Tango Uniform (Vietnam Air War Book 3)

by Tom Wilson

  There was a roar of an aircraft passing overhead, immediately followed by a loud BRRAAA-AAAAAT. Wu ran on wildly; he'd heard the sounds of Thunder planes firing their awesome Vulcan guns before.

  BRAAA-AAAAT!

  He felt a stinging sensation in his abdomen as he stumbled headlong for the ground.

  BRRRAA-AAAAA-AAAAT!

  Nguyen Wu cried out in terror, crabbing farther into the trees, leaving a trail of bright blood. Another Thunder plane fired its gun, and he continued to sob hysterically and crawl ever deeper into the jungle.

  Again the sounds of the aircraft receded, but Wu knew not to trust them. He found a tree and cowered low behind it, pulling his knees to his chest and hiding his head between them. Crying out for someone . . . anyone . . . to save him. Even when all became silent except for his own wimpering, he was oblivious to the fact that the Thunder planes had departed.

  More than half an hour passed before he decided the fighters weren't waiting to attack again. He examined his throbbing lower abdomen, where the blood had now congealed. A thin shard of metal had been wrenched from a truck by the shower of exploding bullets and thrown forth with such great velocity that it had skewered him. He stared at the sharp, jagged metal that protruded front and rear, and his shoulders convulsed as he began to cry.

  1900L—Regional Hospital, Clark AB, Philippines

  GS-15 Linda Lopes

  The two agents from the Manila agency office had interviewed her again that afternoon, and she'd told them the same thing she'd said the previous times. She'd not revealed anything to her captors for a long period, but in the end she'd broken and given the North Vietnamese the names of her network people in Thailand, as well as names of American intelligence personnel in the embassy, including that of Richard. She wasn't precisely sure how many names she'd given, for her physical and mental condition had been deteriorated, but she was certain it was enough to compromise a lot of people.

  Mr. Smith repeated the same questions over and over, as if he were trying to pry a confession from a criminal, and she'd become frightened of him. She hadn't told anyone, including the psychiatrist who visited daily, but she was beginning to put Assistant Commissioner Nugyen Wu's face on Smith when he spoke to her. He even used some of the same phrases Wu had used through his interpreter. Smith said they needed to know what she knew, so they'd be able to tell what might have been compromised.

  Might have been compromised? She'd begun to give vague responses to Smith's questions, as she had at first with Sergeant Gross. He had become the enemy, and Linda was increasingly confused about such distinctions when Smith and Jones visited.

  When she timidly asked if they'd notified her parents and her fiancé that she was alive and well, they said sure they had, but they'd told them she was isolated and not to correspond. When they were finished with the debriefing, she'd be able to speak with them on the telephone and receive letters.

  She was afraid to ask when that might be.

  Linda was miserable each time the agents visited, and the rest of her hospital life was not much more pleasant. She'd been examined and reexamined, scrubbed, purged, rebroken, and reset in a several places, had a cast on her right foot and left arm, bandages covering much of her chest and face, and both arms were suspended in front of her by an aluminum device. There were no more intravenous feedings, though, and in a few more days she'd be able to eat more than mushy pap that looked like baby food. The dentist had pulled all but eight teeth, cut away diseased gum tissue, and told her he'd be installing partials.

  She was confined to the guarded room, so the specialists had to come there to see her, although she was recovered sufficiently to hobble about on the walking cast.

  The evenings were best, because every night Nurse Marty came and spent time with her. She'd brush her hair and talk about nice things, like how she liked flowers and gardening, and how pretty her hair was, even though Linda knew it wasn't true. Then she'd have a Filipina girl bathe her while she went out on her rounds, and return to rub moisturizing lotion into her skin and talk again. Nurse Marty was the first person since Lieutenant Phrang had been killed that she trusted. She made her feel almost feminine.

