by John Hart
Rick plunged ahead, and Izzy caught J.D. to ask, “What rule?”
“We own the day but Charlie rules the night. Unless you have major expertise, you do not want to be out here after dark. Rick’s just taking extra precautions for our safety.”
With that, J.D. caught up behind Rick and Izzy wasted no time catching up to J.D., who clearly did not need such extra precautions himself.
Gregg, however, close on Izzy’s heels, was right there with him, whispering, “We came, we saw, I am so ready to go back to our nice little villa and eat a grilled cheese sandwich with some chicken noodle soup.”
“Make mine with matzo balls,” Izzy whispered back. “My mom makes the best chicken and matzo ball soup you ever ate in your life.”
“Shhh.”
J.D. didn’t need to say more. The remainder of their trek through the jungle could have been five minutes or an hour. It was impossible to measure time here—
And then it stopped. The sound of sudden screaming and the crash of M16s on full automatic came from the direction of where they had left the jeeps.
Rick took off at what seemed super-human speed across the meadow screaming, “NO! NO! HOLD YOUR FIRE! NO, NO!” and J.D. was running right behind him, flying over the grass. Izzy didn’t know he was capable of running so fast himself, with Gregg pumping full pistons right beside him, both of them bursting into the clearing and—
And then they were all right on top of a blasted to pieces elephant calf and his mortally wounded mother. Part of her skull was shot off and blood coursed from the wound and from her mouth, but she still extended her trunk to cover and protect the body of her little calf who bleated pitifully.
“No hope.” Rick’s voice caught. He shook his head. Then he fired two shots into each of the elephants. They were still now, and quiet, the blood still leaking and pooling around Izzy’s feet.
“We got them!” shouted Peck as he and Johnson ran up to join them. “We got them! They were attacking us and before we could be trampled I was able to stop them both.” Peck panted with excitement.
“You fucking, stupid shit.” J.D. took a menacing step forward. “You fucking. . .piece of excrement.”
“They were attacking, they work for the VC. The VC do this all the time, they train them to. . .” Peck’s eyes narrowed as he realized Rick was moving in on him.
“You murdered them,” Rick said coldly. He tossed aside his own gun, and advanced, fists clenching. “They are one hundred yards away from the jeeps and moving east, you asshole.”
“Please, can we avoid the bad language?” Peck actually smirked, self-satisfied. “Besides, they are only animals for god’s sake.”
“Only animals? They’re more human than you, Peck.”
“Too bad I didn’t know they meant that much to you, or I would have tried to kill them all.”
“Say that again. Go ahead. Say it again.”
The warning in Rick’s voice should have stopped a freight train. But not Peck.
“It was an accident, but you know, you try taking something from me, I will take something from you, Captain—” The roll Peck had been on swerved as suddenly as the order he barked at Johnson. “Stop him, he’s going to attack me!”
Foolishly, Johnson raised his arm but before he could strike, there was the distinct sound of a bone snapping and his wrist flailed impotently as Rick flipped him into the air. Before Johnson could hit ground, Rick advanced toward Peck, who dropped to his knees.
“I am an officer, you cannot— Gregg, help me. J.D., you’re a doctor, get this thug away from me, please!”
J.D. clamped a hand on Rick’s shoulder. “Rick, let him go, man. He’s not worth it. Let us deal with our own, okay?”
The cords stood out on Rick’s neck, like the veins of a horse straining in a race for the finish line, and the finish line here was to finish off Peck as completely as he had destroyed the elephants.
For what felt like eternity, Izzy didn’t dare breathe. If wanting to do murder had a smell he was smelling it now; the air was so charged with blood and the thirst for more he expected to see Peck murdered right here, right now, in front of them all, with Rick’s bare hands. This was personal; a gun was not personal enough.
Then Rick’s body relaxed and he nodded. “You’re right,” he said. “You’re right. He’s not worth it. He’s not even worth my spit.” He hocked one straight into Peck’s face anyway, turned on his heel, and got in the jeep.
