Eagles Cry Blood
Page 13
“Need you ask?” Paul opened the closet door and slid his hand over the half-dozen suits hanging there. “I hope one of these fits me.”
“Should, we’re about the same size. Try the cream-colored one—it will go with your suntan.”
Paul removed the suit from the closet and laid it on the foot of Chuck’s bed. He slipped out of the hospital robe and pajamas and into the suit pants.
A near-perfect fit.
“The keys to the jeep are on the dresser.” Chuck placed his attention back to the centerfold.
Thanks, Chuck!” Paul pulled the door shut behind him.
Lieutenant Bourne felt very uncomfortable wearing civilian clothes. He adjusted the pistol that he was carrying in a shoulder holster under his jacket before starting up the steps of the nurses’ quarters. He found the door marked five without any problems, and paused a second before knocking.
“Come in, Paul!”
The door eased open with little effort when he pushed down on the latch. He took a deep breath when he saw Natasha. She was wearing a beautiful black dress that clung to where it should and rolled over those parts of her body that required accenting.
Natasha saw the effect of the dress on Paul’s face.
“I bought this dress when I was on R & R. I was going to save it for when I got back to the States, but since this is a special evening for me I thought I’d wear it. Do you like it?”
“Do I!”
“Come on, Paul. We had better leave now.” Natasha had followed Paul’s bedroom eyes to the cot, and she didn’t need an interpreter to tell her what was on his mind.
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They drove through the downtown area of Da Nang and past the quiet marketplace. The restaurant was located on a small peninsula overlooking the busy harbor. A German hospital ship was berthed less than two hundred yards away from the front doors of the very impressive-looking French-owned establishment, with all of the lights burning on its decks.
The Eurasian maître d’ met them at the door and asked if they wished to dine inside in the main dining room or out on the garden patio. Paul looked over at Natasha, waiting for her to make the decision.
“Outside, please; I like the water and the stars.”
Paul was glad that she wanted to eat outside, where he could keep an eye on the jeep.
The Eurasian maître d’ spoke with a heavy French accent in a passable English. “Miseuir u’ Dame, do you wish for a aperitif?”
“Yes, please, and some red wine.”
The maître d’ nodded, and waved for a garçon to assist at the table.
Natasha looked around the tastefully decorated patio at the well-dressed Vietnamese crowd sprinkled with a few Americans and French civilians. “I didn’t think a restaurant this fine was left in Vietnam.”
“Like it?” Paul smiled across the dimly lit table. Natasha nodded happily as she watched the color of Paul’s eyes change in the flickering candles.
The garçon arrived carrying a bottle of red wine imported from France and two glasses that sparkled in the starlight. Paul and Natasha touched glasses and hearts in the reflected moonlight from the river. The spell broke softly with the arrival of a young garçon carrying a tray of special hors d’oeuvre. The small boy placed the tray between the two guests and smiled, backing away from the table.
Natasha sipped from her wine and touched a slice of black egg with the fork.
“What is this?”
“Century eggs. They’re a delicacy here in the far east” Paul placed two slices on his side dish and answered her quizzical look with a bite. “They’re really very good. They bury the eggs underground for one hundred days.”
“Oh, maybe later . . .” Natasha laid down her fork and picked up her safe wine glass.
“Come on, try it! Very good and expensive when you can find them.”
Natasha wrinkled her nose and took a single slice from the tray, looking for the smallest one. She nibbled at the delicacy and then smiled her approval.
It tasted very good, especially with the wine to counter the unusual treat.
“I told you it’s good.” Paul breathed in deeply, inhaling the sweet perfume she was wearing, trying to keep his attention on the food—at least while they ate.
“May you order, please?” A new waiter appeared.
“We don’t need a menu.” Paul looked at the girl. “Do you like lobster?”
“Love it!”
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“Good! Because they make some of the finest in the world here,” Paul smiled at the waiter and ordered in French: “Homard, ecrevisse de mer.”
“I didn’t know you spoke French!” Natasha was tickled by Paul’s expertise.
“It sounds so . . . so romantic!”
“I looked the words up in a dictionary before we left,” Paul grinned.
The meal was delicious beyond comparison. Paul and Natasha ate slowly and entangled the peaceful night air between them in soft smiles that were flashed at each other whenever their eyes met. An occasional fish jumped in the river, sending ripples racing to the shoreline that added to the quiescence of the evening. Neither of them kept track of the time, something they realized only after the waiter approached their table and tactfully informed them that curfew would be imposed on the city in a half-hour. Paul ordered another bottle of wine and two clean glasses.
“I don’t want this evening to end just yet. Let’s take the wine and go back to the hospital patio to drink it.” Paul paid the bill as he talked, adding an extra twenty dollars to cover the glasses.
“I’d love to!” Natasha picked up the glasses and Paul carried the wine bottle, which the waiter had been kind enough to open and recork for them.