  Sometimes Nurse Marty would talk about boyfriends she'd had, and try to get Linda to talk more about Paul Anderson, whom she'd slipped up and told about on their third brushing session. She said he sounded nice, and that she'd once known a special guy from Takhli too. Linda didn't talk much about Paul after the one time, just said she wished she could get his letters. Thinking about him made Linda uneasy, and increasingly ended with terrible guilt. She wanted to forget the things that had happened to her during her captivity, but whenever she thought of Paul, her mind would soon wander to their moments of intimacy. Then, however much she fought it, he'd be replaced by the pudgy sergeant huffing and blowing as he labored on top of her. She'd recall his squeals when he'd finish, his watching and orchestrating with the others . . . so many others.

  Whore.

  "I'm sorry, Paul," she'd whisper.

  She couldn't afford to think of Lucky Anderson often if she wished to retain the fragile string of sanity to which she clung so desperately. Today the psychiatrist had brought up his name, and she'd stiffened and refused to answer any more of his gently probing questions.

  So Nurse Marty was not to be trusted either! She was the only one here who knew about Paul, and she'd obviously told the doctor.

  That night when the big, florid-faced woman came into her room, Linda looked away and refused to answer her cheerful greeting.

  Nurse Marty came to her bedside anyway and sat. "I know what you're thinking, hon. I talked to the psychiatrist, and he said you were upset when he spoke about your fiancé. And you're right, I told him. But I did it because I thought it might help."

  Linda didn't answer.

  "See, hon, the shrink thinks you're withdrawing further from reality. He wants you to be able to put everything in perspective, and you can't do that if you don't face up to the facts."

  "There are things I'd like to forget," Linda whispered.

  "Hon, you mustn't forget. You've got to remember what happened, and then you've got to put it all in its proper place. Like the fact that those bastards raped you. Someday you've got to look back on that and hate them for doing that to you, but you've also got to realize that they didn't take a damned thing away from you. You won."

  She mused on that. "I think most of them are dead."

  "See. And you're here alive and getting better. You won. You're free."

  "You sound like the psychiatrist."

  "Sure I do. I talk with him every day after he finishes with you. See, I care, and I want to make damn sure everyone's giving you the best treatment possible. He's trying to do that, you know."

  Linda sighed. "Sometimes it's hard for me to trust people, Marty."

  "I know. It'll come, though, once you realize you're back in charge."

  Linda was silent.

  Nurse Marty ran the soft brush through her hair, then withdrew it. "Do you mind if I do that?"

  "No." It felt good.

  The big nurse continued with the gentle strokes. "I don't want you seeing anyone who upsets you, but the shrink's one of the good guys. Let me tell you something about him since he's an awfully big guy, and he might look scary to you. He played football for the University of Texas, and he even had a chance at the pros. But know something else? He's henpecked. His wife stands about five two, and she lays down the law. He worships the ground she walks on, so he lets her do it. Just stands there and grins when she chews his ass out. He's big and he's a pussycat. She's tiny and she's a fire-eater. Kind of a strange relationship, but they're good for one another."

  Linda thought about the psychiatrist. He seemed more human after Nurse Marty's explanation.

  "They're like that. Other people are different with each other, but there's something special between a couple in love. That's the way of boys and girls. You know that. You've got a man."

  Linda
almost thought about Paul Anderson, but made herself stop. "How about you?" she asked Marty, to steer the conversation away.

  Nurse Marty chuckled. "I'm a pushover. Show me a man with nice buns, and I break into a sweat. He says a couple slick words and I start purring. I may not be beautiful, but I sure like guys and what they do for me. If I get a chance to land one like you have, I'd be happy for life, and you can damn well bet he'd be happy. I'd keep him tuckered out and grinning."

  "Paul and I went to Hawaii last fall." She'd uttered the words before thinking.

  "I like the islands," Nurse Marty said in her quiet tone. "You visit Waikiki?"

  Linda hesitated a long time before responding. "Our hotel was right on the beach."

  "I spent a few days at the Hale Koa."

  "That's where we were."

  "Kinda like heaven, isn't it?"

  Did she dare remember? "Did they really notify Paul and my parents?" she asked.

  "The comedy twins? They said they would."

  "I thought Paul would have come if he knew about my being here."

