Chapter 1

Eagle Hunting by Thomas V. Baker

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Chapter 1 

The Firefight

Việt Nam

PBR River Division 50 Nha Be River

January 6, 1972

Calvin Eagle is a Hidatsa college dropout about to be drafted who volunteered for the Navy. In testing, he qualified as an Electronics Technician, but volunteered for Patrol Boat River (PBR). 

The four man PBR crew is First-Class Petty Officer Bruno Accetta -Boat Captain, a 1st generation Italian émigré from Chicago; Gunner’s Mate David Pierce, a black from San Francisco/Fillmore; Engine Man Rhee Joon-ho, a first generation Korean émigré from Seattle; and Seaman Calvin Eagle, from Ft. Berthold Indian Reservation in North Dakota. Everyone is cross trained for all boat positions. 

Except for the Petty Officer, they’re all about two years into a four-year enlistment. The Petty Officer has a bit more than two years until the end of his second hitch. The crew trained together in the Napa Sonoma Marsh area and transferred to Việt Nam. 

Cal has a reputation for being very effective with the aft mounted piggyback guns (a 50 calibre machine gun mounted on top of an 81 mm mortar). The crew considers him to be an easy-going, calm kind of a guy. He is known for telling stories, his own and what he calls ‘stories from his Maarudahga (Grandfather)’. He refers to himself as an Akumakikua – a warrior, but his favorite quote is from John Steinbeck, “All war is a symptom of man's failure as a thinking animal.” 

He considers the sharp burst fire of the 50 caliber machine gun and the rain of the falling brass as part of his song. Cal has seen men ripped to pieces by his 50 and his mortar. He received a minor face wound from an almost spent piece of shrapnel. No Purple Heart awarded.

Each member of the crew belongs. Cal to his tribe, clan, and family. Rhee Joon-ho to his extended family in the US and Korea; David Pierce to his small family, friends and Fillmore neighborhood; and Bruno Accetta to his extended family in the US and Italy. They speak of this belonging and understand that too many Americans don’t have that belonging. The power of their belonging cements their relationships, they are brothers. They are bonded. 

When they start a mission, the crew sings a war chant with phrases in each sailor’s language, “The Eagle Hunts”. 

During their seemingly unending bull sessions, they often talk of this belonging. During one of those conversations, Cal related this ‘grandfather story’. His grandfather had attended the Carlisle School from the time he was seven years old. As with all the children, he had no choice in the matter. The U.S. Carlisle Indian Industrial School in Carlisle, Pennsylvania, opened in 1879 with the avowed purpose of ‘killing the Indian and saving the man’. Cal said they wanted to remove the ‘belonging’ and set the natives adrift. To that end, they forbade native languages and customs and even took away the children’s names. Many of these children died. Far more than the whites ever admitted. Of those who died, almost none of them made it home to be buried or ‘taken care of’ in the way of their tribes. 

Grandfather’s story from his Carlisle Years

Grandfather was never hesitant about letting people know what he thought of them. He always shared his perceptions and feelings about people with me. The only exceptions of which I was aware were the people he knew at Carlisle. In one of his stories, he told me that one of his classmates had gone to a monitor and ‘informed on a classmate’ regarding some misdemeanor. He said this in a matter of fact way. I stopped him to ask. “Why did that one do this? What did the others think and do about an informer?” Grandfather locked eyes with me and said, “In that place and that time, many of us were truly lost. We felt abandoned. We were all suddenly alone in a strange world, with different rules, without the earthing of our tribes, relatives, and clans. Not all of us could be true to our real selves. Some changed from who they were ‘at home’ to someone who could survive in that place. I believe that those who fawned upon the monitors, the teachers, and the administrators at Carlisle were ashamed in their later lives. But in those moments and now I will not speak ill of them. If you were not there, I do not think you can understand. Those white people were very serious about their tasks. They were fierce in their determination to make us white on the inside.”

“Let me tell you about this girl from up north — Alaska. I do not have the words to help you feel how we lived in those years, but perhaps her story will give you a view.”

