Starlight Page 11

  Light stayed at his hut, and the Tiger continued to harass the firebase. He shot another guard out of the tower, killed two more mortar crewmen, and shot the glass out of a periscope the men were using on the perimeter.

  Then Leander, still wearing his pith helmet, asked to see Hale. Hale had him report to the TOC. Leander came alone.

  “Ain’t putting my men out on the guns for the Tiger to kill no more,” Leander said.

  “You and your men will go to jail,” Hale said.

  “Least we’ll be alive in LBJ. You send Jackson out. He’s Light’s main man. He can talk to him. Everything’ll be cool then.”

  Jackson took a deep breath.

  “Jackson’s getting paid to be my RTO, not to go out in the bush,” Hale said, talking fast. “You think you run this firebase. Think you can give my men orders. Jackson’ll never go out as long as I’m in command.”

  “One day you’ll get wasted,” Leander said. “That’ll be how the report’ll read. Major got wasted by the Tiger.”

  “Get out of here!” Hale shouted. “Get out of my sight!”

  “Yeah, you’re the major,” Leander said. “Long as you’re here we got to do what you say.”

  Leander left the TOC.

  Jackson wanted to be out in the bush with Light. Any night now the frag would bounce down the steps of the TOC. One of the guards posted at the entrance might do it himself.

  Then a navy captain and a lieutenant commander appeared in the TOC. They told Hale they had hitched a ride on a chopper to the firebase to see some of the war. The officers wore stateside fatigues and black baseball caps with gold braid on the bills.

  “Nothing much to see here,” Hale said.

  “They told us in Pleiku a firefight was usually going on up here,” the captain said.

  Hale said, “Rear areas get a distorted picture of us. I can have you choppered over to firebase Mary Lou. Lots of action up there.”

  But the captain decided to spend the night. Hale tried to persuade them to change into jungle fatigues along with steel pots and flak jackets, but the captain refused.

  “We’re just here to observe,” he said. “We’ll stay out of the way.”

  “We’ve got this problem with a sniper. He likes unusual targets. You’re dressed different from the rest of the men. Be safer if I found you some fatigues. Sniper couldn’t tell you from the enlisted men,” Hale said.

  The captain said, “No, thanks. We keep our heads down. Watch you kill him.”

  When Labouf heard about the naval officers he laughed and said, “Those guys are finished.”

  And Jackson agreed.

  The captain and the lieutenant commander came back down into the TOC after dark to wait for some action. Labouf waited until Hale was gone then came down to try to sell the officers a look at his map. They laughed and dismissed him as a case of combat fatigue. Labouf went over to the map tripod and began to write something on his map. Jackson was surprised the navy men were still alive. The captain began to grumble that there was nothing going on.

  Hale returned and said, “Jackson, call up the mortar squad and have ’em fire some H&I. We’ll go up in the tower and watch.”

  They had already left the TOC by the time Jackson got Leander on the land line.

  “Not unless a patrol is in trouble,” Leander said.

  Jackson sat in front of the radio and waited for Hale to call on the land line from the tower. The telephone buzzed.

  “Why aren’t they firing?” Hale asked.

  “Leander won’t. Only if a patrol needs support.”

  Hale came down from the tower and argued with Leander on the land line. The naval officers were amused.

  “That man needs a few months in the brig,” the captain said.

  Hale said, “He’ll fire those rounds if I have to hold a pistol to his head.”

  They all went up out of the TOC. But no sooner had they cleared the stairway than Hale, the lieutenant commander, and the guard came half-running and half-crawling down the stairs, dragging the body of the captain behind them.

  Labouf whispered in Jackson’s ear, “Now you’ll be going out. Some admiral is going to be pissed.”

  And Labouf lit the edge of the map with his lighter. He dropped it to the ground where it quickly burned. Labouf rubbed the ashes into the dirt with his boot.

  “Got money I can’t spend and no way to make more.”

  Not long after the chopper carrying the body of the captain left, General Morton called Hale on the radio.

  “Can’t you secure your area from snipers?” Morton said.