Paul parked the jeep next to the stone wall surrounding the dark patio of the hospital. Natasha giggled as they snuck over to one of the far corners and pulled up two wicker chairs near the wall closest to the sea. Paul pulled out the cork with his teeth and poured the glasses half full. He allowed a little of the wine to drop down on the sand below the stone wall.
“A little libation for whoever allowed this evening to happen!”
The soldier and the nurse locked fingers and stood looking out over the water that was streaked with slivers of romantic moonlight. Words were not necessary. Paul pulled up a chair and signaled for Natasha to sit on his lap.
She slipped out of her shoes and curled up in his arms. Natasha lay against his breast listening to each single beat of his heart.
The morning light was creeping across the water, bringing early-rising seagulls crying as they flew skimming the water for their breakfasts.
The cries woke Paul. Natasha had taken a seat on the stone wall watching him.
“Have I slept long?” Paul was embarrassed.
“No . . . not long at all.”
“Well, I’d better get you back to Sue’s room.”
Natasha watched him and nodded.
They walked very slowly along the sandy cement walkway holding hands loosely. Natasha carried her shoes in her free hand and Paul carried the empty wine glasses. The room appeared too fast for both of them. It signaled an ending of the evening.
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“I enjoyed tonight very much . . .” Paul turned toward her.
“So did I . . .”
They kissed lightly. Natasha dropped her shoes in the sand and wrapped her arms around his neck, changing the tempo of the kiss to passion.
She pushed the unlocked door open and they entered the dark room together. The enchantment of the evening was still with them as they undressed each other.
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6
Lieutenant Bourne picked up his gray B-4 bag off
the ground where he had thrown it from the helicopter and walked toward the white Special Forces Group Headquarters building. He automatically absorbed every noteworthy detail surrounding him along the walkway: locations of bunkers, trenches, clumps of thick vegetation, and avenues that led between the buildings to the outer perimeter. He stored the data in his mind for possible further use in case the compound came under attack.
“Hey, Paul!” The call rang out from behind a screened tin-roofed hooch window. “Wait a minute!
Paul dropped his handbag down on the hot sidewalk and waited for the caller to appear. A second lieutenant burst from behind the plywood building.
“Jay!” Paul took a step forward with his hand extended. “You leg son of a bitch!”
Jay grabbed Paul’s hand and shook it violently. “Whoa! Not a leg any more!” He pointed to the new cloth wings sewn above the left pocket of his jungle fatigues. “You are observing one bad-assed paratrooper!”
“I’ll be damned! So you did make it to jump school after Officer’s Candidate School, after all,” Paul grinned. “So what are you doing here in Nha Trang?”
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“I was shipped to an infantry unit up in Quang Tri when I first arrived in-country. All kinds of shit broke loose. Hell, it’s a long story that should be told over cold beers.” Jay looked at his watch. “I’ll tell you what. Let’s meet at the Officer’s Club for supper. I still have a few hours of in-processing to do, and then I’ll be free.” Jay’s face expressed the joy at finding his closest friend from OCS stationed with him in Vietnam.
They had spent many hard days together getting through the officer cadet program.
“Sounds good to me, Jay. I have to report in at Group Headquarters myself.” Paul picked up his B-4 bag and adjusted the cloth handles in the palm of his hand. “See you later.”
The entrance to the Special Forces Group Headquarters was exceptionally well manicured by an aged Vietnamese Nung. There were a pair of captured North Vietnamese heavy machine guns that had been painted black and mounted in the cement next to the main entrance. A quote from the famous revolutionary Ranger, Major Rogers, had been expertly painted on a scroll sign and nailed on the wall next to the entrance doors. Paul caught only part of one sentence as he stepped inside the air-conditioned building: “Keep your tomahawk sharp and your powder dry.”
“Can I help you with something, Lieutenant?” a sergeant major addressed Paul from behind the duty officer’s desk.
“I came to see the group adjutant.” Paul glanced down the dimly lit hallway and saw the hand-lettered sign that identified the adjutant’s office.
“The third door on your left.” The sergeant major continued looking at the green binder he held in his hands.
“Thanks, Sergeant Major.” Paul shook his head. Once an enlisted man reached the top grade of sergeant major, they rarely addressed a second lieutenant as sir. It was sort of their way of showing superiority to the officer corps.
Paul slowed down as he neared the adjutant’s office. He paused to read the information bulletin board before meeting the officer who was in charge of personnel assignments.
An unmarked door at the end of the hallway opened and the Special Forces group commander stepped out in the hall.
“Lieutenant Bourne!”
“Hello, sir” Paul shook hands with the colonel.
“It’s good to see that you’ve healed well.” The colonel took hold of Paul’s shoulder and guided him toward the adjutant’s closed door. “I want to personally ensure that you get well taken care of by my people.”
The major sitting behind the cluttered desk stood up casually when the white-haired colonel burst into his office. “Can I help you, sir?”
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“Yes, Bill. I want you to take good care of this young lieutenant for me.
He’s going to be the new executive officer for the My An detachment in the Delta.” The colonel couldn’t hold back the grin when he looked over at Paul.