J.D. stared at Peck in a way that prickled the skin on the back of Izzy’s neck. When J.D. spoke it had the effect of an ice chisel.
“It won’t be here, and it won’t be today. But a storm is coming, Peck. Any time it is raining, listen for the storm.”
J.D. turned away as if nothing had just transpired. “Okay, Izzy, you check Johnson’s arm and get him in the jeep Major Peck will be driving now, while Gregg and I check on Rick. Five minutes and we’re out of here. After all, we don’t want to be trampled by VC trained elephants, do we?” A slit glance at Peck and J.D. called, “Rick, you doing okay?”
“All good,” Rick called back. “I’m cool.”
The ride to Ban Me Thuot was silent. Izzy sat with Gregg in the back of the Jeep that Rick drove, face stoic, eyes on what passed as a road. Glancing down again, Izzy saw the elephant blood on his boots. He wondered about J.D. He had seen the awe and joy in his eyes when they were watching the elephants, and then the absolute cold savagery when he spoke to Peck. Izzy wondered also at himself and cringed, because he really wanted Rick to hurt Peck, and if not Rick, then J.D. He wanted one of them to hurt him the way Izzy wanted to hurt him but knew he never would; he wanted them to hurt Peck the same way that bastard had hurt the elephants.
And that’s when Izzy recognized what J.D. and Rick really were. Yes, a CIA agent and a Special Ops killer. But what they were and how they operated were not separate from him. They were his agents. Men who did for him what he wanted to do, without getting any of the blood on himself.
Ban Me Thuot consisted of an artillery firebase, supply base, and all the necessary military buildings like bunkered hootches, mess halls, and an air field that was not too distant from the morgue for the purposes of flying bodies in and out. The morgue and the airfield saw a lot of action. So did the extended local population of about 60,000 people in the town of Ban Me Thuot proper, with lots of prostitutes to service not only the GIs on the base itself, but the Special Forces and Special Ops Forces that spread out in every direction like a constellation of small fallen stars.
The base at Ban Me Thuot was still the muddy, red mess that Gregg remembered from his last rotation about a month ago, but lacked even a little less charm than usual as he, Izzy, and J.D. watched Peck usher Johnson into the medical clinic to get treatment, only for Peck to stop at the entrance and dramatically turn.
“You have not heard the last of this,” he informed J.D. “I will be speaking to Colonel Kellogg when we return. I’m going to tell him about Galt, I’m going to tell him about you threatening me, and I’m going to tell him—”
“I think that’s an excellent idea, Major. I would even go so far as to suggest that you leave early from here to tell the Colonel whatever you want. The weather looks like rain, if you know what I mean.”
Peck’s face visibly paled. He swiftly did an about-face and disappeared into the clinic.
“Okay, he’s gone, we took care of ‘our own’ like we said. Now let’s get out of here and do our scheduled meet-up with Rick.” J.D. started walking down the cat-tracks back to the jeep that Rick had left for them.
“I thought Rick was going to kill him, like, really literally kill him,” Izzy blurted. “Doesn’t he even realize you probably saved his life?”
J.D. shrugged. “I was more concerned about saving Rick from the consequences. Peck would be no loss, but Galt’s too good to lose.”
Gregg nodded. �
�Good thing he doesn’t know about Peck messing with Nikki or that might have pushed him over the edge. You don’t think. . .”
“What?” Izzy prompted when Gregg kept shaking his head.
“I can’t believe even Peck would do something so—so unbelievably sick, but. . .I’m just going to say it. Surely he wouldn’t have shot the elephants as pay-back for me introducing Nikki to Rick. I mean, Peck wasn’t even there to know—”
“Margie said Nikki met up with him later that night. Maybe that’s what he meant by taking something. You think?”
Gregg cringed. What in god’s name was Nikki thinking? As for himself, he couldn’t bear the thought that his own good intentions could have resulted in something so deplorably wrong. Maybe it was to avoid a sense of guilt himself, but Gregg wanted to give Peck a pass on deliberately using the elephants to punish them. Nonetheless, “I used to think even the worst people in the world had at least one redeeming quality. Now I’m not so sure. Peck kind of fucked with that philosophy. Really bums me out.”