  Jackson left the radio but stayed close enough to hear.

  “The air force wouldn’t give me an arclight,” Hale replied.

  Morton said, “You don’t need an arclight for one goddamn sniper. Now the navy is raising hell with me. Some of your men told that lieutenant commander you let a sniper shoot up your camp at will. And what’s this about your mortar section refusing to fight.”

  “That’s not true,” Hale said. “My men do what I tell them. We’ve had a problem with a sniper. I’ve had airstrikes. I’ve sent out patrols. If I could have an arclight—”

  “Goddammit, Hale, you’re not going to get an arclight unless the enemy is attacking in strength. What you’re going to do is personally take out a patrol and kill that sniper. Major Williams told me he’s had to stop work on the fence. Why wasn’t I told? You’re there to protect the engineers. That’s your only mission. Good God, man, did those navy men see the fence?”

  “No, sir, they didn’t,” Hale said.

  “You deny it’s there if the navy starts asking questions. What you’re doing is classified, understand. I want results up there. You get me results and there’ll be a good report on you. A promotion. Maybe colonel.”

  “I’ll take care of the sniper. We’ll start stringing wire again. You can count on me, Sir.”

  Hale hung up the handset and turned to Jackson.

  “Get out there, Jackson,” Hale said. “Take Light’s mail to him. Write his letters, talk to him, hold his hand. Make sure he kills the Tiger.”

  CHAPTER

  16

  JACKSON WAS NOT AFRAID as he walked through the scrub, breathing smoothly and evenly like a man out for a walk after dinner. In his rucksack he carried .303 ammo, a new walkie-talkie, and a battery for the starlight scope. There were clouds over the mountains. Every day for the past several weeks the clouds had built up, a blue-black cliff of clouds over in Laos, but so far there had been no rain. The monsoon was late, and they all feared its arrival because it would mean a reduction in their air support.

  He called Light over and over on the radio to let him know he was coming out but had received no reply.

  I’ll be all right, Jackson thought. Probably already knows I’m here. Won’t let the Tiger waste me.

  Even though he tried to walk quietly, the dead twigs and grass crackled under his boots. He entered the tree line, moving easily. The jungle had taken on a new character for him, a comfortable order instead of a random arrangement of trees and vines. It was a triple-canopy rain forest, the trees rising in three distinct layers. Walking in it was like being inside a gymnasium, that same hollow feeling. Only the patches of bamboo, the shoots growing closely together, made walking difficult. At any moment he expected Light to step out from behind the buttresses of one of the huge trees.

  Jackson felt no panic, experienced no fear of getting lost as he walked steadily for the big rock. Here and there were clear places where the air force had dropped bombs and napalm. But already the undergrowth had returned and had grown so thick Jackson walked around them instead of trying to push his way through. When he came out of the trees, walking on the outcropping, he saw a light ahead.

  He walked into the hut, stooping at the doorway. Tom Light sat with his back against the wall, the candle burning in a holder made from an empty M-79 casing. The candle smelled like blueberries, but Jackson could still detect that jungle stink of To
m Light.

  “Goddamn, the Tiger could’ve killed me,” Jackson said. “Why’d you let him shoot up the firebase?”

  “You’re still alive,” Light said.

  “You shouldn’t have let him pick us off. Didn’t you see troops dying in the starlight?”

  “You got my mail?”

  He read Light his mail and wrote a letter for him, both Light and his parents still writing the same sort of things. Light pretended he was in a base camp and even talked of going swimming and eating ice cream. His parents, maybe lying too, said the fishing was good and his mother’s heart was better.

  “When are you going to kill the Tiger?” Jackson asked.

  “When I get ready,” Light said.

  “The Tiger’s killing men at the firebase. Are you waiting for him to kill Hale?”

  “He won’t kill Hale. Lifers like Hale never get shot.”

  Jackson learned from Light the Tiger had built sniping stations up in the tops of the big trees, the third canopy. He traveled from treetop to treetop by means of a system of Tyrolean traverses. The name sounded funny coming out of Light’s mouth. Jackson guessed the army had taught it to him in reconnaissance school.

