Virginia wore the medic's vest, which held identical items. She stood staring at the agent's neck chain, which Matt had given to her minutes before.
Wade folded the compass and whispered firmly, "Let's go."
Virginia stood fast, still staring at the thick gold chain and Star of David medallion. Wade took the chain from her hand and put it around her neck.
"We gotta move. Stay five feet behind me and stop when I do. Don't talk and don't step or grab anything that might make noise. We're going to leave a fake trail, then double back and head south."
She looked at him tiredly and began to nod, but stopped as another thought occurred to her. "What's your name?"
Wade shook his head, put his finger to his lips to quiet her, and began to move.
"Look, I'm sorry. I just forgot, okay?"
The sergeant kept walking.
Virginia sighed and looked at Walter's corpse one last time. "Shalom," she whispered, fighting back her tears, and began to follow the sergeant.
Nha Trang Corps Headquarters
Colonel Ellis, Major Shane, and Sergeant Childs had just returned from lunch and began walking up the Corps Headquarters steps when a shiny jeep honked its horn and squealed to a halt beside them. A wide-eyed lieutenant yelled as he hopped from the Jeep. "Sir! Sir!"
J. D. Gibson couldn't believe his luck; he'd seen the camouflaged fatigues and black berets of the two Rangers as soon as he pulled in. The tall Ranger was a major and had to be the commander of the company.
He ran up the steps to Major Shane. "Sir, I'm sorry for honking, but I wanted to introduce myself to you. I've just been assigned to your company.''
Childs shook his head in amusement and glanced at Shane, whose mouth had fallen open. Shane recovered quickly and stared at the gray-headed Air Defense Artillery officer in the incredibly ill-fitting uniform.
"L-tee, you couldn't possibly be assigned to me. I can't use an ADA officer."
Gibson looked down at his uniform. "Oh no, sir, this uniform is. . ."
Ellis put his hand on Shane's shoulder and tossed his head toward the Headquarters entrance. "Rite did this. Come on, let's go talk to him."
Shane glared at the mumbling lieutenant. "You stand by that . . . that pimp mobile until I get this straightened out."
Gibson looked in the direction the major was pointing and almost cried when it was obvious he was pointing to his jeep. Shane and Ellis jogged up the steps as the lieutenant tore at his shirt and threw it toward the vehicle.
Childs watched as the gray-haired officer yanked a dirty duffel bag from the back seat and pulled out a faded fatigue shirt.4 'Goddamn it, I'm not an ADA officer!'' He put on the shirt and glared at Childs.
Childs stared in disbelief at the faded shirt with sewed-on parachute badge, combat infantryman badge, and Ranger tab over the 173rd Airborne insignia.
The seething lieutenant approached Childs menacingly. "You still an asshole, Childs?"
The sergeant's jaw tightened and met the officer's glare, but suddenly softened, recognizing him.
"Yeah, and I see you're still up to your old tricks, huh?"
Gibson's frown turned into a grin. "Good to see you, Sarge. Been a long time."
Childs held back a smile and extended his hand. "You were company commander of Ranger Class Nine as I remember. I gave you a twenty-five bad spot report for jumping into Ledo Drop Zone with a fuckin' turtle."
Gibson shook hands warmly. "Pretty good memory for an old cuss like you. That was two years ago."
"I could never forget a Ragbag that killed the class mascot."
"How was I supposed to know I'd fall on the damn thing? As I recall, you made us give it a full military burial!"
Childs couldn't help but crack a grin, remembering the entire Ranger class trying to keep from giggling as Gibson read the eulogy of a fallen comrade who'd died heroically during a parachute drop, smashed flat in the act of cushioning the drop of a fellow paratrooper.
When Colonel Ellis and Major Shane walked down the steps, they were obviously upset. Shane halted abrupdy, seeing the lieutenant's faded shirt, and looked at Childs for an explanation.
Childs quickly introduced the officer and explained the error in their first impression. As he talked, Shane and Ellis's smiles became bigger and bigger until they burst out laughing. Colonel Rite had insisted that the lieutenant could contribute in some way to the unit; besides, there were no other officers available.
Ellis patted Shane's back. "You'd better get him outta here before Rite finds out he outsmarted himself. I'll get his orders cut immediately so he won't get pulled."
Shane grabbed the lieutenant's arm. "Come on. You're taking us to the airfield."
"Where are we flying to, sir?"
"An Khe, L-tee. An Khe and your new home."
Cam Tiem Mountains
The sergeant cussed and prodded her for almost two hours before finally stopping. Virginia Wolinski, exhausted, fell back on a rock stream bank. She had never felt so miserable in all her life. She looked up at the first blue sky she'd seen since leaving the crash. They had found a stream an hour before and followed it up to a rocky ravine where the sun finally revealed itself and gave her hope. At last she felt free of the dark, wet world she'd just traveled through, a world from another time where an endless maze of enormous, unbranching tree trunks soared upward into a green canopy so thick it turned midday sunlight into twilight. The jungle was an incubator of oppressive humidity and stifling heat, a brown, silent hell where fiingi and bacteria lived on the dead and parasites fed on the living, where she was just an inconsequential speck waiting to be devoured by its vastness.