“Everyone knew her because she was so small. Many thought she was younger than she was because of her size. She was so very unhappy; her sad face had a haunting quality that we all remembered. She died one night. We all knew it was because she just could no longer live away from home, away from her people.”

“There were several others from Alaska, but they were not even allowed to see her. Many of us spoke of her passing. The white people would not permit even a hint of any traditional activities around a death. We always managed some talk and exchange of information, even though anyone caught speaking ‘native’ or discussing traditions, was severely punished. Our only common language was English. Because of the semi-military format of the school and the sports emphasis, the pallbearers were always from the football team, as they were older and physically sturdy.”

“The instructors talked a lot about Jesus, especially after a death. When it came time to take the little girl to her resting place, the football players went to lift her casket and were obviously struggling. The pastor and the commander came over to harshly tell them to get on with it. The pallbearers disobeyed the rules to speak softly reminding each other to ask in their own way for this little girl to make herself lighter, so they could take care of her in the best way that they knew. After a moment, they tried again and were able to lift the little girl and take her to her rest.”

“The white people tried to take it all from us, they did take a lot. But when we had to do so, we remembered that we belonged and we cared for each other. Each of us even unto death and beyond remembers that we belong.”

On this day, Cal’s PBR mission is an extraction of a team of Republic of Korea (ROK) Marines from up river. Instead of a usual two boat configuration, they are part of a three boat group. The mission commander is aboard the lead boat — he is not from the PBR command, but an outsider whom no one knows.

As they pass the ‘gun testing / clearing area’ they go through their routine including their war chant.

The Eagle Hunts

Stai in pace o l’aquil verra per te (Be at peace or the eagle will come for you)

Heya aieiiii

Heya Maa’ishû Gaci (The Eagle Hunts)

Heya aieiiii

The eagle hunts

Heya aieiiii

Heya The dogs of war run or die

Heya aieiiii

독수리 사냥 (The Eagle Hunts)

The eagle hunts

Heya aieiiii

Cal’s boat is second in line. The trip seems quieter than usual. No boats on the river. The tension racks up with the rumbling diesel engines. Cal is endlessly searching the shore, smelling the wind. As hostile as this place is, Cal always feels at home on the river. His blood flows with the river, just as it did at home. Today he senses this patrol is not starting well. The weather is odd, it is raining intermittently with a very low overcast sky. When he can see the other boats, the men at the guns are restlessly aiming them at the green covered shore. 

After an hour or so, they enter a section of the river with multiple sharp bends. This area has been used by snipers, so they slow as little as possible. As the lead boat nears the end of the sequence, the world erupts in a firestorm. Mortars, rockets, grenades, rifle, and machine gun fire ripping from the shore. Immediately, all the PBRs begin covering fire, aimed in the direction of the flashes. The incoming fire ramps up even more.

The boats boost speed to maximum. Almost immediately, the mission commander’s boat, has smoke coming from the engine compartment. When they can be heard, his diesels are not making good power. Bruno is closing on the lead boat and is forced to back off and weave to avoid limiting his maneuvering options.

Suddenly, the mission commander’s boat is hit by two mortar rounds in quick succession, along with a concentration of what Cal thinks were several Soviet DP Light Machine Guns and AK-47 fire. Fiberglass pieces fly and the boat spins toward the shore, sinking rapidly. 

Cal hears the rounds hitting their fiberglass, but their diesels still sound good. Cal looks astern to see that the third boat had immediately spun. He yells at Bruno, who turns to see that boat disappearing downstream. Bruno decides to retreat and begins his turn. Their boat is heeled over and Bruno is hit with machine gun fire. He is blown out of the boat. 

Cal jumps to take the wheel. Seeing and hearing the gunfire down river as encountered by the third boat, he continues the spin, pushes the throttles to full power and heads further up stream. Within a hundred meters, the firing dies down. Cal takes a moment to look around. Bruno is just gone! Cal has a minor wound on his shoulder, which is not bleeding badly. David has taken a shrapnel wound on his back. Joon-ho is unhurt. Joon-ho puts a couple of bandages on David, which slows the bleeding. Cal yells out, “We will go on up and find those ROK Marines, they can help us fight through the ambush.”

