Lucky’s Bridge (Vietnam Air War Book 2)

by Tom Wilson

  "I missed you," he finally said.

  "I couldn't have told that," she said in a petulant tone, "the way you acted like I didn't exist."

  "You didn't look so lonely."

  "Don't ever snub me and think I'll be lonely. There's other fish out there."

  He grew quiet about it, not wanting to hear more.

  She wasn't through. In fact, she giggled.

  "Was he that good?" He tried not to sound as if he were sulking.

  "Who?" she asked innocently.

  "Lyons."

  She giggled again. "He thinks I'm a poor, frightened virgin."

  "What're you talking about?"

  "Colonel Lyons. He's been wining and dining me like I'm the queen of England. Keeps telling me about his family and their old money, and how he can't live with his wife anymore because she's so common."

  He snorted.

  "He says he'd consider marrying me, if I'd just be reasonable and go to bed with him. Keeps telling me how it won't hurt much, and how someday I'll even enjoy it."

  "Lyons says that?"

  "Then I tell him I just can't, 'cause what would my mother think if she found out, and he groans and grabs his balls and runs off to the bathroom."

  "You're shitting me."

  "Three times he's done that now."

  "And you haven't given him any?"

  "All I want from him are some supplies every couple of weeks. We've already got the best-equipped Peace Corps camp in Thailand, maybe in all Asia, because of him."

  Manny laughed uproariously.

  "But don't get too obnoxious about how much I missed you. There's a couple guys at the camp who're ready to take your place in a minute, if you push me away again."

  "Probably long-hair, draft-dodging hippies."

  "They're fun, and they're more my age than you are."

  "I'm not old," he said defensively. "Twenty-eight isn't old."

  "That's the same line Colonel Lyons uses. He says"—she lowered her voice—"I'm not so old. I was promoted very quickly, you know."

  "That's mean, Jackie, comparing me with him. He's at least ten years older than me."

  "You tell me to fuck off again, I'll show you mean, hon."

  "I needed some time to myself. I went through a bad period for a while."

  "I waited."

  Then he remembered her words. "But you didn't get lonely, you said."

  She paused before speaking. "I meant next time I wouldn't let myself get lonely." Was there a hint of guilt in her tone?

  Before he could question her further, she began rocking, and again he felt himself stirring. It had been a long time.

  He rolled over with her, holding her gently, and let her reach down for her ankles . . . then started to give her a wild ride. Their accumulated juices made it a frictionless, slippery task. She grunted loudly each time he drove forward, her utterances mingling with the slapping sounds of their wet bellies. This time there was no one next door, so she made her sounds with abandon.

  He drove her hard into the mattress, uncaring that the bed squeaked and the headboard thumped against the wall in a constant tempo. This time it took longer before he finally felt the delicious spasms and moaned with each surge of exquisite release. When he'd drained himself, he pushed fully into her and held tightly in place, and she began to make new sounds. A cooing that grew in volume as she began to shudder and stiffen her body.

  She locked her legs in place, pressing her heels hard into his calves, and ground herself tightly to him as the sounds from her throat grew louder. She was at full volume then, pressing tightly to him and squealing. . . .

  A pounding sound erupted on the door of the trailer.

  Jackie sucked a sharp breath and stopped, lying very still and quiet beneath him.

  The pounding again, this time more stridently.

  "Fuck 'em," whispered Manny. He raised himself onto his elbows. "Ignore it."

  The pounding sounded again.

  She slithered from under him and fumbled for her clothes, trying to catch her breath. She found and switched on the desk lamp.

  "Tell 'em to go away," grumbled Manny.

  Jackie pulled on panties and clutched her blouse closed before she cautiously went to the door.

  Manny sat up and was reaching for his shorts as she opened the door and peered around it.

  She said, "What do . . ."

  "You lying bitch!"

  And then she squealed as the door was thrown open and she was dragged outside.

  Manny said fuck the shorts and rushed out into the darkness. He saw two people struggling a few feet away and then watched her reel away and scream.

