"Gustav Hasvord. The Short-Timers " - читать интересную книгу автора

there are piles of human shit.
We wave good-bye to the blond tank commander and his tank grumbles and
rolls away. The tank's steel cleats crush some bricks which have been thrown
into the street by explosions.
Rafter Man and I stare across the River of Perfumes. We stare at the
Citadel. The river is ugly. The river is muddy. The steel suspension
bridge-The Bridge of the Golden Waters-is down, blown by enemy frogmen. Torn
girders jut out of the dark water like the broken bones of a sea serpent.
A hand grenade explodes, far away, inside the Citadel.


Rafter Man and I head for the MAC-V, Military Assistance Command-Viet
Nam, compound.
"This is a beautiful place," says Rafter Man.
"It was. It really was. I've been here a few times for award
ceremonies. General Cushman was here. I took his picture and he took a
picture of me taking a picture of him. And Ky was here, all duded up in his
black silk flight jacket with silver general's stars all over it and a black
cap with silver general's stars all over that, too. Ky had these
pearl-handled pistols and wore a purple ascot. He looked like a Japanese
playboy. He had his program squared away, that Ky. He believed in a Viet Nam
for the Vietnamese. I guess that's why we kicked him out. But he was
beautiful that day. You should have seen all the schoolgirls in their ao
dai, purple and white, carrying their little parasols..."
"Where are they now? The girls?"
"Oh, dead, I guess. Did you know that there's a legend that Hue rose
from a pool of mud as a lotus flower?"
"Look at that!"
A squad of Arvins are looting a mansion. The Arvins of the Army of the
Republic of Viet Nam look funny because all of their equipment is too big
for them. In baggy uniforms and oversized helmets they look like little boys
playing war.
I say, "Decent. Number one. We got some slack, Rafter. Remember this,
Rafter Man, any time you can see an Arvin you are safe from Victor Charlie.
The Arvins run like rabbits at the first sign of violence. An Arvin infantry
platoon is about as lethal as a garden club of old ladies throwing
marshmallows. Don't believe all that scuttlebutt about Arvins being cowards.
They just hate the Green Machine more than we do. They were drafted by the
Saigon government, which was drafted by the lifers who drafted us, who were
drafted by the lifers who think that they can buy the war. And Arvins are
not stupid. The Arvins are not stupid when they are doing something they
enjoy, like stealing. Arvins sincerely believe that jewels and money are
essential military supplies. So we're safe until the Arvins start yelling,
'Beaucoup VC, beaucoup VC!' and then run away. But be careful. Arvins are
always shooting at chickens, other people's pigs, and trees. Arvins will
shoot anything except transistor radios, Coca-Colas, sunglasses, money, and
the enemy."
"Don't they get money from their government?"
I grin. "Money is their government."
The sun is gone. Rafter Man and I double-time. A sentry challenges us;