  “When the air force drops napalm, he hides in a tunnel,” Light said.

  “Kill him tonight,” Jackson said.

  “My scope is fucked up.”

  “Broken?”

  “No.”

  “Let me see.”

  Light shook his head and said, “There’s weird shit in that scope. I told you I ain’t using it no more.”

  Jackson remembered that first night at the firebase when he had seen the flash in the scope.

  “I want to see,” Jackson said.

  Light blew out the candle. He took the lens cover off the scope and turned it on. A greenish glow appeared on the big end. It threw a circle of soft green light within the hut. Light squatted gook fashion and stared into it. He began to sway back and forth, mesmerized by the glow.

  “Ain’t supposed to be glowing. Nothing in it now. I don’t want to see. Don’t want to know who’s gonna die no more.” He continued, “One night a dragon’ll jump out of it. I saw a dragon through it once over in the Ia Drang Valley.”

  “Loose wire, that’s all,” Jackson said, trying to remain calm.

  Jackson wanted the scope back in perfect working order. A crazy Light might wander off into the jungle, never to return, his protection withdrawn. The Tiger would kill them all. Jackson hit the top of the scope with the palm of his hand. The glow disappeared.

  Jackson said, “See, a loose wire, that’s all. I’ll tell Hale you want another one.”

  “No, don’t want another starlight,” Light said quickly.

  “Kill the Tiger,” Jackson said. “Do it now.”

  “Don’t want to use the scope,” Light said.

  Jackson replaced the old battery with a fresh one and turned the scope on the jungle. He saw the trees through it clearly, like a forest growing beneath a green sea. Sparkles of light played around the outlines of the trees.

  “It’s working fine. You look,” Jackson said.

  Jackson started to hand the scope to Light, but he shied away from it as if Jackson were handing him a snake instead and shook his head.

  Light said, “Remember the city I told you about. The mountain people say it’s a temple city. Way up in Laos. No NVA, no American troops there. I could go up there and live. Never have to go back to the world.”

  Jackson gulped air.

  “You can waste him easy,” Jackson said.

  “You do it,” Light said.

  Light attached the scope to the rifle and handed it to Jackson. The rifle felt heavy. Jackson knew he was not going to be able to shoot anyone with it.

  “I don’t know how,” Jackson said, his breath beginning to come in ragged gasps.

  “You walked up here tonight, didn’t you?” Light said.

  “Sure, but—”

  “Not many men could have done it.”

  “You kept me safe.”

  “You found me, didn’t get lost in the jungle. You’re as good as the Tiger. He makes mistakes. Remember, he missed me.”

  Jackson pressed the rifle back into Light’s hands.

  “I can’t do it. You know I can’t. You waste him,” Jackson said. “Your daddy said he was proud of you in the letter. He won’t be proud if you run away to hide in Laos. Remember your mother’s heart. What if you stopped writing? It’d worry her sick. You could get killed up there and no one would ever know. Your folks wouldn’t even be able to have a funeral.”

  “I ain’t looking through the starlight,” Light said.

  “Then don’t use it,” Jackson said. “You’re the best. Don’t need a goddamn starlight to kill a dink sniper.”

  “I could use iron sights,” Light said slowly.

  “Right. Goddamn, it’ll be fucking easy. Like hunting deer.” Jackson took a deep breath and continued, “I’ll help you. Just like we were on a deer drive back home.”

  “I need to think,” Light said.

  Light sat crosslegged in the center of the hut. What seemed like hours passed. Off in the distance Jackson heard the rumble of thunder. Light sat still, the rifle across his legs, his hands outstretched in front of him, palms up. Jackson, sitting with his back against one of the roof poles, tried to sleep, but the mosquitoes kept him awake. Finally Light spoke.

  “You have to be the decoy.”

  “What?” Jackson asked.

  “The decoy. You said I was the best. If I’m the best, then nothing’s going to happen to you.”

  Jackson gasped for breath, thinking of the fiberglass duck decoys he used back home. Sometimes the decoys got shot too when the ducks settled down among them.