  Some asshole had hit her!

  Manny leapt toward her assailant and began to punch him in the body, heard the groans and grunts as he connected. He drew back his fist then and sank it deep into a soft gut.

  The man sucked in a series of breaths. "Eckkk! . . . Eckkk! . . . Eckkk!"

  "Bastard," Manny growled. He grabbed the guy and dragged him to the ground and sat astraddle him. He punched him hard in the face.

  The man caught his breath and sobbed. "Stop!"

  Manny hit him in the mouth and felt teeth giving.

  He squealed like a frightened, wounded pig.

  "Rat fucker!" cried Manny, and hit him again.

  Jackie ran around them and reopened the door of the trailer.

  "I quid!" screamed Tom Lyons, caught in the momentary light. Blood was trickling from his mouth.

  "You damned betcha you quid," said Manny, and hit him again.

  Lyons squealed. "My node,'' he cried, trying to protect his blood-gushing nose.

  Jackie had disappeared inside the trailer, but she switched on the porch light. Lyons's face was distorted and he was crying like a baby.

  Manny got to his feet and dragged Lyons up by his shirt front.

  "I quid," cried Lyons between sobs.

  "You touch her one more time, asshole . . . you even look like you're going to touch her . . . and I'll make you wish you had it this good."

  "I won! I quid!"

  Then Manny DeVera turned Lyons around and kicked him in the ass with the side of his bare foot. Tom Lyons stumbled, righted himself, and fled, running toward his trailer only thirty yards distant.

  Manny stood there, angry and huffing from exertion.

  A major, the operations officer who now acted as commander of the 354th, hurried up and stood looking at him. Manny stared back. Then he squared his shoulders and grinned sheepishly.

  "What the hell was all the noise about?" asked the ops officer.

  "Stepped on a rat," said Manny.

  The major looked over at the full colonels' trailers as Tom Lyons slammed his door and locked it.

  "A big rat," said Manny.

  Silence.

  Jackie pulled the curtain back and watched from the window.

  "You want a towel or something?" asked the major.

  Manny thought about his nudity. "Naw, thanks," he finally said. "Sometimes I go for midnight walks like this. Old Mexican tradition. Lets the skin breathe." After thinking about that for a moment, he casually turned to walk to the Ponderosa, which was half a mile distant.

  The trailer door cracked open. "Manny DeVera, get in here," she said.

  The ops officer grinned awkwardly, mumbled something about hating fucking rats, then went back toward his trailer.

  Jackie swung the door wider. "You're naked, hon. Come on inside."

  He peered at her face as he went in. She had a bruised lip and was holding a washcloth to it.

  "You okay?" he asked.

  "I used to hit my brother harder than he hit me."

  He chuckled and patted her on the shoulder. "You're tough."

  She grinned back at him. "Tough enough for the Supersonic Wetback?"

  He nodded his head, impressed. "You damn right, you are."

  "How's Colonel Lyons?"

  "I hit him harder than you hit your brothers," said Manny, looking at
his skinned knuckles.

  They both laughed nervously, coming down from their emotional highs.

  "Well, I suppose I won't be getting any more supplies from this base," she said.

  They laughed louder.

  He was shaking with humor, but was able to stop long enough to say, "And I don't guess he's going to marry someone he suspects just might not be a virgin."

  That time they howled with their laughter.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Saturday, September 9th, 1030 Local—354th TFS Pilots Lounge

  Captain Manny DeVera

  Manny was leaning back in one of the uncomfortable theater seats, drinking soda pop and thinking about Jackie and the crazy night, when a grizzled major wearing fatigues entered the room.

  "Help you, sir?" asked a lieutenant.

  "I'm looking for a Captain Manuel DeVera." He pronounced it Duh-Veer-uh.

  "Right here," called Manny.

  The major's pants were bloused and stuffed into the tops of shiny combat boots, and he wore a security-police badge on the left pocket of his fatigue shirt.

