit a cigarette. Both seemed deep in thought.
“So what’s up, man?” Rick finally asked.
Twenty took a breath and nodded for a few seconds, as if thinking. “It was confusing out there,” he said at last. “You can’t tell which of the indigenous personnel are friendlies and which aren’t.” He lowered his voice as some Vietnamese the army had hired to do laundry walked past. “You don’t know who to trust. The villagers look just like Charlie.” One original aim of the United States had been to “win the hearts and minds” of the villagers. But that all seemed to be in the past now. “I shot a Vietcong girl. I mean, she was armed—she aimed a rifle at me—but, you know, I didn’t really expect to be fighting girls.”
“You shot a girl?” said Rick. He’d heard that a lot of girls fought for the Vietcong, but to shoot one….
Twenty-Twenty turned angrily to Rick. “You weren’t there, you know?”
“Easy, man, I didn’t mean anything.”
Cody, frowning, said, “If she was gonna kill you, you gotta protect yourself.”
“Yeah, I know.” Twenty-Twenty leaned his head back against the wall. The dogs were freaking out over a rat. Twenty smiled at Tristie barking and hopping around. “She’s the only worthwhile thing in this war.”
Bruno ran over just to say hi to Cody. Even he looked different. He’d always been the oldest dog in the squad, but now Rick noticed white hairs on his nose that he’d never noticed before.
Rick spied some more rats sticking their heads up in the field. “Hey, let’s pop some rats.” He’d seen some old-timers do it when they needed a little tension release.
Cody and Twenty seemed unsure, but then Cody smiled and said, “Yeah! Those damn rats are driving me nuts. I saw one in the mess hall the other day!” Then it was like old times again.
Rick got blasting caps and cheese, and he, Twenty-Twenty, and Cody walked into the field laughing. The dogs went crazy-Cracker even managed to grab a big rat in her mouth and shake it dead. “Good girl!” Rick called out. He had a wiener in his pocket that he had been planning to give her later. His mother had been sending him five dollars now and then, and he’d been using the money to buy hot dogs for Cracker from Mike. He gave her a piece of one now. Then he placed cheese on a couple of blasting caps and jogged off to watch with Twenty and Cody.
They called their dogs to them. The dogs obeyed, Cracker the most reluctantly. She kept looking back over her shoulder at the paddy. A moment later a huge rat jumped on a blasting cap. Boom! Cracker and Tristie danced the happy dance.
“Soldiers!”
The guys jumped up. Jeez! It was the captain! Rick had never even talked to the captain. He and his friends stood stiff, dogs at their sides.
“May I ask what you’re doing?” the captain asked, in a voice that implied he knew perfectly well what they were doing. Fortunately, he was standing in front of Twenty-Twenty.
Twenty-Twenty said, “Sir! We noticed that the rodent population was becoming problematic, sir! The rodent population has gotten so brazen that they sometimes walk right into the mess hall while we’re eating, sir! And we decided to resolve the problem! Sir! And-”
“That’s enough, Private. I want all your names.”
Twenty-Twenty said, “My name is Brian Butler, sir. You may know my uncle, Lieutenant Colonel Brian Butler, after whom I was named and who, uh, whom, by the way, was awarded two Silver Stars, the Distinguished Flying Cross, eleven Air Medals, and the Legion of Merit.”
The captain paused. “Brian Butler?” He paused again. “All right, just pick up any unexploded caps in the field, and—and I don’t want to see you wasting good ammunition on any more rats.”
Later that night the handlers’ barrack was nearly empty, with most of the guys out on missions. Rick thought about how different Cody and Twenty-Twenty were than they had been a week ago. They seemed older. The clearest way he could tell they were different was because he knew he hadn’t changed, but he could tell he didn’t quite fit in with them anymore. And Cody didn’t seem as upbeat as he used to. Rick wondered if he himself would be different a week or two from now.
Monsoon season was in full force, and the winds howled and rain poured. Rick listened to it pound on the roof that night. Even in the darkness, he could feel that Twenty-Twenty was awake. “Twenty-Twenty!” he said.
“Yeah.”
“You saved our butts. But I thought you were named Orrin after your grandfather.”
“Yeah, I was.”
Rick closed his eyes. He hoped Cracker was getting a good rest.
Actually, Cracker was still awake, thinking of Rick. A trickle of rainwater ran through her kennel. She moved to avoid it. She heard rat-a-tat noises in the distance. They were different from the noises Rick’s gun made. Inside the kennel, the trickle seemed to be following her. She moved again and sighed as she laid down her head.
