For All Their Lives (21 page)

An hour crawled by, and then two. Thirty more minutes passed before Mac raised his hand to signal there was no activity on the trail. It was time to move out and attack the nine-man post at the edge of the village. He looked around cautiously. The fine hairs on the back of his neck prickled in alarm. Each shrub, each tree, looked like the enemy.

It was blacker than a witch's lair as they humped their way through the saw grass. Suddenly, the point man stopped in his tracks and signaled for everyone to drop down. Mac raised his head to see the shadowy figure of a squat man, then a second, not more than fifty feet away. They were crouching, like crabs, as they moved, their heads turning right and left in perfect synchronization. He could feel his heart start to pound. This wasn't a page in the manual or a training exercise; this was so real he was about to wet his pants. He felt hard movement in his chest and knew his heart was taking on extra beats. He swallowed past the lump in his throat. He waited. He saw a third silhouette and then a fourth. Did that make the command post minus four men, or were these men from somewhere else? Then again, the point had said earlier there might be more than nine. There was no way he could know for sure. Five minutes crawled by, then three more, before five more crouching figures snaked their way on their bellies from the undergrowth. The first four were crouching, the second batch humping. Why? Jesus Christ, he knew why. He could smell it all the way to where he was hunkered down. Some fool was splashing insect repellent. If he could smell it, so could the Cong. Son of a bitch! He'd thought he and Pender were the only ones new to the jungle.
That
was in the goddamn book!

“You're on, Sergeant,” Mac said to his senior NCO, a man named Stevens.

At the sergeant's signal, bodies moved to the right and to the left. For the briefest second Mac wanted to turn tail and run, to hide in the dense shrubbery. The sound of an explosion ripping through the air convinced him hiding was not his answer. He was up and running, his M-16 belching fire as his sergeant ripped the jungle to shreds.

It took fifteen seconds for Mac to hop, crawl, and run to cover where he'd seen the last batch hump their way through the clearing. He opened fire and heard a squeal of rage. Wild animal or Cong? He didn't wait to find out as he fired off another blast. Another squeal and then a shriek. Hot damn! His elation was short-lived when a grenade went off nearby, showering him with dirt. He threw one of his own. No Yankee pitcher could have done it better. Bodies tumbled in the brush.

“It's a kill! Three! Medic, over here!” Mac's eyebrows shot up to his hairline. One of his men was wounded. A call for a medic meant the man was still alive. No one was fucking going to die under his command.
No one!

They fought like the soldiers they were. And when it was over and Mac called a halt to the shooting, they set up their perimeter. “How many?” he asked hoarsely.

“Nine wounded. No one bought it, sir.”

“Get on the radio, give our coordinates, and get a medevac chopper in here for these men.
Now
you can smoke!” he declared.

“How'd we do, Captain?” the sergeant asked.

“You did great, Stevens. We'll know shortly, when the patrol gets back. I think we got them all.”

There was disgust written all over the sergeant's face. “You
never
get them all, Captain. I might not get the chance to say this later, sir, but I'll soldier with you any time.”

Mac felt his chest puff out. He
had
done all right. There was just that one bad moment, and he was going to live with it. He'd done what he was supposed to do. He'd goddamned performed like a real soldier. He buried his cigarette before he issued his next order.

“Let's find that depot we came for. Mojesky!”

“Here, Captain,” he said, grinning from ear to ear. “Listen, they're popping, sir. Every single one. I strung eight and fired up all three sampans. No business conducted here for a while, sir!”

“They'll be back in business by tomorrow night,” Stevens said out of the corner of his mouth. “Bastards!”

“Not if we get that depot,” Mac said. “Let's go find it.”

 

T
HEY FOUND THE
depot a little before dawn, and then it was by accident. A youngster, no more than six or seven, was rolling a string of rocks tied with a vine in front of his cave. At first he refused to look at the American soldiers. At one point he'd been called inside. Before he obeyed the stern voice, he'd pointed to one of the thatched huts. It took a good ten minutes before Mac realized it wasn't the hut the boy had been pointing to but the cave beyond it. A quick glance, even a lingering one, wouldn't have picked up the covered entrance to the cave.

Mac was first to enter, Mojesky second. Mojesky whistled, Mac gawked. Along one wall on makeshift shelves were sacks and sacks of rice along with boxes of beer and wilted vegetables. Cartons of Lucky Strike and Chesterfield cigarettes were dumped haphazardly on top of the wilted vegetables. It was floor to ceiling rice and beer. The second wall held identical rough shelves. Boxes of grenades, some American and some Russian, filled two shelves. The third and fourth shelves held thousands of rounds of AK-47 ammunition. Piles of AK-47's still in their oiled boxes stretched to the ceiling. On the third wall were additional boxes of M-16's and five M-60's. The two walls flanking the entrance of the cave held enough C-4 plastic explosive to blow up the state of California.

“In here, Captain,” one of his men called. “We got ourselves a makeshift clinic with guess what, good ol' U.S. of A. penicillin, Johnson and Johnson bandages, and lookee here, a whole bale of happy weed. And, oh, this is . . . why, it's medical instruments.”