“That’s great, sir! I thought you had forgotten.” Paul’s worries over ending up as a rear-area desk jockey vanished. “Thanks a lot, sir.”
“Save the thanks. You might end up hating me before this is all over with.
Building a new A-Camp is a lot of very hard work.” A frown flashed across the tanned leathery face on the older man . He was thinking about an irritating conversation he had had the day before with the C-Team commander in charge of the Special Forces activities in the Delta region. “Lieutenant Bourne, I’d like for you to do me a personal favor when you’re down there. Stop by my office before you leave.”
Paul listened to the group adjutant and when he left the administrative office took the stack of processing papers with him to be turned in to the records clerk down the hall. After Paul dropped off the processing papers he knocked on the colonel’s private door. He was called into the well-decorated room by the colonel’s private enlisted secretary. A huge Persian rug covered the handlaid teakwood floor, and two red-leather wing-back chairs dominated the setting across from the colonel’s desk. The group commander joined Paul in the leather chairs and crossed his legs preparing to talk personally.
“Paul.” The opening first name alerted the lieutenant to a session that was going to be confidential. “I have some problems accepting the detachment commander that the C-Team commander selected to head up the My An operation. I normally don’t ask subordinates to check up on their superiors, and normally I don’t personally select an executive officer for an A detachment, but in this case, I’m doing both.” The colonel was careful not to use the word spy. “I need an inside eye down there. Lieutenant Colonel Bakersun turned down my offer to use Captain Blake to build My An. Blake has built five special forces camps as an engineer team leader operating out of the First Group on Okinawa. He’s the very best man I know of for that job, and he’s available right now. Bakersun was adamant in his choice of Captain Hetten, who is currently serving as his personnel officer in Can To. Hetten’s been with Special Forces for only six months; he extended in-county from a supply officer’s post in Long Bhien. The man reeks of a glory grabber who is out to line his chest with a couple rows of ribbons before heading home.” The colonel glanced over at Paul. “That’s the main reason why I want you there. You have some combat experience, and the rest of the team just might need some hardened leadership before this is all over and done with.” The colonel removed a cigar from an ivory-inlaid box on the coffee table in front of them. “I want you to keep this conversation very confidential, but if Hetten can’t handle that 90
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team, I want to know!” The colonel placed his visual attention on lighting the cigar. “You’ll leave for Can To in the morning.”
“Yes, sir” Paul stood and saluted.
“And Paul . . .” the voice softened, “take care of yourself.”
“Thanks, sir.”
“Oh, one more thing. I had a Sergeant Braverman assigned to your team.
You can trust him. We served together in Korea during the war in the 3d Ranger Company.”
Paul exited the colonel’s office and returned to the in-processing station, which took only a few minutes to change over his records from the Duc Co Special Forces camp to My An. He drew his Bachelor Officer’s Quarters assignment and walked over to the row of sleeping quarters. The sun had just begun to set, and he paused on the cement sidewalk to assimilate the beauty.
There were many incidents during the war that he knew he would forget, but the Vietnamese sunsets with their mystical colors were incidents that remained with a person forever.
The building was dark, but enough light to see still came in through the open windows. Paul looked along the row of steel cots for one that wasn’t being used and saw a green duffel bag on a be
d near the rear exit. He walked over and read the name of the owner: Lieutenant J. B. Loveless. Paul dropped his B-4 bag on the cot across from Jay’s. When you had your choice, it was wise to sleep near an exit in case there was a rocket attack during the night.
Paul undressed and wrapped a towel around his waist. The officer’s latrine and showers were located in a separate building down the street.
He could hear a shower running as he approached the brightly lit shower room. Paul slapped the screen door with the palm of his hand to remove the night bugs before opening the door.
“Jay?”
Paul picked up a red cigarette-butt can off the floor and filled it full of cold water from the row of sinks lining the wall. Paul was about to throw the bucket of water on the man in the shower, but stopped at the last second when he saw the occupant of the shower was an older man. He felt like a fool and quickly placed the red can on the seat outside the shower-room door and unwrapped the towel from his waist.
It was the first time in months that Paul had taken a really hot shower.
The luxury of visiting an established headquarters was always highlighted by the showers and the real commodes. Paul took his time drying himself, then walked the short distance back to his quarters naked in the dark. He removed his leather shoulder holster from his B-4 bag and slid his 9mm Smith & Wesson pistol into the molded pocket. He changed into a clean set of tiger fatigues and brushed the dust from his boots. The rules for the base camp 91
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were posted on the back of each BOQ door, and the first one stated that it was against regulations to carry a concealed weapon in the clubs. But Paul had decided when he had first returned to Vietnam that he wasn’t going to die because of stupidity.
The night air was cool with the mountain breeze coming from the northwest, out of the highlands. The floodlights surrounding the large base camp gave off enough peripheral light for him to find his way to the Nha Trang Officer’s Club. The Special Forces club was famous for its good food and star entertainment nightly. Most of the big-name movie stars from Hollywood would give free shows to the Green Beret troops when they made their USO