They continue up river for several kilometers and buzz past the ROK Marines, who immediately begin yelling and firing distinctive sounding Sten machine guns in the air. Cal spins the boat back to the Marines. Initially, there is a lot of noise without understanding, until the ROK Captain talks directly to David at the bow in English. David tells them that this is the only boat to make it through the ambush down stream. The ROK fire team has two walking wounded. The Captain says they had been calling for helicopter extraction all morning and nothing is available. Joon-ho calls base on the boat radio to request air support at the ambush site and is told nothing is available. The ROK Marines are not happy, but their Captain says they are game to fight their way out. Unusually, his whole fireteam is armed with Sten machine guns.

Cal told them that the ambush would be on the starboard side of the boat and not everyone could be on that side, but they had damn well better be firing that direction. Cal co-opted the marine sergeant to man his 50 caliber machine gun. Joon-ho and David fist pump to Cal, and they start down stream. Cal wanted to sing their Eagle Hunting song, but it did not feel right, as Bruno is gone. Instead, he began singing the Hidatsa Flag song. “Awa hiro mada waaragabixe ihcagiihtaa iciawa maa-ihaa ida awagua nakahparahguc._” (Our country, our land, is the most powerful country in the world. Our flag waves over the enemy land.)

It was immediately deadly bad. The ambush area had extended further upstream and was now heavy with smoke from stolen American smoke grenades and white phosphorus grenades called Willie Pete. Cal never had a clear memory of that part of the mission. His impression was endless gunfire and howling diesels. Everything bitter with the smell of cordite and the phosphorus. 

The smoke along with the overwhelming gunfire and roar of the twin diesels compressed time until they cleared the ambush and met with the third PBR and a Swift Boat. Cal believes that the ROK Officer, the ROK Sergeant, and he were the only ones still alive. All are wounded, and Cal and the Sergeant have burns from the flaming awning and a Willie Pete grenade. Cal’s PBR slowly sinks and that is the last memory Cal has of the war. He heard or sensed that he was in a helicopter, and that gave him hope. 

The Power of Pain

Cal was confused by the power of his pain. A profound quiet, then a lot of pushing and shoving until he completely let go of consciousness. It was not fully blank, for in this otherwhere was grandfather. Sometimes in vivid detail telling him stories, sometimes in soft outlines, telling him repeatedly that this was the end of this part of his cycle and that he would have to be different in the next part of his cycle. 

As the pain wore on, Cal had no idea how much time passed in the real world. In one of his worst moments, the women appeared. There were two of them. Their first appearance was with grandfather in the background. Grandfather introduced them, “Listen now! Hear these women of the river.”

The women were similar but distinctly unique. Their faces were blurred and even their outlines were soft. The women began speaking, almost singing together. 

“You must breathe! You must live! You must come to find us. We are waiting for you.”

Cal was fascinated by these two women. Their introduction by grandfather emphasized that they were important. Their brief message resonated with him immediately. His pain seemed to lessen as he listened. His mind stopped the search for what he could have, should have done differently to help his brother warriors. Then the women faded away. They gave Cal something, some time, some place, someone to anticipate, to look forward to…

After that first meeting, the women only appeared together when Cal felt he could not endure the pain, when he did not want to live another minute. 

He quickly learned to differentiate one woman from the other. Grandfather always spoke to him in Hidatsa, he knew this because of the cadence and sounds and some specific words and phrases. He did not know what language the women spoke. Because of the blurring of their faces, he was not sure that they actually spoke aloud. Perhaps they spoke directly to his mind… or his heart.

When one of them came to him alone, those contacts seemed more intimate. She enclosed Cal in a cocoon, which seemed to muffle the noise of the pain and lift him from the drug haze. Her words were similar to the first time. Always encouraging. Always lyrical. 

The best part, however, was when she came close to touch him. She would say, “Come. See this. Remember this.”