As much as Gregg hated to admit it, even J.D. had at least one redeeming quality: the ability to scare the shit out of Peck.
“Margie told me he goes to church twice a week,” Izzy offered.
“Glory be,” said J.D.
“And she mentioned he does some volunteer ESL work at the big Catholic cathedral downtown to help teach the local kids some English—though it could have something to do with him getting credit towards a promotion.”
“I’m telling ya, the guy’s a saint.” J.D. signed the cross.
“Let’s see. . .oh yes, and I did see him give some money to some little girls who were begging in the street.” Izzy opened his palms to Gregg as if offering the closest thing he had to a bottle of Jack. “Maybe he’s not a hundred percent bad, Gregg. Just ninety-nine point five.”
“Not even that if there were strings attached to his volunteer time or money.” J.D. paused, as if considering a thought.
“Are you suggesting he’s a child molester?” Gregg asked.
J.D. shrugged. “You guys are the shrinks, what do you think?”
Gregg and Izzy exchanged looks. “Gregg’s known him longer than me. Gregg?”
Gregg gave the possibility a little thought, but just a little because even if Peck was an obnoxious, arrogant, self-serving major league asshole that needed a personality transplant, he did not readily fit the psychological profile of the disorder under discussion.
“No one offers more candy to a kid than a pedophile, it’s one of the ways they lure them in, but. . .” Gregg shook his head. “Peck has major flaws, but he just doesn’t give off that kind of vibe.”
“And what kind of vibe would that be?” J.D. probed.
“Creepy.” Gregg got into the jeep Rick had left them with; back seat, he’d let Izzy sit up front with J.D. “I could be wrong, but while Peck may definitely be bad news on women, I don’t think he preys on kids.”
“Don’t forget elephants,” Izzy added, and looked down.
Gregg knew where he was looking. He kept trying not to look at his own boots.
J.D. actually patted Izzy’s shoulder and Gregg tried not to liken it to a bowl of soup extended to a starving POW—worse, a guard at the concentration camps giving him a bar of soap and telling him not to worry. Gregg hated the thought that J.D. was using Izzy’s vulnerability somehow in this stinking house of horrors war, hated what that said about how his own mind was working to think a small show of compassion was so suspect it was sick. But think it Gregg did as J.D. said almost kindly:
“The elephant thing, that was bad. Unfortunately, this next thing is going to be worse.”
16
Gregg looked out at the jungle as the jeep bumped along and JD and Izzy chattered away in the front seats. He had never felt this fucked up. Usually, the one thing that he prided himself on was that his mind was strong and steady with a world view of the proverbial glass half full or more. Right now that glass was running on empty. Not too surprising really. He had been in-country a long time. He was completely out of the regular routine he had established to psychically survive here with a balance of work, play, surfing, and friends.
The work was long and difficult and stressful as hell but he had been doing fine until J.D. arrived. Since then Top had been murdered in front of his eyes by Derek, Derek had been blown away, Kate had arrived, and promptly gone from the greatest thing to happen here to the worst with her involvement with Captain Hook, who had just promised the most awful thing yet was waiting at a morgue after they’d watched the bloody slaughter of a baby elephant and her mother, not to mention the snakes.
Gregg could feel his body quivering; a clear signal that he was on overload, but the recent shift in his thinking process is what bothered him the most. He could hear his own thoughts going dark side. Like when J.D. was—or was he not?—being kind to Izzy and his mind went to places it made him feel ill to go. What was the matter with him? Was he getting paranoid, turning everything J.D. did or said to double think? What was real, what was a manipulation, was anything sincere or was it all just a set up?
Gregg knew that J.D. had tried to be nice to him despite stepping over the line with Kate. But was that more soap and soup, or just an act to appease her and sucker him in? Gregg just didn’t know what to think anymore, didn’t trust his own judgment, or even his own thoughts that seemed to go round and round, and the more stressed he got the darker and more twisted those thoughts seemed to become. It was like having snakes in his head. Fuck it. He needed to get back to the ocean and some waves after they got out of here, after they found out that this was all a big load of bullshit. Then J.D. would go away and he’d be a two digit midget and on his way back home, Kate in tow with a broken heart that he would be there to mend.
