This is an excerpt from Viet Nam Body Count, Chapter 21
...Barry plopped next to me, while I sat on the deck with my back against the Helo hangar. I stared westward to the beach and hills that had beckoned us to relax earlier in the day and saw streams of light that preceded automatic gun fire. “Wow! Did you see that?” I whispered excitedly.
...Barry plopped next to me, while I sat on the deck with my back against the Helo hangar. I stared westward to the beach and hills that had beckoned us to relax earlier in the day and saw streams of light that preceded automatic gun fire. “Wow! Did you see that?” I whispered excitedly.
“Yup,” he replied, “Those are tracers. Every fifth round in those rifles glows red hot and allows the soldiers to see where they’re shooting.”
Fascinated by the scene before me, I replied, “I know that. But it looks like a ray gun from a science fiction movie, especially when they shoot from the helicopters.”
We sat cross legged on the deck, our backs against the bulkhead, watching the black jungle light up like a college football field at night. The white flares effectively removed the night's black curtain defense, exposing human targets on both sides. I worried that the tracers were exposing our guys to the enemy.
“It really pisses me off knowing that we are mere pawns in Reardon's game of 'Who can make Captain first',” I said, staring out at the illuminated jungle. “He doesn't care if he exposes us like the flares do, so long as he reaches his ... ”
Boom! We both jumped up.
“What the fuck was that?” Barry yelled.
We’d been hit. We ran to the safety lines, leaned over and searched the side of the ship for damage. Seeing none, I looked up towards the bridge and saw Captain Reardon's silhouette, in the moonlight, tossing something over the side of the ship. Another Boom!
Barry shook his head and said, “It's the fuckin captain playing warrior with his percussion grenades. He claims that he’s making sure that no unseen Viet Cong divers put explosives under the ship. But he’s just fucking around with his toys. Maybe, ya’ll ought to go up to the captain and offer to teach him how to draw naked ladies instead of playing with grenades.”
“Oh how I wish I could, Barry,” I said as we sat back down. “Maybe he would see life differently.”
“I bet he never took an art class and never drew naked ladies,” he said. “An art class might’ve made him more like a real human being, respecting the beauty of life.”
“His ambition has blinded him from beauty,” I said. “Now he only sees body count numbers. And that scares me more than those guns firing in that jungle.”...
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