Suddenly That Summer by Lori Handeland

Author:Lori Handeland [Handeland, Lori]
Language: eng
Format: epub

Chapter 16

Billy

“The Men Behind the Guns”

* * *

Vietnam—July 1967

Within two weeks, an increase in the body counts reported by LT, combined with the decrease in casualties, drew the attention of command, and the platoon was sent to cool their heels at Camp Enari until some colonel showed up to give LT an ARCOM—Army Commendation Medal.

“They actually asked me if I was inflating body counts.”

LT blew smoke out of his nose so hard he reminded Billy of a carny game where striking the bull’s-eye of a poorly carved wooden bull caused smoke to shoot from its nose as a bell rang and the tail swung up. Billy had wasted three dollars trying to win Jay a stuffed cat. If only he could have used his rifle and a bullet rather than his hand and a softball.

“I should have admitted to body count fuckery rather than telling the truth and having to put up with this.”

“You didn’t—” Billy began, then bit off the rest at LT’s sharp glance.

“I told them we’d found a way to get along.” He turned that gaze on the rest of the platoon, which had gathered around on his orders. “I didn’t tell them the specifics behind that, and no one else had better either.”

“Naw, sir, Mr. LT, we won’t say nothin’ to the big boss man.” Big Al laughed so hard he had to hold his stomach.

“He won’t.” Deus hip-checked Big Al, who had to straighten up or fall down. “We won’t.”

Others nodded or mumbled agreement, and Billy noticed, not for the first time, that marching together, working together, living, eating, breathing together had caused them to stand together, even at ease. Sure, there were groups of two or three black guys or white guys here and there in the crowd, but mostly, they all just gathered now however they gathered, mixed however they mixed. It made Billy as proud as their reduced casualty rates.

Guys still fought. Hammer and Flash were mad at the world and everyone in it half the time, and Vietnam wasn’t making them any less angry, which meant some days they punched someone, but it wasn’t as much about race as it used to be.

The distinct whoop-whoop of an approaching transport had LT tossing his cig, motioning for everyone to do the same. “Button up, covers on, at attention until told otherwise. No saluting.”

They’d been briefed already, but standing around in heat that easily topped one hundred degrees, they’d unbuttoned and uncovered. Everyone hustled into line, straightening and tucking. By the time the bird landed and the colonel hopped off, they were presentable—at least for Vietnam. Their boots weren’t shined; their uniforms weren’t pressed; they weren’t completely clean.

In contrast, Colonel Landis might have flown to Camp Enari straight from dates with the barber, bathhouse, shoe-shine kit, and equipment sergeant.

The wind kicked up, and Landis, who’d had his hand outstretched even though LT was at attention and could not shake until released, stopped dead. The half a dozen followers that had emerged from the gunship on his heels stopped too, so fast it was almost comical.

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