God I hate the Nam. This place is so fucking my head.
No sooner had his brain produced that last bit of venom than they were pulling into the camp. The one Rick had said they were calling “Fort Apache.” Specialists like Rick were great at setting up and creating these “camps” somehow overnight in the middle of nowhere. Because Special Ops apparently got whatever they wanted or needed right when they wanted it, they could go right to where it was hot and set up and operate. Pretty much like J.D. Maybe that was one reason he and Rick had hit it off so well.
“Hey, the shrinks are here!” As if it had been a week since he’d last seen them, Rick slapped J.D. some skin, then lightly slapped Gregg on the shoulder, almost knocking him over as usual. It was like the guy was made of some sort of heavy metal. Gregg had noticed the few times he played in pickup basketball games with professional athletes that their bodies were made of something far denser and harder than normal and Rick and his Special Ops guys were made out of the same material.
“Glad you could make it,” Rick convivially went on, “See our little piece of paradise before we pack up again.”
“Where are you headed next?” J.D. asked casually.
“That’s classified but I’ll fill you in anyway later. First I want you to meet a few of my men. The best of the best of the bad ass best.”
Gregg knew that Rick wasn’t boasting, simply stating a fact. As with the medical field there was a hierarchy of expertise and who got the most respect for their positions on the ladder. The way the totem pole worked on this end of things put Rick and his men pretty much at the top. The best of the LRRP guys who survived the training to become Rangers had a shot at the Special Forces, like the Green Berets, then the Special Ops groups operated at another elite level. They were a breed unto themselves often going out in the boonies for weeks doing recon and getting intel on the enemy. Some of them had been drawn from the Green Berets and others were darker with fuzzy affiliations to various branches of the military but most of all to the highly classified SOG. Gregg wasn’t sure exactly how Rick had come up in the ranks, but in addition to leading Special Ops Groups, he trained new ones.<
br />
It really was an honor to have someone of Rick’s stature usher them around, but more than anything, Gregg just wanted to go home, even if it was the villa for now. Every bone, nerve ending, and muscle in his body told him that he did not belong here. Every instinct vibrated with the knowledge that outside the perimeter here was death.
“Okay, kids,” Rick said jovially, “Now that the Buckingham Palace tour is over and you’ve met the guard, let’s get this party on the road. Oh, and before I forget—” He handed Gregg an envelope with “Nikki” printed on the front. “If you don’t mind?”
“Not at all, Rick. I’ll personally deliver it to her tomorrow.” Gregg fleetingly wondered if the elephants had already atoned for his delivery. Then he consigned that idea with all the others that belonged in the snake pit of his brain.
Minutes later they were bouncing around in the jeep again and heading back in the direction of Ban Me Thuot, then Rick took a detour to an area Gregg had never seen before.
While Rick’s Special Ops guys were fit and sharp and looked like a pretty happy bunch of mean mother fuckers, and while their Fort Apache was tidy in a roughhewn kind of way, where Rick parked the jeep and they got out, Gregg could only liken to a deeper level of Hell. One look and you knew how naïve it was to think that living in Nha Trang and working at the 99KO was really the war. They were living and working in some Disneyland Army Town, USA compared to this.
This being a vast, blasted, stinking mud hole filled with temporary fragile shells of metal and shallow holes in the ground, which were in turn filled and covered with sandbags. US GIs were actually living in this mud hole where Gregg could smell the smoke from burning cans of shit from the latrines wafting across the wasteland. The new guys in dark green jungle fatigues appeared nearly as shocked as he was to be here. The old soldiers in faded out fatigues were themselves somehow faded out, nearly spectral. Many were gaunt and wasted from stress with lesions on their skin that looked infected and inflamed. The soldiers he looked at directly just stared blankly back at him. He was a visitor. A being from another place that could come and go from the living hell they had been consigned to.