Her touch would take Cal some where, some when. He would be there with that woman — often just the two of them. Holding her or being held by her. Walking together. Sitting together. Surrounded by quiet. Immersed in one another. Content. Sometimes there were others who were blurred and indistinct. Everyone seemed to know Cal and that woman. They would smile and wave. They all seemed so happy to see the two of them. Initially, Cal was a little confused. Looking for cues. Where was he? When was this? Who were these people? Quickly, however, Cal found it was far better to just be there with the woman. He could breathe and stop his racing mind. 

After he learned to be with the woman, he began to revel in the power of the emotions, the feelings from the woman. Clearly, there was a deep connection between Cal and the women, they had known him for a long time.

Time and pain. Cal just tried to endure. He sensed or heard that he was in an aircraft. He did not think this flight was a good sign, as only the worst cases with a reasonable chance of surviving were flown out country. Cal disliked the way his corner of the world smelled. There was fear and shit in the air. 

As time stretched on, his dreams of grandfather became clearer. Again and again grandfather told him this part of his cycle was finished, and he had to move, to grow.

Cal always belonged. As soon as he could pay attention to anyone or anything for more than a minute, grandfather would tell him. “This one is your clan father, that one is your father’s brother’s oldest child. As we drive up this way you will see my brother’s ranch over on the right, He has had that place a long time. When you are a little older you will visit him, you must remember he is terrified of snakes, so you cannot take any of your pets there.” 

Later, when the Army had forced everyone to move. “You were born in our hospital in Elbowoods. No more children will be born in our hospital. It is gone, with my home and the homes of so many. You must make your own memories of our true home.” 

As Cal grew up, it seemed that there were no strangers, unless of course they were white. His many relatives helped him to understand the full spectrum of belonging. He rode horses seemingly before he could walk, and they took him places. Old buffalo wallows, tiny springs, salt licks, old coal mines, old camp sites. There were choke-cherry bushes, buffalo berries and plum trees which belonged to someone, but one could get permission to pick for a snack. Places where one could see forever. Places in the badlands which were beautifully confusing. His mothers’ brother took him into the badlands, dismounted, and showed him how he could build a mini badlands to look like the real badlands from sand and tiny rocks. As he grew older, he began to know the weather, even though many said that Garrison Dam had forever changed the weather patterns on the reservation. He learned to recognize the ‘rain is coming breezes’ in the spring and the summer. He came to know that certain wind from Canada which seemed always to bring the wicked cold and deep snow. 

The feasts and of course, the maaʔarunishígua – those the white people call powwows were celebrations of belonging. On those days, he would see those he had not seen in a while and the older ones would call him ‘sonny boy’ which American nickname he was hoping to outgrow. He had smiles for everyone, and everyone had a smile for him. It was not until later when he traveled off the reservation that he truly began to understand how privileged he was to belong in this way and to this power. 

MediVac

Time was lost, there were no clocks to tick. Cal again heard aircraft sounds. Vaguely heard people talking. No one talked to him, or if they did, he did not know what they said. There was pain and motion, then pain and stillness. Cal could not remember the beginning of the mission. Over and over again, he saw Bruno being blown out of the boat. He tried to remember what happened after the ROK Marines got on board. Some bits and pieces were clear. Again and again, he saw David getting hit by what he thought was AK-47 fire — he remembered that David kept firing his pair of 50s in aimed bursts. He does not know how he did that. Cal remembers the smell and fiery heat of the Willie Pete grenades. He clearly remembers seeing Joon-ho getting hit, but he does not know when that happened in the sequence. He is not sure why he wants to remember, but often it seemed important. 

His sleep is not really sleep, and he gets no rest. There is only pain, and perhaps not quite as much pain. 