  Manny shook his head, thinking Lyons had wasted no time in pressing charges. He'd wanted to go to B. J. Parker first thing that morning to tell him about the matter, but Parker was in Saigon visiting Seventh Air Force headquarters. And then he'd heard that Lyons had left that morning for Bangkok, so he'd figured he'd been smart enough to let it go.

  He'd obviously thought too highly of the bastard.

  "Talk to you?" asked the major in an almost friendly tone.

  "Long as it doesn't take much time," said Manny. "I've got to fly this afternoon, which means I don't have much time before I've got to start flight planning."

  "I just talked to your acting squadron commander. You're off the schedule."

  "It's that serious?"

  "Serious enough to talk about."

  Manny stood. "My office is next door."

  "Let's go to mine, Captain."

  Manny sighed. "Well, I'd better tell the duty desk where I'll be."

  "I've already done that."

  They went out to the major's vehicle, a blue Air Force pickup with a light-bar on top.

  "What did the bastard tell you?" asked Manny as they got in.

  "Let's not talk about it until we get to my office and I read you your rights."

  "Fuck my rights. The bastard hit a woman, so I decked him."

  The major looked at him strangely, then shook his head. "Let it wait, okay?"

  They drove in silence to the base commander's group of buildings. The cop shop was off to one side by itself, and Manny didn't fail to notice the small fenced stockade at its rear.

  The major led the way inside and stopped at the desk, where he read him his rights under article thirty-one of the Uniformed Code of Military Justice in the presence of a burly tech sergeant. Then the three of them went into a small office with bare walls, furnished only with a table and chairs.

  As the tech sergeant closed the door, Manny began to suspect that he might be in deeper shit than he'd thought.

  "What's this about?" he asked, eyes narrowed.

  "It sounded like you knew, back in the pickup," said the major.

  "I'll hear it from you, then I'll tell you my side."

  "You'll get your chance." He waved Manny into a chair and sat down opposite him. The tech sergeant leaned against the wall near the door, staring at Manny.

  The major opened a folder, took out a paper, and read from it.

  "The commander of the 355th Combat Support Group has ordered this inquiry into actions you are suspected of taking on two dates, those being . . ."

  The base commander? Two dates? Manny was confused.

  ". . . April twenty-eighth and July twenty-ninth, 1967. On those dates it is alleged that you purposefully and illegally bombed targets that were specifically restricted by written and verbal lawful orders of your superior officers."

  "What?" said Manny, not believing what he'd heard.

  "You want me to read it again?"

  "Yeah."

  The major did, very slowly and clearly.

  "That's bullshit," snorted Manny.

  "We've got certain evidence to the contrary. Now it's your turn to prove it wrong."

  "You mean I've got to prove myself innocent of a bunch of bullshit. Hell, I don't even know if I was flying on those dates."

  "You were. We checked the schedule. This is just an informal inquiry, Captain DeVera, but I've got to tell you that if it goes further, you may be facing a court-martial."

  "For dropping a couple of bad bombs?" he asked incredulously.

  "For conspiracy against the government of the United States of America."

  1150 Local—354th TFS Duty Desk

  Captain Billy Bowes

  The ops officer, who was acting squadron commander until a replacement arrived for Lieutenant Colonel Encinos, called Billy into his office and motioned for him to take a chair.

  "Captain DeVera is in some kind of trouble," said the major. "I was just advised by the legal office that he's relieved of his position and all flying duties until it's straightened out."

  Billy was stunned. After his initial shock he muttered, "Can't be anything bad. Hell, Manny wouldn't do anything bad." Then he frowned. "This have anything to do with Colonel Lyons and the Peace Corps dolly?"

  "I don't know. All the legal officer said was that Manny's got to go through an informal inquiry, and that he might be facing something worse."

  "Jesus."

  "You're acting C-Flight commander until it's over."

  Again Billy asked, "This have anything to do with Colonel Lyons?"

  The major looked as if he knew something but didn't know whether to talk about it.

  "Lyons hates Manny's ass," said Billy.

