“So what was the point of last night? What was the point of sending just six?”
“To probe our defenses, see if we’re alert or asleep. Charlie wants to know what kind of manpower and firepower we have, how mentally prepared we are. They’re testing our resolve.”
“So, what then?” I motioned to the six bodies. “These guys were just bait?”
“No different than when we’re out humping, Shutter. See, initially we were supposed to protect the cities to free the ARVN to fight, but they don’t know their ass from a hole in the ground. So now we go outside the wire, but not to win terrain or seize positions. Our mission is simply to kill as many VC as possible, Viet Cong, NVA. It don’t matter. If it’s Vietnamese, then it must be VC.” He cackled. “The military thinks they’re sending us out to wear down Charlie, but that’s just what Charlie wants. He’s wearing us out. We go out and kill Charlie, and twice as many come down the Ho Chi Minh Trail. They’re like the rats in New York City; they multiply faster than we can exterminate them. Charlie has an endless supply and the stomach to wait us out. This is his country. He’s been fighting for it for almost thirty years. Charlie knows the bush, where he can snipe at us, set booby traps, detonate ambush mines. He tries to create chaos, to break down our training. Then he slips out like he was never here. He leaves nothing behind. He leaves nothing for us to follow. You’ll see. Soon enough.” Cruz toed the ground with his boot, blew out cigarette smoke, and looked up at me. “Search and destroy. We search. Charlie destroys.”
Chapter 8
June 7, 1979
The following morning, Todd arrived at the jobsite with his toothpick in place and told me we would begin framing the second floor while waiting for the concrete foundation to set. Mike had accepted a job at an insurance company and would no longer be working on the remodel. I was happy for him, sad for me. I’d miss not having him around, but it also meant more responsibility and maybe less grunt work.
I had the job of cutting the lumber Todd and William needed to frame the walls. Todd’s instructions on the use of the miter saw had been simple, but precise. Measure twice. Cut once. Cut the board too small and I wasted the board. With the job underbid, every inch of lumber mattered, even reusing the boards we’d saved from the roof. Todd didn’t tell me the latter. He didn’t have to.
I also had the job of cutting and nailing in place fire blocking between the first and second floors, and in the walls being constructed. Todd and William shouted out measurements using just about every body part to describe the precision needed. “A pubic hair short of eleven and three-quarters.” Or, “An inch shorter than your pecker, so three inches.”
After tearing down and breaking up, seeing the walls go up felt like we were accomplishing something productive, which lifted our spirits. We laughed and smiled, even Todd. I stacked the remnants of wood by size so if William or Todd needed a shorter length, say for framing a window or a door, I didn’t have to cut a new stud. I also used the remnants for my fire blocking. William said we would frame all day, then use bracing to hold up the walls. In the morning Todd would bring in a crane to lift a massive glulam roof beam in place that would form the new roof peak, and structurally tie all the walls together.
The sun blazed. William and I worked with our shirts off. Todd covered every inch of his freckled, pale skin beneath a long-sleeve cotton shirt and a floppy jungle hat.
With faded blue jeans, my boots, and a fair dose of eighteen-year-old hubris, I felt pretty cocky even before William pointed out the two young women watching us work from the bedroom window of the house next door. I recognized them to be the same women who had driven by the house and nearly caused me to screw up the concrete pour. The limbs and leaves of large maple trees obstructed a portion of the view, but we could see the women, and they could see us. They looked about my age, maybe a couple of years older.
William said, “Vincenzo, they’re definitely in your ballpark.” He caught their attention and waved and smiled, and they waved and smiled back, not the least bit embarrassed to have been caught watching us.
“Well, I know they’re not waving and smiling at two of us,” Todd said, meaning him and William.
I smiled and tried not to look like an embarrassed idiot.
The heat turned up quickly when the two women walked out a sliding glass door onto their backyard pool deck wearing bikinis.
“Vincenzo!” William said, smiling.
Definitely not teenagers. I guessed early twenties. The one who had driven the Mustang had light-brown hair and wore a navy-blue bikini with white polka dots. The dark-haired passenger who had lowered her glasses to stare at me was built like a gymnast, with a washboard stomach that put mine to shame. I pointed this out to William, who just kept uttering my name, stringing it out like an announcer at a ball game. “Vincenzo . . . this could be your lucky day.”