Sgt. Collins shook his head the whole time he watched C4 board the Huey. It reminded him more of an old movie with the Keystone Cops than of a disciplined group of trained soldiers. When C4 exited the Huey, it was a little better. At least none of them broke a leg jumping out of the chopper.
Collins assigned each member of C4 a portion of the planned landing zone and future base for the next day’s arrival by air of the joint force. They spread out to inspect the area of their charge. They all reported back that they had not found any traps or hidden Viet Cong.
Sgt. Collins chose a corner of the surveyed area to set up camp for the night. Each member of the squad took turns pulling guard duty during the night. Collins chose the time before and during sunrise.
After C4 finished their evening meal of C rations, Sgt. Collins called his men around him. He jumped right in, expressing his displeasure about how they looked with the Huey. He sounded more like a seasoned drill sergeant than one who had only been impersonating a sergeant for a couple of days.
“You men look like a bunch of Keystone Cops in the way you boarded and exited that Huey. From this minute forward, you are going to board in a specific order, starting with Ruben, then Dave, then Sparky, and Mick with the radio. I will be the last one to board. We will exit in reverse order.”
Sgt. Collins looked each man in the eye as he had them repeat the order back to him. When a soldier messed up, Sgt. Collins would stop them and have them start over. It took all but Dave two tries. It took Dave five attempts because he had smoked a whole joint before his turn.
***
Sgt. Jake Collins’ body felt at peace from the sight of the sun rising over the distant mountains. The field before him, with its bright purple and yellow wildflowers sprouting up amongst the lime green grass, reminded him of Pedro. Pedro worked hard to make the grounds at the hospital look just as bright and beautiful.
It made Collins sad knowing that in a matter of a few hours, soldiers and their machines of war would trample the entire field down. That thought shook Jake back to the reality of the moment.
As each member of C4 woke, he assigned them an area to walk and verify nothing had changed overnight.
Less than thirty minutes later, Mick jumped at the squawk of the radio. He got a request for verification of the LZ being secure. Collins nodded to Mick. Mick responded on the radio. “LZ secure. Come on in.”
The sound of the first Huey could be heard off in the distance. Just then, Sgt. Collins’ eyes landed on a water buffalo as it wandered into the center of the LZ. It stopped to graze on some grass for breakfast.
Not wanting to call off that Huey or postpone the landing, Sgt. Collins took his rifle and aimed between the eyes of the water buffalo. In one squeeze of the trigger, the sound of the shot rivaled the sound of the Huey’s rotors. The water buffalo fell dead.
Over the next several minutes, ten-plus Hueys deposited soldiers and supplies. Pilots and soldiers all made second and third glances at the carcass of the water buffalo lying in the center of their LZ.
Members of the joint force had finished settling their base of operations. C4 had just put the water buffalo in a hole they dug at the far end of the clearing when a villager came running, screaming in Vietnamese. A Vietnamese translator rushed over to find out what was going on. It seemed the villager owned the water buffalo and accused the American soldiers of killing his animal.
Seeing the commotion, Col. G. Beck, commander of the operation, stormed over to the burial site. “What’s going on here?” He demanded.
It didn’t take long for fingers to get pointed at Sgt. Collins for pulling the trigger for the kill shot. Col. Beck asked Collins, “Sergeant, why did you take it upon yourself to kill this villager’s water buffalo?”
“Sir, I had to shoot the animal.”
“Why on God’s green earth did you shoot it?”
“Sir, with high confidence, we had reliable intel that the water buffalo was a strong North Vietnamese sympathizer. When I heard the choppers, I felt the only thing I could do to fully secure the LZ was to shoot it.”
Everyone standing around, and even Col. Beck fought to hold back their laughter at the response. It was done with such sincerity that they almost believed Collins. Hush followed. Everyone waited for what the Colonel would say.
The Colonel took a deep breath. “Sergeant, if you think I am going to buy that bit of malarkey, you are mistaken. I am more apt to believe you are a psycho. Because of your actions. Now the United States Army has to pay that villager for his water buffalo.” The Colonel moved his head from left to right in disgust as he walked off. He didn’t get five steps before he turned and asked. “You’re under Captain Reginald Phillips’ command?”
“That’s right, sir.”
“I will refer further disciplinary action to your captain. For now, finish burying that animal and get back to your base.”
Sgt. Collins didn’t move; he just stood there at attention.
“What is it, Sergeant?”
“Fourth squad flew in. We need you to approve a chopper for us to fly back to Da Nang.”
“You have cost the United States enough money today. Use your imagination and available resources to get back.” He turned around and walked away.
When Col. Beck was out of earshot, Dave asked. “Since the Colonel didn’t approve for us getting a Huey back to Da Nang. Does that mean we have to walk back?”
“The Colonel said we are to use our imagination and available resources.” Sgt. Collins said with an evil grin.
“What does that mean?” Mick asked, worried about what his sergeant had in mind.
C4 covered the water buffalo with several inches of dirt. The villager followed Col. Beck to get paid. Sgt. Collins placed a makeshift sign over the grave that read, Don’t mess with C4. He then motioned to his men to follow him.
C4 got thirty yards from the newly erected command tent when Collins raised his right hand, signaling the squad to stop.
“What is it?” Sparky asked.
Sgt. Collins’ eyes shot in the direction of a lanky six foot plus soldier leaning against the first of two jeeps.