The next morning Rick showed up again. She stood very still. She could feel how nervous he was, like his blood was tingling, and that made her nervous. She wondered what it was
that was making their blood tingle together.
“This is it, Cracker.”
Cracker stared straight at him. She knew exactly what he was saying-namely, that something important was happening and that it was happening to them both together. She felt so eager to please him that when he opened up the gate, she spun around several times chasing her tail before she could bring herself to sit in front of him.
Another soldier came by and stood next to them. “This the dog?” he said.
“Cracker,” Rick said, and Cracker wagged her tail. “Cracker’s the best dog in Vietnam.”
The other soldier narrowed his eyes as Cracker hopped around chasing herself. “She better be, because we’re going to a hot zone.”
“Hot zone.” Cracker had heard that while they were running around before the long trip over here. Whenever there was gunfire in the air or men hidden in bushes, Rick would lean in and say, “Hot zone.” She listened now but didn’t hear any gunfire. She looked up at Rick to ask him about the hot zone. He didn’t say anything, just slung his sack on his back and walked with the other soldier to where a chopper was already waiting, its blades whirring. At the chopper he knelt next to her and leaned toward one of her ears. “You—are—the—best—dog—in—Vietnam!” Rick shouted. “Do you understand?”
Dog! She wagged her tail.
“We’re heading south, toward Bien Hoa. But not quite that far.”
Benwa!
Rick saw that a couple dozen choppers had already taken off and more were landing to pick up soldiers. Man, he’d never seen so many choppers in the air at once. They were gonna kick some butt! He also saw some Cobra gunships-nicknamed “Sharks” or “Redbirds”-circling in the distance, their front ends painted with red and white shark’s teeth.
After half a dozen other men had boarded the chopper, he and Cracker climbed on. Rick hunched over and avoided the back, even though the top blades whirled at least a foot above his head and the rear blades churned several feet away. As he climbed aboard, he suddenly had a funny feeling: He didn’t feel like him. That is, he knew he was him, and he knew it was him climbing onto the chopper, but he didn’t quite feel as if he were there. Yet he didn’t feel as if he were anywhere else, either. It was just that he had expected this moment to feel intense, and instead, it felt far away.
Rick took a place in the center and sat with Cracker. The other men looked curiously at her. A couple of them smiled and petted her. Cracker leaned her nose out the open door, but Rick pulled her back hard. “No!” He knew the centrifugal force would keep her in, but he wanted to be extra safe today. She lay next to him as the bird lifted off. The whole sky was roaring.
Someone said, “Hey, dog man. I hope you’re smiling when this is over!” Rick realized he’d been half grinning, and he probably looked stupid. He was grinning more from nervousness than anything else. His first hot zone!
As they rose, nobody spoke. Rick didn’t know any of the guys on board, but they looked like they’d been here awhile. There was something different in their eyes. Down below in the fields Rick saw the bomb craters, some of them filled with dirty water. From a heavy forest beyond a rice paddy, smoke exploded upward. Rick took a big breath and said into Cracker’s ear, “I hope that’s not where we’re going.”
But they went on, the thunder in Rick’s ears starting to seem normal. Every so often he’d see a fist of smoke shoot upward from the ground. Suddenly, the chopper started to descend, hovering above a rice paddy. The men began to jump out. Then Rick had the feeling he’d been expecting, like he was here. Really here. Like this was it. His heart pounded hard, and his whole body felt as if it were quivering. He started to hop out, and Cracker launched off at the same time, flying past him.
“No!” he shouted, too late. Cracker was already hurtling forward, sailing to the end of her leash. The leash snapped taut, and Rick slammed facedown in the stagnant water. By the time he righted himself, the helicopter had lifted away, and everybody was laughing at him.
“Claimed he had the best dog in Vietnam,” he heard someone say.
Rick wiped the water from his face, furious. Bad, bad first impression. Very bad. Another chopper hovered, and more men jumped off.
“Dog Handler!” the lieutenant called out.
“Yes, sir!” Rick shouted, his voice sounding louder than he had meant it to.
“Southeast, Dog Handler!”
“Yes, sir!” He thought about adding, My name is Hanski, sir, but decided not to. “Cracker, search!”
They were on what was officially called a “search-and-destroy mission.” Unofficially, “find ’em and fix ’em.” A reconnaissance patrol believed there might be enemy in this area. The mission now was to find Charlie or anything that might help him and destroy it. It also meant that if they made contact, they were to kill the enemy-“fix ’em.”
Cracker sniffed the air. She leaned her head left, then right, as smells drifted through her nostrils. Her ears flickered once, but just at the newness of the situation.
