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

hip and his foot on the mutilated remains of the enemy sniper.
Then, as we're moving out, Rafter Man sees a reflection of his face in
the jagged teeth of a shattered window, sees the new smile upon his face.
Rafter Man stares at himself for a long time and then, dropping the carbine,
Rafter Man just walks off down the road, not looking back, not responding to
our questions.
Cowboy waves his hand and we move out. Nobody says anything about
Rafter Man.
We hump back to the Forbidden City and set in for the night.
I mark the short-timer's calendar on my flak jacket-fifty-five days and
a wake-up left in country.
Later, in the dark, Rafter Man comes back.
The fighting continues all around us all night, sputters of violence
here and there, a mortar round, a curse, a scream.
We sleep like babies.


The sun that rises in Hue on the morning of February 25, 1968,
illuminates a dead city. United States Marines have liberated Hue to the
ground. Here, in the heart of the ancient imperial capital of Viet Nam, a
living shrine to the Vietnamese people on both sides, green Marines in the
green machine have liberated a cherished past. Green Marines in the green
machine have shot the bones of sacred ancestors. Wise, like Solomon, we have
converted Hue into rubble in order to save it.


The next morning Delta Six cuts us some slack and we spend the day
hunting gold bars in the emperor's palace.
We enter the throne room of the old emperors. The throne is blood red,
studded with inlaid mirrors.
I wish I could live in the Imperial Palace. Bright pieces of porcelain
make the walls vivid. The roof is orange tile. There are stone dragons,
ceramic urns, brass cranes standing on the backs of turtles, and many other
fine objects of undetermined origin and function but obviously of great
value and great beauty and very old.
I walk out into the emperor's magnificent garden. I find Alice and
Rafter Man looking at some crispy critters. It's impossible to determine
which army the men were from. Napalm leaves less than bones. I say, "The
aroma of roasted flesh is, admittedly, an acquired taste."
Alice laughs. "This is such a fucking waste. I mean, this place is like
a magic temple, you know? The gooks love this place. Blowing it away is
like, oh, blowing away the White House. Except that nobody gives a shit
about the White House and this place is ten times as old."
I shrug.
"It's crazy," Alice says. "It's just plain fucking crazy. I wish I was
back in the World."
I say, "No, back in the World is the crazy part. This, all this world
of shit, this is real."
Cowboy comes around later and says that Delta's company commander has
passed the word to regroup on the beach at the Strawberry Patch.