  "I'll ask them again. They don't like answering questions."

  Linda started to tell her how frightened she was of them, but held her tongue.

  The big nurse paused in her strokes. "We're gonna have to get some new rinse for your hair, hon. I've got some at home I think you'll like. Brings out highlights real nice."

  Friday, March 22nd, 1400 Local—Western Mountains, DRV

  Assistant Commissioner Nguyen Wu

  He'd spent the night and morning huddled at the base of the tree. He had licked moisture from a damp spot in the earth, for he'd become very dry, his throat so parched that he could hardly swallow.

  He prayed for rain.

  In the past hours the wound caused by the metal shard that protruded from his thin abdomen had begun to throb with a deeper sensation that reached into his very core. Red streaks reached out from the wound like fiery fingers. Periodically he'd touch the rusted metal, but he did so cautiously—fearful that if he moved it, he'd cut himself worse inside.

  If they'd only come for him, he was sure he could survive it.

  As for the woman's secrets, he had memorized much of what the major had written on the pad. They'd soon find him, he decided, and take him to the Bach Mai hospital in Hanoi, where doctors would operate and perhaps heal him with penicillin and sulfa.

  You are a brave and great man, Lao Dong officials would tell him as his aunt looked on.

  His mouth was so dry!

  The churning sounds of a helicopter passing overhead roused him, and he held his breath, knowing it was theirs and not the Americans. He looked up, but it was gone.

  Hope welled anew in his chest as the helicopter returned twice more, then once again, hovering long enough for him to see the huge green body with the blood-red star.

  They'd come for him! He rejoiced, weakly waved his left arm to attract them, felt the powerful down-draft cool him. The helicopter moved away once more. The engine surged, then the blades clattered and settled to a steady clopping sound. They'd discovered the trucks and landed!

  It was just as he'd thought. He would live! Wu tried to stand, but the pain from the wound was too intense. He whimpered and settled back into a crablike crouch.

  He tried to cry out so they could hear him, but the sound was more like a single, low cough. His throat was so dry.

  He must reach them and be rescued. Wu began to crawl on hands and knees, ever so slowly, toward the noise of the idling rotor blades. There were also other sounds . . . distant voices. He trembled in anticipation as he continued to crawl, remembering that he must act brave when they found him. Nguyen Wu would return to Hanoi, to his beloved aunt, in glory. The wound would be proof of his dedication.

  A shot of pain seared through him, and he gasped and stiffened at its intensity, but didn't cry out. He must be brave. And he must conserve the little sound remaining in his parched throat. After a long moment he continued to crawl for another meter or two, then stopped to rest, taking short breaths as he settled onto the earth.

  A voice and a distant laugh. The sound of movement as someone came into the forest.

  So close. He waited patiently, for the sounds were moving in his direction.

  A man appeared not ten meters distant, wearing the green overalls of an aviator, staring down at the trail of dried blood Wu had left the previous day.

  Nguyen Wu tried to utter a word to attract him, but nothing emerged from his lips.

  The man approached closer. "Brave Hero," he said in a mocking voice.

  Wu stared. It was his former prisoner, Quon. Nguyen Wu forced a weak smile. Quon pursed his lips thoughtfully as he eyed him, then crouched and examined the wound.

  Wu summoned his resources, and the sounds were more breath than speech. "Take . . . me to . . . helicopter."

  Quon reached forth and touched the skewer.

  "My aunt . . ."

  Quon pushed harshly on the metal. Pain coursed though him like a fiery lance, but he could issue only a low croaking sound.

  "You are dying," Quon casually observed.

  "Please."

  "You are quite filthy, Brave Hero. Did you know that there are leeches on your neck, sucking your blood?"

  "The helicopter," Wu gasped with the last ounce of his energy.

  Quon smiled. "Tomorrow I will send a rescue team from Yen Bai to search the forest for survivors, Brave Hero. It will take another day for them to get here. I don't believe you can live that long—but, then, who knows?"

  Wu tried to whisper more words, but could not.