Rick wondered whether that flicker was enough for him to stop the 150 guys behind him. He decided not, and they trudged on for a few more minutes.
Cracker raised her head and turned it more south than east. Her ears stood up straight. That was a definite alert. Rick turned to Rafael, the guy walking behind him. He moved his fingers in a kind of short wave. Rafael was Rick’s slack man, but this was the first time they’d worked together. Funny to think that two guys who hadn’t known each other the day before now depended on each other for their lives. Rafael hurried up beside Rick. “What’s she got?” Rafael asked in a low voice.
“I dunno. She’s alerting south. It’s definite, but not immediate. I mean, it’s not like the enemy is two feet away. But it’s definitely people, not mechanical. She sits for booby traps.”
Rafael had just left to report to the company leader when a gunshot fired. Rick knew immediately that it was an AK-47—he didn’t make the same mistake twice. Everybody’s legs dropped out from under them, water from the rice paddy splashing upward. Rick and Cracker lay flat behind a low dike, men close on either side of them. The adrenaline made Rick’s skin buzz. His mind felt clearer than it had felt, maybe ever. He figured the shot had come from the south, and when he looked down the row, he saw other men aiming their guns in that direction. “Down, Cracker,” he said, though she was already down.
The man to the left of him asked in a low voice, “How many are there?” He eyed Cracker.
Rick had noticed that some of the guys who weren’t familiar with scout dog teams seemed to think that the handlers could read the dogs’ minds.
“Uh, I don’t know.”
Another gunshot sounded, followed closely by yet another. The shots seemed to come from two different directions.
“At least two,” the man on the right said.
Rick heard the radioman behind him.
“Alpha, Alpha, this is Ranger. We got two bad guys firing small arms.” He gave their coordinates and asked for support. “Do you copy?”
Rick could hardly hear the reply. It sounded like mostly static over the radio, but then he heard their radioman say, “That’s a 10-4.”
They didn’t move. Nobody moved, but like all the guys, Rick held his M-16 low and ready. Rick was proud of how well behaved Cracker was. Her leash lay under the water somewhere. Cracker lay still but alert. Rick’s foot went to sleep. Then a hand went to sleep. Sometimes the fire seemed to be coming from different directions, but never from more than two at once. Rick lay with the left side of his face immersed in water. Cracker tried to lap at the water, and Rick hissed, “No.” If she drank this stagnant water, she might get sick. But he couldn’t get to a canteen right now.
At one point Cracker moved her nose forward and pushed at his face under the water. He reached under the water and felt something slimy attached to his cheek. He couldn’t stop himself from trying to see what was there. He slowly turned his head until he could see something black bulging from it. A le
ech.
For some insane reason, the leech made him almost laugh out loud. It made him think of how crazy it would be to die out here, with a leech attached to his cheek.
Cracker suddenly leapt straight up in the air, almost as if somebody had picked her up and thrown her. She splashed down in the water. He frowned at her as she leapt up again. A shot whizzed by. She splashed down.
“Down,” Rick whispered urgently. A shot hit the dike right on the other side of where they lay. Rick felt something bite at him and nearly jumped himself.
The soldiers on either side of them started inching away as another shot whizzed over Rick’s head. The soldiers kept inching away until only he and Cracker remained. Cracker looked at Rick desperately as she jumped into the air again. Rick tried to hold his gun with one hand and grab her paws with the other. “Down. Stay. Stay down.”
He heard a staticky voice over the radio, then the reply from his radioman: “That’s a 10-4. Fire when ready.”
Someone called out, “Take cover! Incoming!”
Rick saw the smoke from the mortar fire—it looked about twenty meters away. He heard the radio guy again: “Alpha, Alpha, this is Ranger! Move one half klick to the south! Do you copy?”
The fire ceased immediately, then resumed farther to the south. A “klick” was a kilometer.
Someone hissed from Rick’s right. The lieutenant was signaling him to move. Rick gave Cracker the crawl gesture, and they slithered through the water. The other soldiers were also slithering along. Every so often one of them must have inadvertently raised his body too high, for a shot would explode into the air ahead of or behind Rick. So the snipers no doubt knew the company was on the move. But after more mortar fire, the snipers fell silent.
One by one the men crawled through the nipa palms circling the paddy. They kept crawling until they reached the cover of the jungle. It was only there that Rick allowed Cracker to stand up. Rick reached to pull the leech off his cheek. “Don’t touch it!” Rafael said. “They leave their jaws embedded in your flesh if you try to pull them off. You gotta make them let go with a cigarette or bug juice.”