Deros Vietnam Read Online Free PDF Page B

his counterattack, adding military leaves and R&R plans to his list of targets. He made sure Murphy pulled guard duty every night. Everybody felt like we should do something. None of us had a clue what.
    The “Dog Days” memo came down from Fraser on August 24. Nevin pulled it down from the hooch bulletin board and read it in disgust.
    â€œATTENTION ALL UNITS. From: Lt. Col. Walter Fraser, OIC. To: All IO, PIO and CI personnel. SUBJECT: BARRACKS HYGIENE. It has been brought to my attention that absences due to illness have been interfering with CI and PIO production. Captain Bonner has informed me that this is a result of the diseases being transmitted by the excessive numbers of dogs roaming the base area. Effective immediately, all personnel will commence with the orderly removal of these animals. Be advised that as of 0900 hours on 29 August, dogs not properly tagged and vaccinated are to be shot. Hooches and surrounding areas will be inspected to confirm that this directive has been carried out.”
    â€œThe slaughter of the innocents,” Conroy snorted from the rear of the hooch. Everybody laughed.
    Except for Murphy. When I looked his way, he was standing by his cubicle, one hand around his dog tags, the other rubbing his chin.
    Later that night, as I walked to the latrine to brush my teeth, I saw Murphy next to the Evac chapel with the dogs. I walked closer, but stopped dead in my tracks when I realized he was giving the dogs some sort of instructions. I eased myself closer to listen.
    â€œKilo, Lifer, Tripod, sit,” Murphy said. The dogs sat. “You guys are going to have to leave the hooch for a few weeks. I know you’ll be lonesome and I’ll miss you, but it’s better this way. Tomorrow I’ll walk you over to the bunker line by the bowling alley. You’ll stay with my buddy Spec. 5 Davis. I’ll come see you every day. But you must stay there. Got that?”
    Those goddamn dogs barked right on cue. Murphy kneeled and placed his hands on their backs, like St. Francis blessing the beasts. I shook my head and walked on to the latrine.
    Five days later we gathered up all the dogs, loaded them into one of those cattle cars the Army uses to haul GIs, and drove them to the firing range where, every four months, we would take “weapons familiarization,” an Army euphemism for target practice. They penned up the dogs and told us to fire our M-16s. I don’t think any of us wanted to shoot those lousy dogs. But if we refused, Captain Bonner and his men would and we’d be deeper in the shit. The dogs were going to die anyway, regardless of who pulled the trigger.
    I never really liked dogs. As a city kid I hadn’t grown up around them much. But that one brief moment gave me a sense of how you could love them. The dogs wagged their tails and barked as if we were their masters. But then they seemed to smell the presence of death. Before we started shooting, they began to throw themselves against the concertina wire, and to wail, a piercing, high-pitched howl that sent shivers up my spine. And then, with nowhere to run, they turned around in circles two or three times and lay down, their eyes crying out for mercy. Then the M-16s took over.
    Nevin was right. It really was the slaughter of the fucking innocents.
    I can still hear the howling and wailing. I hadn’t expected it to be all that bad. After all, they were just dogs. But it got worse and worse as the dogs kept on yelping and whining and crying. Some of them took forever to die. It all seemed to be happening in slow motion, even the tumbling of the M-16 bullets as they pierced the dogs’ bodies and burst out their backs. There was blood and fur and dog shit all over the place. And there was a stench of puke from guys who couldn’t stomach what they were doing. I did my part.
    Murphy wasn’t with us the day we shot the dogs. He told Bonner and Fraser he was sick and walked out of the office