  "I came to shoot you. But that would be a terrible thing to do to a . . . hero." Quon stood and gave him the mocking look, then reached out with his boot and kicked harshly at the skewer.

  "Annnghh." The pain was unbearable.

  "You are bleeding again. What a shame." Quon laughed once, a soft yet brittle sound, then turned on his heel and departed in the direction he'd come.

  Wu managed a final, pleading gasp. Later he heard the distant voices and the helicopter's engine surge as it lifted off.

  The world about him wavered indistinctly, but he could see that the sky was growing angry with large, dark clouds. It would soon rain and he'd be able to drink.

  Help would arrive in two days. They'd find him and he would be taken to Hanoi.

  Spots danced in his eyes as he slowly lost vision. Blood seeped from his opened wound. The last coherent thoughts of Nguyen Wu were of his hatred for Quon and an image of the Mee woman whose secrets had promised so much.

  His body was still functioning when the torrential rain began to pour upon the mountainside, running in small cascades, gathering here and there in great puddles. When the water covered his mouth and nostrils, there were a few small bubbles, but they soon stopped.

  Sunday, March 24th, 2010 Local—O' Club Dining Room, Takhli RTAFB, Thailand

  Captain Manny DeVera

  Smitty wanted to borrow a few dollars until payday. "It's just a week," he said.

  "Dammit, quit spending everything you've got on that gold-digger," Manny said, pulling out his wallet.

  "Maybe you're right," Smitty muttered. It was the first time he'd admitted he was being taken.

  "Stick with the hookers at the Takhli Villa," Manny counseled. "They're more honest, and they'll take care of you. Shit, Smitty, you could start a bank with all the money you've spent on that broad." He handed over twenty bucks.

  Smitty looked thoughtful as he finished his rubbery tapioca pudding.

  "Maybe you oughta take me downtown with you," Manny said. "I'd like to learn your secret with the hookers."

  Smitty frowned. He didn't like to discuss his prowess with the ladies of the evening.

  Penny Dwight came in then, escorted by the red-haired major from supply who seemed to go out of his way to give DeVera lessons in bureaucracy. She laughed and said something in a low voice as they took a table at the opposite side of the room. Manny couldn't help staring,
or stop the feeling of loss. Penny returned the look for a single moment before returning to her major. She was bossy and demanding with him, but the supply officer seemed to accept the situation.

  "How come you extended your tour?" Smitty was asking, but Manny ignored him.

  "Wonder what she sees in that guy," Manny muttered, although he knew.

  "You'd think you liked this place. Some of the guys think you're crazy, Manny."

  "What the hell are you talking about?"

  "Why don't you go some place they're not trying to kill you? You got a thing about being shot at?"

  "Let's change the subject," Manny growled, looking again at the other table and feeling queasy. Penny had reached over and was holding the major's hand on the tabletop.

  "Okay," Smitty said happily. "Let's go to the bar. It's my big night."

  Smitty had finished his hundred missions the day before, but he'd waited until today to celebrate, when Billy Bowes had also finished and they could share the tab and have a really big blast. Both men would be leaving within the next couple of days.

  Manny got to his feet. Smitty followed him. "You mind paying for the meal, Manny? Me being short of cash and all?"

  "No sweat." He paid at the counter, eyeing Penny Dwight and listening to the sound of her laughter. When he finally turned to join Smitty, he felt truly miserable.

  As they joined the mob going into the stag bar, Manny remembered something. "Hey. If you're so fucking broke, how're you going to pay for your hundred-mission party?"

  "I borrowed around. Like when you gave me the twenty bucks in there."

  Manny gave him an incredulous glare. "You mean the rest of us are paying for your party?"

  "Yeah." Smitty turned on his shy grin.

  "Well, you tricky bastard."

  "You want, we'll go downtown and celebrate when we get done here. Some of the girls at the Villa asked me to drop by. I think they're planning something."

  Manny let his imagination rove freely as he thought of what the hookers might be up to. He decided he wouldn't miss it for anything in the world. Maybe he'd stop thinking so much about Penny Dwight and what they'd shared and lost.