Gustav Hasford - The Short-Timers

I think about my first kill for a long time. At twilight a corpsman appears. I explain to him that Marines never abandon their dead or wounded.

The corpsman looks at each of Rafter Man's pupils several times. "What?"

I shrug. I say, "Payback is a motherfucker."

"What?" The corpsman is confused. The corpsman is obviously a New Guy.

"Tanks for the memories..." I say, because I do not know how to tell him how I feel. You're a machine gunner who has come to the end of his last belt. You're waiting, staring out through the barbed wire at the little men who are assaulting your position. You see their tiny toy-soldier bayonets and their determined, eyeless faces, but you're a machine gunner who has come to the end of his last belt and there's nothing you can do. The little men are going to grow and grow and grow--illuminated by the fluid, ghostly fire of a star flare--and then they're going to run up over you and cut you up with knives. You see this. You know this. But you're a machine gunner who has come to the end of his last belt and there's nothing you can do. In their distant fury the little men are your brothers and you love them more than you love your friends. So you wait for the little men to come and you know you'll be waiting for them when they come because you no longer have anywhere else to go...

The corpsman is confused. He does not understand why I'm smiling. "Are you okay, Marine?" Yes, he is a New Guy for sure.

I ditty-bop down the road. The corpsman calls after me. I ignore him.

A mile away from the place of fear I stick out my thumb.

I'm dirty, unshaven, and dead tired.

A Mighty Mite slams on its brakes. "MARINE!"

I turn, thinking I've got some slack, thinking I've got a ride.

A poge colonel pounces out of the jeep, marches up to face me. "MARINE!"

I think: Is that you, John Wayne? Is this me? "Aye-aye, sir."

"Corporal, don't you know how to execute a hand salute?"

"Yes, sir ." I salute. I hold the salute until the poge colonel snaps his hand to his starched barracks cover and I hold the salute for an extra couple of second before cutting it away sharply. Now he poge colonel has been identified as an officer to any enemy snipers in the area.

"Corporal, don't you know how to stand to attention? "

Right away I start wishing I was back in the shit. In battles there are no police, only people who want to shoot you. In battles there are no poges. Poges try to kill you on the inside. Poges leave your body intact because your muscles are all they want from you anyway.

I stand to attention, wobbling slightly beneath the sixty pounds of gear I'm humping.

The poge colonel has a classic granite jaw. I'm sure that the Marine Corps must have a strict examination at the officers' candidate school at Quantico designed to eliminate all officer candidates who lack the granite jaw.

His jungle utilities are razor-creased, starched to the consistency of green armor. He executes a flawless Short Pause, a favorite technique of leaders of men, designed to inflict its victim with fatal insecurity. Having no desire to damage the colonel's self-confidence, I respond with my best Parris Island rendition of I-am-only-an-enlisted-person-I-try-to-be-humble.

"Marine..." The colonel stands ramrod straight. This stance is the Air of Command, intended to intimidate me, despite the fact that I'm a foot taller and outweigh him by fifty pounds. The colonel investigates the underside of my chin. "Marine..." He likes that word. "What is that on your body armor, Marine?"

"Sir?"

The poge colonel stands on tiptoe. For a moment I'm afraid he's going to bite me in the neck. But he only wants to breathe on me. His smile is cold. His skin is too white. "Marine..."

"Sir?"

"I asked you a question."

"You mean this peace button, sir?"

"What is it?"

"A peace symbol, sir..."

I wait patiently while the colonel tries to remember the "Maintaining Interpersonal Relationships with Subordinate Personnel" chapter of his OCS textbook.

The poge colonel continues to breathe all over my face. His breath smells of mint. Marine Corps officers are not allowed to have bad breath, body odor, acne pimples, nor holes in their underwear. Marine Corps officers are not allowed to have anything that has not been issued to them.

The colonel jabs my button with a forefinger, gives me a fairly decent Polished Glare. His blue eyes sparkle. "That's right, son, act innocent. But I know what that button means."

"Yes, sir! "

"It's a ban-the-bomb propaganda button. Admit it!"

"No, sir." I'm in real pain. The man who invented standing at attention obviously never humped any gear.

"Then what does it mean?"

"It's just a symbol for peace, sir."

"Oh, yeah?" He breathes faster, up close now, as though he can smell lies.

"Yes, Colonel, it's just--"

"MARINE!"

"AYE-AYE, SIR!"

"WIPE THAT SMILE OFF YOUR FACE!"

"AYE-AYE, SIR!"

The poge colonel moves around me, stalks me. "Do you call yourself a Marine?"

"Well..."

"WHAT?"

"Crossed fingers, king's-X. "Yes, sir."

"Now seriously, son..." The colonel begins an excellent Fatherly Approach. "Just tell me who gave you that button. You can level with me. You can trust me. I only want to help you." The poge colonel smiles.

The colonel's smile is funny so I smile, too.

"Where did you get that button, Marine?" The colonel looks hurt. "Don't you love your country, son?"

"Well..."

"Do you believe that the United States should allow the Vietnamese to invade Viet Nam just because they live here?" The poge colonel is struggling to regain his composure. "Do you?"

My shoulders are about to fall off. My legs are falling asleep. "No, sir. We should bomb them back to the Stone Age... sir ."

"Confess, Corporal, confess that you want peace."

I give him a Short Pause. "Doesn't the colonel want peace...sir?"

The colonel hesitates. "Son, we've all got to keep our heads until this peace craze blows over. All I have ever asked of my boys is that they obey my orders as they would obey the word of God."

"Is that a negative...sir?"

The poge colonel tries to think of some more inspiring things to say to me, but he has used them all up. So he says, "You can't wear that button, Marine. It's against regulations. Remove it immediately or you will be standing tall before the man."

Somewhere up in Heaven, where the streets are guarded by Marines, Jim Nabors, in his Gomer Pyle uniform, sings: " From the halls of Montezuma...to the shores of Tripoli... "

"MARINE!"

"YES, SIR!"

"WIPE THAT SMILE OFF YOUR FACE!"

"AYE-AYE, SIR!"

"The Commandant has ordered us to protect freedom by allowing the Vietnamese to live like Americans all they want to. As long as Americans are in Viet Nam the Vietnamese will have the right to express their political convictions without fear of reprisal. So I will say it one more time, Marine, take off that peace button or I will give you a tour of duty in Portsmouth Naval Prison."

I stay at attention.

The poge colonel remains calm. "I am going to cut a new set of orders on you, Corporal. I am personally going to demand that your commanding officer shit-can you to the grunts. Show me your dogtags."

I dig out my dogtags and I tear off the green masking tape around them and the poge colonel writes my name, rank, and serial number into a little green notebook.

"Come with me, Marine," says the poge colonel, putting the little green notebook back into his pocket. "I want to show you something."

I step over to the jeep. The poge colonel pauses for dramatic effect, then pulls a poncho off a lump on the back seat. The lump is a Marine lance corporal in the fetal position. In the lance corporal's neck are punctures--many, many of them.