  “Well?” Light asked.

  “You tell me what to do,” Jackson said.

  “Right now we sleep. In the morning we kill the Tiger.”

  Jackson lay down on the dirt floor and closed his eyes. When he woke it was morning and Light was gone. Jackson hoped this meant Light had decided to go after the Tiger by himself.

  He walked out of the hut and saw Light sitting on the ground tying off the top of a plastic sandbag cover with a bootlace. The outcropping was covered with a dense morning fog, so there was no danger of being seen by the Tiger.

  “What you got in there?” Jackson asked, motioning toward the sack with the barrel of his rifle.

  “Present for the Tiger,” Light said.

  There was a lump in the bottom of the sandbag cover. Maybe Light had frags or a claymore in it.

  “What’re you gonna do?” Jackson asked.

  “Booby trap him,” Light said. “You see, he’ll be coming up to shoot at the firebase as soon as this fog burns off. We’ll set you as a decoy. When he works around to get a shot at you, it’ll be Christmas morning for the Tiger.”

  “Use the rifle?” Jackson asked. Light shook his head no, and Jackson continued, “What’s in the sack?”

  “Talking about a trap too much’ll ruin it.”

  “It’d be safer with the rifle,” Jackson said, beginning to wish he was back at the firebase.

  “Can’t see up into the top of the trees. Fucking trees are two hundred feet tall. Like trying to shoot squirrels hiding up in the top of a big cypress back home. Not the way to do it. Don’t want to try to kill him in his house that way without the starlight.”

  Jackson followed Light into the jungle filled with fog. They walked slowly until they reached an especially large tree, which had buttresses at the base taller than Jackson’s head.

  “You go up,” Light whispered in Jackson’s ear.

  “How?” Jackson asked.

  Light took the barrel of his rifle and poked at something above their heads. A rope ladder fell to the ground.

  “Known this was here all along,” Light said.

  Jackson was glad Light’s confidence had returned, but he did not want to climb the tree.

  Light continued, “Yo
u go up. Tiger’s got a sniping platform. He’ll know you’re there. Only way he can get a shot at you is from another station on up the ridge.”

  “What if the trap don’t work?”

  “It’ll work. Remember, you said I was the best.”

  Jackson put one hand on the first rung and hesitated.

  “You scared of high places?” Light asked.

  “I’m not scared,” Jackson said.

  Jackson started up the ladder. He had slung his rifle over his shoulder, barrel down. Every time he put his boot on another rung he felt it bumping against his back.

  Don’t look down, don’t look down, he thought.

  The climb was easy and soon he reached a bamboo platform in the crown of the tree. Below, the jungle looked like a deep, green sea.

  Jackson waited for the fog to lift, but hoped it would linger on into the morning. He watched a set of ropes the Tiger had strung from another tree. The Tiger would come that way. Jackson imagined shooting the Tiger as the man came across on the ropes, and the thought of being the Tiger’s killer excited him. He checked to make sure a round was in the chamber and set his M-16 on automatic.

  Thunder rumbled over the mountains but the sun broke through the fog, and Jackson saw the sky covered with patches of clouds. He could see the firebase clearly. A tiny figure crossed the compound at a run and disappeared into a bunker. The big trees dripped water off their leaves. From the jungle floor, the smell of rotting vegetation rose up to him. A flock of birds settled in the branches above his head to scream at each other and drop twigs and pieces of fruit to the jungle floor. Along the curve of the ridge he could see holes that had been blasted out of the jungle by the bombing and treetops charred by napalm drops. Jackson pressed his back against the trunk and tried to breathe slowly.

  Bark splintered off the tree next to his head as the Shockwave of the bullet moved over him. The birds left the tree with loud squawks. An instant later Jackson heard the heavy report of the Tiger’s rifle. Jackson threw himself face down on the bamboo platform, all the air temporarily gone out of his lungs, his whole body limp and heavy. But he managed to suck in several deep breaths and fire off a magazine on automatic in the direction the shot had come from.

  Light’s rifle cracked from the jungle floor up the ridge.