  The major was a good shit, but the matter was beyond the normal domain of a fighter jock. After more hesitation he told Bowes what he'd heard and seen the previous night outside the guest trailer, which was not much except squeals and cries and Manny standing there buck-ass naked.

  "It's gotta be Lyons behind this," said Billy.

  "Lyons took the nine o'clock base flight to Bangkok this morning."

  "Anyone see him?"

  "He was all beat-up, but he wouldn't tell what happened."

  Billy felt helpless. "Is there anything I can do to help Manny?"

  "Not that I can think of. Hell, we'll all do what we can, Billy, but you're still going to have to take his place as C-Flight commander until it's straightened out."

  When he emerged from the ops officer's office, Billy spotted Lieutenant Smith and waved him over. "You're going onto the flying schedule, Smitty."

  Smith looked desolated. "I'm supposed to have the day off."

  "And I just took it away."

  "I was going to town with my pu-ying," Smitty complained. He had a Thai girlfriend, one of the Thai base commander's several daughters, and she liked to shop.

  Billy didn't feel at all like arguing, so he gave him a glare. "Save your money. Now go get started on the flight plan. I'll be over there shortly."

  "Who's flight lead?"

  "I'll lead and you'll be on my wing. Henry and Joe will make up the second element."

  Smitty nodded dejectedly, wanting to argue but not wanting to piss Billy off too badly.

  Manny DeVera came in. He saw Billy and started over, wearing a grim expression.

  "Go get started," Billy told Smitty. "I've gotta talk to Captain DeVera."

  "I haven't had lunch yet," tried Smitty.

  "Then get a fucking candy bar. Now go on, dammit."

  Smitty started for the door, giving Manny a woeful look and trying to look sad enough that he might overrule Billy and give him back his day off.

  "What's wrong with him?" asked Manny DeVera.

  "Fuck Smitty. What the hell's happening with you?"

  "You won't believe it," started Manny.

  Wednesday, September 13th, 0320 Local—Phuc Yen PAAFB, DRV


  Air Regiment Commandant Quon

  Where is Lokee? his mind beseeched.

  The UHF radio tracking station in Hanoi had picked up another transmission on the rescue frequency a few days earlier, but it had been so weak, they couldn't get a direction.

  Why was the signal weaker? Had he moved farther away, or was his survival radio's battery being depleted?

  It had now been thirty-four days and the rescue team had not found him, and Quon suffered from insomnia and stomach cramps from the thought that he might be getting away.

  The rescue sergeant complained that they would have located him long before if it hadn't been for the morning downpours that eliminated traces of his passage. They had discovered an American-made survival knife, a demolished radio, and a .38 revolver where they'd been buried at the base of a knoll in the Viet Bac and then partially unearthed by the rain. Were they his? The sergeant thought so, but how could they be sure?

  Why would he discard the revolver and radio? It was all very puzzling.

  Quon had assigned the task of monitoring the progress of the search team to his adjutant, as he'd promised General Tho. But as the search dragged on, instead of forgetting about the scarred Mee pilot, his mind had become obsessed with visions of the man's horrible face. The Mee pilot would first smirk, then begin to chuckle, and then laugh uproariously.

  Not only had he killed his son, he laughed about it. As time passed, it became increasingly difficult to separate the fantasies from his real knowledge of the man. When the search team sergeant made excuses, Quon would shout that the Mee was laughing at him, and he must find the pilot or else . . .

  But of course he knew the sergeant was the best, and he didn't dare have him replaced. He sighed and rose, preparing to travel to the Hoa Lo Prison and sit in as they interviewed yet another Mee prisoner from the Pig Squadron. He felt it was important to be there. Perhaps it was being face-to-face with a man who had met and knew the monster Lokee.

  The adjutant knocked and entered.

  "Is my automobile ready?" Quon asked tersely. Daytime surface travel for high-ranking officers was now strictly prohibited, but he often ignored the ban.

  "I just spoke with the prison commandant on the telephone, comrade Quon. The lieutenant says they are being inspected by officials from the Ministry of Internal Affairs and he cannot receive you."

  Quon cursed.