She shut her eyes, dreaming of another place that some people called a jungle, too-but New York City wasn't a jungle to her. It was her home, her family. She understood it, and it had made a survivor of her. She loved the constant motion of its sights, sounds, and smells. It had taught her painful lessons, but in its way had also given her its protection, and she desperately wished she were back there now.
The sound of splashing water broke her trance, and she opened her eyes. She heard it again and raised up on her elbows. The sergeant was on the opposite bank of the stream, throwing water up on his bare chest to clean his shoulder wounds. His body was hard and lean. The contours of his upper torso rippled with muscle. He wasn't particularly handsome, but there was a ruggedness about him that had caught her attention from the first moment she saw him. He exuded confidence; it showed in his walk and in the way he held his head. His eyes seemed to penetrate beneath the surface of things. She'd known his kind in the city. They were easy to pick out of a crowd by the way they led rather than followed. He was a survivor, too, a man who felt at home in his jungle. In that he was like her. But now she was at his mercy; he was her only hope, and she didn't even know his name.
The sergeant stood and looked at her, but his eyes told her nothing. He picked up his shirt and vest, then crossed the stream. He looked tired as he sat down beside her and opened the first aid kit from the vest.
"This is a good spot to rest, isn't it?" she whispered, sitting up.
He rubbed some ointment on his wounds and glanced around. "Naw, it's too open. We'll rest when we get to the top of the ridge ahead of us."
She stared at him, unbelieving. "I'll never make it. I don't even think I can stand up."
He put on his shirt. "You can still talk, so you can walk. Let's go." He stood and threw on the vest.
She shook her head in determination. "I'm not going another step unless you at least tell me your name."
He began walking, then stopped and looked over his shoulder. "It's Wade. Now get up and move your ass!"
Her eyes narrowed defiandy as she got to her feet. "You're an asshole, Wade. You know that?"
The tired soldier turned and began walking. "Yep."
An Khe Ranger Base Camp
Rose tiredly dragged the last heavy ammunition box to the edge of the two-and-a-half-ton truck and sunk to his knees. "That's
the last one, man."
Thumper and Russian wordlessly picked up the ends of the eighty-pound box and walked toward the steel conex container a few yards away.
Rose slid off the back of the truck and picked up his jungle fatigue shirt.4 'Thump, man, if you gonna piss off the L-tee again, leave me outta it."
Thumper shut the steel door of the storage container and wiped sweat from his eyes. "Why you blaming me? You could have wrote the statement Dickey wanted."
Rose rolled his eyes at Thumper and motioned toward Russian.
"No I couldn't and you know it. This foreigner woulda killed >>>>
me.
Russian nodded with a confirming grunt. Thumper grinned. "Rose, you needed the exercise anyway. Dickey is just giving us a litde payback. Six hours of unloading trucks is probably just the beginning."
Rose snickered. "This is white man's work. . . Hey, let's skate back to the barracks before that dumb shit gets back and finds somethin' else for us."
Thumper glanced around for the officer and quickly put on his shirt. "Take the point, Rose, and get us outta here."
Minutes later die three team members walked into the barracks and had to step over a pile of beer and C ration cans. Four men from Team 3-2 sat in the corner listening to a Jimi Hendrix cassette while passing a joint.
Thumper kicked a beer can in their direction. "You going to smoke that shit, get out of the barracks!"
A thin soldier wearing a colored headband and sunglasses smiled at him smugly. "Who says?"
Thumper squared his large body to them. "Me."
Russian stepped up beside him. "Us."
The soldier kept his smile. "Hey man, mellow out, it's cool. We leavin'."
Thumper kicked another can toward them. "Pick up your trash first!"
"Sure, man, it's cool.'' The three men giggled and began picking up the cans to the beat of the music.
Thumper shook his head in disgust and walked down the aisle to a small room, followed by Russian and Rose. He sat down on his bunk and looked up at the others. "Somethin's up. I haven't seen an officer or senior NCO lift a hand to stop the shit that's goin' on."
"Is the whole company here?" asked Russian.
Thumper leaned back against the wall. "Almost. There's still one more flight due in from Da Lat, and the major and Childs are at Corps, but that still doesn't explain why the other leaders haven't taken charge and started kickin' ass."
Rose stepped back and looked in the barracks bay, then leaned back into the room, whispering.
"Looky here, I heard from Pete that this is all planned, man. The major told the big boys to leave us alone and wait."
"Wait for what?" asked Thumper, sitting up.
"Pete says they're bringing in a bunch of line doggies from the herd, and they're gonna fill us back up to strength. He said some- thin' about they was waitin' until they got here, and the major was gonna turn Childs loose on us to start smokin' our asses."
"Ooh, shit!" said Thumper.
Russian eyed Rose, not trusting him.