Whenever grandfather spoke, Cal pushed beyond his pain to listen, to hear. The grandfather stories brought rest, or sometimes introspection. During one of these, Cal could not get beyond his pain. He asked, “Do I have to endure this?” Grandfather answered, “You remember when I decided to go on? You were there, and you acknowledged and supported my decision, while some others did not. This is a thing which you can do as well. If you prefer not to be there — where you are — you can go on. It is your choice, as it was my choice. Death is, after all, just a turn into the other direction. However, you must do it in the old way. You must look into the past, into all pasts. You must look into the future, into all the futures. See your decision in the eyes of those who went before and those who will come after. See your decision through the eyes of your comrades, your fellow warriors. Not everyone will agree, we are the Hidatsa – the real people after all. But you will gain a sense of the correctness of your decision. With that knowledge or sense, you can fight on or choose to rest. You can choose to die.” 

Maahshíaremia ‘Dream-Women’:

They only appeared together when Cal really wanted to let go of the pain and just go… just never breathe again. Go home! When he considered ending it and he was attempting to see it in the pasts and the futures, they would both be there. They would say the same things. ‘Stay, stay with me, just a little longer — you will be ok.’ Or ‘You must fight on, you must come to me — I am waiting for you.’ Or ‘Don’t leave me alone, please.’ As before, he couldn’t tell what language they spoke because they talked directly to his mind or his heart. Usually, it was one or the other, and sometimes that one would touch him. He would feel her touch. Always, it brought a small release from the pain. Her touch would take him some where or some when, to a place or time that he did not recognize. He would be there with one of the dream-women. In those places or times or whatever they were, he felt loved. Loved in a way that he had never experienced. 

Sometimes the dream-woman who came would be young — in her twenties or so, sometimes older and even sometimes very old, in her sixties or more. He always knew them, though their clothing or their costumes were not always familiar to him. Their faces were blurred, but he always recognized them. He always knew them, even through the dimension of strangeness that made it difficult to focus on them. 

When the dream-women took him someplace they would talk of ‘this time’ or ‘that time’ or ‘next time’ and Cal did not know what that meant. 

Grandfather stories were a place where he could listen, think, remember, and learn.

The dream-women were an escape from his body and the pain. A step into comfort, security, caring, and…  Love. They were mixed or intermixed with grandfather and his stories. Grandfather and the women seemed to have the same goal. To keep him alive and sane. 

The dream-women were very different, one from the other, their appearance, their voices, their touch. He grew so he could tell by the first sound they made which one it was. They did not have names, but in this dream world neither did he. He wondered if his Christian relatives would consider these women to be angels. He did not think so, but as he did not follow the Jesus road, he did not know. Sometimes when the pain was so bad, and the women would separately or together ask him to keep living, he would wonder if they were evil spirits there to ensure that he suffered. This was never in the Hidatsa spiritual belief system. But sometimes the pain made him crazy. 

He often thought of his crew-mates and the ROK Marines. He knew that he was not the only survivor, but he knew he was the only Navy survivor. 

He remembered Joon-ho speaking of his home and belonging. Joon-ho always said his strongest feelings of belonging were before his family moved to the US. His father’s family was originally from Busan, but he had moved to Seoul. Joon-ho was proud of his Busan heritage because a relative of his was aboard the Baekdusan, the PC-701, the first ship of the Republic of Korea Navy. 

His mother’s family had lived in Seoul for generations. When Joon-ho was very young, his mother’s mother lived with them. His parents both worked, so he was at home with his grandmother (할머니 — halmeoni). Joon-ho would always smile and close his eyes for a moment when he spoke of her. He said that she had an ability to remember everyone and everything. She had lived in Seoul her entire life, it seemed to Joon-ho that she knew everyone. She would take him with her everywhere and make sure he acknowledged everyone they met. On their trips, she would meet a friend’s daughter or grandson, and she would remember them — even if she only met them once — she would remember and recognize them years later. She had that kind of memory. 

For her time, she was well-educated and helped him with his homework until his parents got home. What she excelled in was the children’s stories of kings and queens, princes and princesses with a goblin or nine tail foxes thrown in. More than once, he said he felt a little guilty about it, but mostly he was glad that there were years between him and his sister. He had his grandmother to himself for his early years. They moved to the US when he was fifteen and his sister was eight. His grandmother died just four months before they moved. Joon-ho was sure it was that she would not leave home, but did not want to be away from him and his sister. 

Another Grandfather story. 

