The Dying Place by David A. Maurer

Author:David A. Maurer [Maurer, David A.]
Language: eng
Format: epub, pdf
Tags: Fiction, War.Vietnam
ISBN: 9780440121831
Google: cN65fR_QPGYC
Amazon: B01KUPGGJI
Goodreads: 1204585
Publisher: Dell
Published: 1986-02-01T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter 14

In the dim cast of a quarter moon Walden and Forrest sat on the front porch of the team hooch, drinking beer and watching an occasional flare drift down over Marble Mountain. Inside, voices and laughter merged with the music of the Doors. Walden spoke as though talking to himself.

“Have you ever noticed how peaceful it seems back here? Like they could be attacking with five hundred troops and it wouldn’t bother me. After the shock of being in Laos wears off, it seems really safe back here at base, like it’s neutral ground.”

“Sure.” Forrest looked across the deserted sandlot that separated them from the hooches in Recon Company. “Except there isn’t anyplace in this whole country that’s neutral.” He slapped a mosquito on his forearm, then took a long swallow from his can of beer. Walden tossed his empty into the case at their feet and reached for another. A grimace etched his face for an instant. His right hand went reflexively to the side of his neck.

“You said your neck wasn’t bothering you anymore.” Forrest got a beer out of the case and handed it to him. Walden opened the beer without answering.

“Well?”

“Well, what?” Walden said. “It’s only been a week or so since I got hit.” He wiped the wetness from the sweating can onto his pants.

“Two weeks, almost three.”

“Don’t worry about it. It’ll be fine by the time we get back from extension leave.” Walden slowly turned his head back and forth to relieve the cramp.

“Hot damn, I keep forgetting that we’re going back to the States for thirty days. It’s not real.” The music ended inside the hooch. The voices of the little people were subdued in the sudden quiet.

“Thirty days to get old and shaky,” Walden said, rolling the beer can slowly between his palms. “You start thinking about it. You can’t smell it anymore, you can’t touch it, but you’re still here, because you know you have to come back.” He leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees. “I’ve been home on extension leave before. That’s why I want to go to Saigon this time.”

“You can’t go fishing in Saigon, man,” Forrest said.

“Bullshit.” Walden laughed. “I could catch that big one in Hoa’s pond a couple of hundred times in a month.”

“Ah, man.” Forrest blew the smoke of a fresh joint over the wooden railing. “Thirty days to do what I want. No smell of burning shit every morning. No Charlies trying to put my dick in a bag. No goddamn missions.” He looked at Walden for a sign of confirmation, but there wasn’t any. “What’s the matter? Don’t you want to go home?”

“It isn’t that I don’t want to go back, it’s just that I don’t see any point,” he said tiredly. “You go back, and you start seeing friends who work for something worthwhile. They have wives, kids, a future.”

“You’ve been bummed out about this leave since they told us it was approved,” Forrest said. “I mean, you’ve been here longer than anyone, not to mention the year you spent with the First Cav.

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