"Peteroski tell you this for sure?"
"Man, Pete is the company clerk, ain't he? We're tight, man. He wouldn't give the Rose no flaky skinny."
Thumper stood up. "Pete is good people. He wouldn't exaggerate about something like this, plus it all fits. . . . Look, tomorrow it's probably gonna hit the fan. We better get our area squared away and look strac to keep Childs off our backs. I got a feeling if Pete's right, Childs will be inspecting all our equipment and dealin' out big-time trouble."
Russian nodded in agreement, but Rose shook his head.
"Man, that's lots of shit to be cleanin'. I want to hit the vill tonight and . . ."
Russian's glare halted his protest.
"Okay man, no big thing. I can't find my rubbers anyway."
Private First Class Peteroski, the company clerk typist and the major's driver, parked his jeep by the Third Platoon barracks and got out to lift the hood. A small yellow dog ran from the side of the building and leaped at the back of his legs.
Peteroski smiled and bent over to hug the playful ball of fur. "Bitch, I missed you, girl. Old Russian been takin' care of you?"
Peteroski ruffled her fiir in reflection. Bitch had belonged to his close friend, Joseph Dove, who'd been killed during the Cambodian mission. Russian had adopted her and was her constant companion when he wasn't in the bush. Bitch liked everybody and loved to be played with, but she especially liked to be fed. When Russian was on a mission, she stayed in the TOC and, strangely, always stayed close to Childs.
Peteroski gave her a last pat and stood up, shaking his finger. "Now let me get to work."
"You skatin' a-gin, Pete?"
Peteroski smiled, recognizing the familiar voice of Lieutenant Bradley Lee Avant. The officer was short, powerfully built, and could have been considered handsome, but he always kept his head shaved. He'd come to the company just prior to their leaving for Da Lat and had been assigned First Platoon leader. According to his files, he was a graduate of North Geoigia Military College and had gone to law school for a year-and-a-half, but he certainly didn't show it. In Da Lat, he had always kept everybody laughing with his corny Southern drawl and quick wit.
"Sir, I'm not skating. I'm about to change the major's jeep oil filter."
"I see. And ya was gittin' instructions from the dawg, right?"
Pete laughed as the officer leaned over and patted Bitch's head.
"Dawg, is you a coon hunter, a possum hunter, or is you really a mechanic?" Avant stood up and motioned toward the barracks. "Pete, I hope the oF man knows what he's doin' not lettin' us do something about the troops. I ain't smelled so much pot since visitin' Adanta during the hippie antiwar marches."
Pete merely nodded. He knew these things were going to change pretty fast. He'd overheard the major and Childs talk about their plan just before leaving for Nha Trang.
Avant sighed and threw Pete a wave as he opened the barracks door and went in. Pete gathered his tools from the front seat and opened the hood.
Lieutenant Dickey stomped out of the Headquarters building and glanced quickly around the Ranger camp. Seeing the major's jeep, he knew he had found his culprit and marched straight for the vehicle.
Pete was leaning over the engine when Dickey stopped in front of the jeep and pointed his finger at the clerk. "You, soldier, what's your name?"
Pete looked up at the obviously irritated officer. "Peteroski, sir."
"You're the one! You were seen taking a fan from my room."
"Yes, sir?"
"You don't just walk into an officer's billet and take his property."
"I had permission from Lieutenant Avant, sir. I was to pick up all Company fans and distribute them in the troop barracks."
"Not without my permission you don't. Who is this Avant? Who does he think he is?"
Avant, having heard the conversation, pushed open the screen door and walked out. "OF cousin Avant is the Company supply officer. And him is me. And he thinks he's a good-un'."
Avant walked up to Dickey and held out his hand with a smile. "I'm Brad. Don't think we've met yet."
Dickey ignored the gesture and stared coldly. "You can't order an enlisted man into my billet and have him take my fan."
Avant dropped his hand but still held the smile and glanced over at Pete. "Why cousin, Pete ain't never ^n-listed, he was drafted. Weren't ya, Pete?"
Dickey fumed. "You know what I mean."
Avant slowly turned his head back toward the taller officer and his face hardened to stone. "You mean, did I, the duly appointed supply officer of this company, assign Private First Class Peter- oski the responsibility of collecting company property, as per the instructions of the company commander, Major Edward Shane, for the explicit purpose of cooling troop billets? You bet your sweet ass I did!"
Dickey was completely taken back by the sudden change from Avant's country boy drawl to articulate verbal assault. He knew that if Shane ordered the fans taken, he was powerles
s to pursue the matter any further.
Dickey backed up a step. "Very well, you can keep the fan, but I will take this up with Major Shane as soon as he returns." Dickey turned on his heels and marched straight for the officers barracks.
Avant broke into his smile again. "Nice ta meetcha, cousin."
Pete shook his head in awe. "Sir, where did you learn to . . ."
Avant winked. "In law school. They always said beat them with their own words and they'd know they done been whipped."
the Last Run (1987) Page 10
