Paper+Tigers

=**Paper Tigers**= by Konrad Hughes, Springfield. Missouri

We’re getting low on paper. A small group went outside to get more. That was a week ago. They have not returned, and we have not heard from them. We fear they are lost, or perhaps dead. We’re considering sending a second group to find them, but we probably won’t. They might never come back as well. Then where would we be? But we desperately need more paper. Our current supply will last about four days. I know that if we do not get more paper soon, the group will begin turning on itself. Whoever controls the paper supply will control the fate of the group. But if we turn on each other, we might destroy the rest of the paper. Then where would we be?

We have options, though. I’m sure that if all of us went out to get paper at once, they wouldn’t be able to get us all. A few of us may survive, and those that survive can tell other people what happened to us. That’s my idea. I told them once, but they mostly laughed. Anderson called me a moron. Anderson hasn’t seemed normal lately. Captain told me that it was a fine plan, but we can’t try it yet. Captain is always nice to me. He’s always nice to everyone. That’s probably why he’s the captain. I see the flaw in my own plan, though. If we actually got more paper, then we wouldn’t have anything to carry it in. And if it rained, then the paper would be ruined. Then where would we be?

My right hand is beginning to hurt. It hurt yesterday, but I didn’t think much of it. It hurts today, too. It’s slightly worse than yesterday. Maybe it’s from writing too much, which may explain why the paper supply is low. Or maybe it’s from shooting a lot. We’ve all been doing a lot of shooting lately. It seems to be worse now than it was a week ago, when the group went to the other side of the city to get more paper and more supplies. After they left, we had to begin shooting more than we had before. Maybe that’s why they haven’t come back. Maybe whatever we’re shooting at killed them. They probably don’t have the paper with them.

I can’t blame myself for the lack of paper; we’ve all been writing a lot since we found that we could not leave. We spend a lot of time shooting, and when we’re not shooting, we’re writing. I write what I think. Whatever I’m thinking about gets written on the paper. I put my thoughts down on the paper as they come, and sometimes I think that I can’t stop. But I never share what I write with anyone. They would know my thoughts, and I can’t trust my thoughts with them. The others often share what they write. They write mostly about their families, whom they seem to miss a lot. Some write letters to their families. Anderson has written several last wills. He gets laughed at for it. We only wish that there was some way to get the letters mailed. Nobody has left the building since the group went out a week ago. They went out to get paper and supplies.

We weren’t always locked up in the building like we are now. The helicopters left us on a beach near the coast, seven miles south of the demilitarized zone. Then Captain marched us through the jungle at night to avoid ambushes. We were going to Quang Tri with three other units. Three weeks ago we arrived in the city, and James and I found this building after being sent ahead to scout the area. We found the building; Captain liked us for it, and Anderson hated us for it. We were assigned the southwest sector. The other units got different sectors. Before the group went out a week ago, we had routine patrols of our sector of the city. Our sector, the southwest side.

Every day several groups would go outside with their black machine guns in hand and their dark green helmets, covered with a shiny coat of rain water, atop their heads. They would walk around the city. James and I could see them from our perch in the top of the building. Anderson would come back from each patrol and hate James and me even more. He told us he hated us because we were safe at the top of the building while he and others had to walk around the city where they could get shot. I felt sorry for him for a while, until the patrols were stopped and Anderson got to stay inside with everyone else.

Everyone patrolled except James and me. We had to sit in the top of our building with our rifles that can shoot things a very long distance away. Things used to be nice at the top of our building. James and I would have target practice on billboards and signs in the city. We talked and laughed and shot and ate and slept. Things were nice, and for a while we didn’t mind the war. We didn’t care about the heat, which was stifling; or the rain, which seemed to fall day and night; or General William Westmoreland, who told us we were winning the war although we didn’t feel like we were; or Anderson, because he was always out on patrol; or the fact that we were in Vietnam and not home where we wanted to be. Then the group went out to get paper a week ago and everything changed. The patrols stopped, and everyone had to stay inside.

I don’t know how the group could have gotten lost. All they were doing was going to another unit in another sector. They just had to pick up my paper and our unit’s supplies and then come back. It couldn’t have been a hard task; I could have done it myself, I imagine. I ask James, because he knows things that I don’t.

“It’s simple,” he explains to me. “When the group got to the other unit, the other unit was not there.” Then who was there? I asked James the same question, and he laughed like I was joking. When he realized I was serious, he looked at me like I was crazy. “Why, Charley was, of course,” he explained. Then he turned back to his rifle and shot a picture of a face on a billboard right in the eye. “Beat that.”

In some way, I think it’s my fault that we can’t leave. James and I found the building. If we had not done so, we wouldn’t have a place to stay. If we didn’t have a place to stay, then we would not be able to stay in the city. We could have left then. Captain has told me before that it’s not my fault; his orders are to hold the city. Not my fault. Captain can hold the city all he wants, but I would rather be somewhere else. All we can do is stay put, because it’s not my fault. But now there is nothing for us to do but sit in the top story of the building and shoot anything that moves.

I know why we can’t leave, but I don’t tell anybody. It’s because of the paper. We needed more, so the group went outside. They went outside to get paper a week ago. All I wanted was the paper, but the others wanted bullets, grenades, and food. So the group went out. Eight of them; they went outside. Whatever we’re shooting at has found them and is now looking for us. Whatever we’re shooting at knows we’re here, all because we sent a group outside a week ago. They found them. They got our group, and probably killed them. They probably got all the paper, too.