Grandfather told me that some people — especially those who have lived a stressful life, seem to seek only one thing — a peaceful end. But, he continued, “The thing about a peaceful end is that it would be hard to find two people who agree what that might be, let alone any common definition.” 

”There was this one — his name was Tall Sage, who was always looking ‘for a new way’. We have lived in this area for hundreds of years, and we mostly settled on ‘the best way’ to go here or there. Of course for some places there were different ways for the winter and the summer. He was proud when he found what people might today call ‘a shortcut.’ He would say that it was a new way. These little searches made him that one who found places or things. Because he went off the regular path, he was an excellent tracker and one of those who always knew exactly where he was and could tell you at great length how to go to a place.”

”Once, he came back to tell everyone about a place he had been where there were many rattlesnakes. Everyone was familiar with the several caves where they seem to gather for the winter, but this place was different. It was near a prairie dog town, and there was also a big slough full of frogs and other snakes — so I suppose that was part of the concentration. Whatever the cause, there were just too many rattlesnakes there to be comfortable. I went there once, my usually calm horse was very skittish as we neared that place.”

”During one of his searches, Tall Sage ran across a dead white man in the badlands. I do not know what sort of path he was seeking in those places, for as you know they can be treacherously confusing.”

”This one day in the badlands he rode around a bend to see a huddled figure sitting up against a narrow, steeply sloped hillock. He could see a glint of metal and readied his rifle, but continued slowly riding up on the figure. He saw that the man was dead. His horse was not at all nervous, so he knew that that one had been gone a long time. He dismounted to look the man over.”

”He was wrapped in a good robe and wearing what had to have been a good hat for, although it had not held its shape, one could see it had been expensive. His rifle was still standing barrel upright, under his arm, leaning against the man. There was a small pack on his left side and a saddle and bridle on the other side. Tall Sage had not seen any tracks coming into this area and none leaving, so it had been long enough to erase all the horse tracks.“

”Tall Sage considered it and decided that one had taken the bridle and saddle from his horse and turned it loose. That would mean the white man had found this as his place to die, his place to go on. Tall Sage thought about taking the rifle and the gear, then decided that perhaps this one would not like that. Besides, they looked as though they had been too long in the weather. But he was curious. He wondered if this one had felt death coming and had to meet death at this place, or if he knew of this place and had chosen to die here. Of all the places in the world, this one had died exactly here. He remounted and rode a few lengths. He decided that he had to know more, so he went back. He staked his horse a little ways away and gave it some of the water he carried. He took his robe and went to sit by that one. He could not get too close because of the gear, but he felt he would see what that white man saw.”

”It was like much of the badlands. A view at once familiar yet strange. Exactly why so many get lost in this place. He settled in to see.”

”Nothing happened until sunset. Then he understood there was a narrow passage for the last rays of the setting sun. He waited until it fully arrived. Although it was so narrow that it did not hit him, the setting sun shone in red and gold on the white man. Tall Sage thought that it would feel like a blessing, an old blessing from the great spirit and the mother earth, for this one place, for this foreigner in their land.”

”Again he thought to leave, but could not. He got up to stretch and relive himself. He spoke to his horse and gave him the rest of his water.”

 “Again he went to sit by the white man. There was that strangeness of a moonless night and the flickering stars. But nothing unusual. Once more he thought to leave but did not.”

”He had dozed a little, but when the morning cold came, he was awake. The moment the sun began to break the horizon, Tall Sage could see the rest of the story. This time there were two paths for the rising sun coming from the left and the right behind that one, and they made the badlands across from the white man sparkle and shine. Now the path to the west looked like a darker pathway — a way to the last stars.”

”Tall Sage waited until the end. Then he stood and stretched. He dug into his small pouch to offer tobacco to the four directions as his thanks for this time and this wonder. He left a little pemmican and a bit of tobacco as an offering to the white man, then mounted and rode away.”

”He told us that several years later he thought to go back there and see that place of beauty. But he could not find it! As skilled as he was in tracking, in knowing our world — he was unable to find that long dead white man.”

End of Chapter 1.