Dirty Copper, the prequel to Walking the Rez Road, tells the story of Luke Warmwater, an Anishinaabe soldier, as he returns to the Reservation after serving in Vietnam. Once again, Luke is torn between duty and morality as he becomes a deputy sheriff on the Rez and sees firsthand the war raging below the appearance of peace. “Leaving the north woods for the big city, a short stint with the Waukegan, Ill., police department only convinces Warmwater that, even there, he can never fully escape from his personal demons; he must learn to dwell with them. Northrup, himself a military vet who fought in Vietnam and later worked as a sheriff’s deputy in northern Minnesota, neither sugarcoats the racism directed at Native Americans nor wallows in self-pity in a profound story set against the backdrop of a close-knit Indian community proudly trying to maintain its age-old culture and traditions, despite the obstacles of abject poverty and rampant alcoholism. Often humorous, sometimes unsettling, Warmwater’s return is well worth the wait.” - Publisher's Weekly Jim Northrup is an award-winning journalist, poet, and playwright. He is a combat Vietnam veteran serving with India Company, 3rd Battalion, 9th Marines, 3rd Marine Division in-country from September of 1965 until September of 1966. His syndicated column, Fond du Lac Follies, was named Best Column at the 1999 Native American Journalists Association convention, and he holds an honorary doctorate of letters from Fond du Lac Tribal and Community College. His previous books include Rez Salute: The Real Healer Dealer, which received Honorable Mention from the 2013 Northeastern Minnesota Book Awards, and Walking the Rez Road: Stories, winner of the Midwest Book Achievement Award, Minnesota Book Award, and Northeastern Minnesota Book Award. He lives in Sawyer, MN. Dirty Copper By Jim Northrup Fulcrum Publishing Copyright © 2014 Jim Northrup All rights reserved. ISBN: 978-1-55591-864-4 CHAPTER 1 This was going to be a bad one, Luke thought in the first seconds of the ambush. The Marines were in a rice paddy, knee-deep water, ankle-deep mud. The VC were in the tree line about seventy-five meters away, shooting. The point man of the fifteen-man patrol went down hard. Damn, it was Smithson, thought Luke, while firing his M14 at the Vietcong. Another grunt, Martinez, jerked with the impact of bullets; he went down. The white muzzle flashes told Luke they had at least three automatic weapons. He also saw single-shot rifles winking, he heard bullets snapping by. The enemy rounds were mostly striking near the front of the column. The second fire team was doing a low crawl to the left, behind the rice paddy dikes. The third team crawled to the right; both were trying to flank the enemy as they got out of the kill zone of the ambush. Luke's two machine guns were firing thirty-round bursts at the Vietcong. The tracers were bouncing in crazy red arcs as they hit. The 3.5 rocket team was shooting Willy Peter and high explosive rounds at the enemy's automatic weapons. Boom, BOOM, boom, BOOM. Luke — a squad leader at only 20 years old — watched his grunts moving; they had been taught well. The fire team on the right had it easier because their dike was taller and they could scuttle on hands and knees. The other fire team could only move in team rushes: two men shooting, two men moving, two shooting and two moving, The M79 man was thumping his way down the tree line, marking his trail with 40mm explosions: thump, thump. The whole thing was happening in slow motion, but Luke was moving at normal speed, crouching and firing his rifle while moving toward the radioman. Bent, as they called Benton, was handing the microphone to Luke. Luke slid down behind the dike; he saw the green tracers zipping overhead and beside him. Bent rolled over and was again shooting at the Vietcong. Luke got on the radio, the sounds of the ambush fading. "India, India One, ambush at Checkpoint Two." "India One, India, gotcha, help's on the way. Need eighty-ones?" "Yeah, south of Checkpoint Two, will correct." The noise of the battle returned as Luke sat up and continued shooting at the muzzle flashes as he waited for the spotter round. With a bang and a whooshing sound the 81mm mortar round slammed into the paddy on the other side of the tree line. For a brief instant the exploding round looked like a white Christmas tree. The burning white phosphorus began sizzling into the water. "Left fifty, fire for effect!" Luke yelled into the microphone. The mortar's high explosive shells began arriving with their characteristic sizzle-sizzle-whump, whump sound when they exploded. Great gouts of the tree line were being thrown up in the air, branches were flying, shrapnel was making the pit, pit, and pit sounds as it sliced through the underbrush. The smell of gunfire was in the air. After sixteen mortar rounds, they stopped firing. The Marines kept shooting, although there were fewer muzzle flashes.