The voice was short of hysterical, Mac thought. He ordered the man out when he opened a wooden box filled with GI dog tags, wristwatches, rings, and pictures of smiling young girls, happy-faced youngsters, and wide-eyed parents. All American.

He felt meaner at that moment than he'd ever felt in his life. He hated totally, completely, when he bent down to pick up the box, to heft it to his shoulders. It didn't feel heavy at all.

“Mojesky, blow this motherfucking place off the map. Give the residents five minutes to clear out, then set the charges.”

“Yes,
sir
!” Mojesky said smartly. The captain was
all right.

“Pender!” Mac roared. “You see this box. You're in charge. If you lose even one picture, your ass is going in a sling. Divvy it up among the men to carry.”

“You got it, sir,” Pender said, snapping to attention.

“Freeze, get these civilians out of here and don't let them buggy-lug anything. We don't have time for packing luggage. They go as they are. Double-time, mister!”

“O'Brien, what's the body count?”

“Nineteen confirmed. They come back for their dead, sir, what do you want me to do?”

“Nothing, O'Brien, the sun will french-fry them or the explosion will toast them. It's an either/or.”

It was six-thirty, dawn, Mac saw by the hands of his watch, and already the temperature was climbing. He looked upward to see the mountains, and a gray, purplish haze obscured his view. In another fifteen minutes the blazing-hot sun would burn off the haze.

Out of nowhere he heard the
pop-pop
rotor blades of a helicopter. The pilot was zooming in at full tilt toward the greenish plume of smoke that signaled his landing zone. Directly behind the first chopper was a second, its rotors singing. He walked over to his wounded, saluted smartly, and said something to each of the men. When the last man was secure in the choppers, Mac approached the pilot. “Do you fly anywhere near Qui Nhon?”

“Just about every day.”

“Do me a favor and deliver this to one of the nurses. Casey Adams.”

“Are you by any chance a guy named Mac Carlin?”

“I was when I woke up yesterday, why?”

“Have I got something for you. You guys pen pals or what?” he said, handing over a filthy, tattered slip of paper. He was grinning. “Sorry, Mac, I have to get airborne. But call anytime!”

Mojesky, Mac saw, was standing outside the cave, giving him a thumbs-up sign.

“Saddle up and move out!” Mac roared as he slipped Casey's note inside his breast pocket.

It was day two on the Ho Chi Minh trail.

T
HE FAMILIAR NIGHT
sounds Casey had grown accustomed to over her sixty-day stint in Pleiku were gone. It was so quiet she thought she could hear the blood running through her veins. There was an ominous feeling to the quietness. Something was going to happen, something terrible, she could feel it, sense it in every breath she took.

God, she was tired. Sixteen straight hours of surgery today, eighteen yesterday, and fourteen the day before, and a puny, tepid shower wasn't going to help ease the tiredness. She thought about the package that had just arrived from Nicole. Cotton underwear, French talcum powder, and possibly a few other goodies would be in it. She'd been too tired to open it. Shampoo, wonderful fragrant shampoo, would be a godsend. She hadn't asked for shampoo though.

Inside her tent she flopped down on her cot. How many more days of this could she take? Twice she'd put in for a transfer to Da Nang, but so far she hadn't heard a thing. Guilt settled over her shoulders, cloaking her in misery. Why did she have to feel guilty? She'd done her share, more than her share, and she hadn't had a day off since she arrived. Maureen Hagen, newly assigned to Pleiku, had looked at her as if she'd sprouted a second head when she said she needed time off, time to do nothing but what she wanted to do. Time to see if she could arrange a meeting with Mac.

She smiled in the darkness. Thoughts of Mac were what kept her going, the notes they sent to each other by way of chopper pilots. Rick had promised to fly her down to Da Nang if she could get the time off. “You'll love China Beach,” he'd said. He must have said the same thing to Mac, because Mac was trying for China Beach too. Miracles did happen, she thought wearily. God, if she could only be that lucky.

Casey was crying when Lily Gia poked her head under the flap of the tent and held up two bottles of pop. “They were cold when I got them.” She grinned. “Casey, you're crying. What's wrong?”

“Nothing, everything. I have to get away from here, or I'll go out of my mind. I thought I was tough, that I could handle anything in the O.R., but this . . .” She wiped at her eyes with the hem of her tee-shirt. “I'm not a crybaby,” she said hoarsely.

“I know that, Casey. We all feel the same way. But you get numb to it, you hitch up your socks and keep going. There's no other answer. If there was, I would have found it by now. Anyway, I have good news. At least I think it's good news. I heard Major Hagen talking to some of the doctors, and she was discussing you. I think—and mind you, this is just my opinion—it was about giving you some leave for a few days.” The Asian girl's eyes were alight with happiness for her friend.

“Really, Lily, do you think so?” Casey asked hopefully.

“I really think so. You deserve it, Casey. I even heard Luke say you needed time off. It's all up to Major Hagen. If you go, I get to go next. All I dream about is leave. Hey, when are you going to open your package?” she said, swigging from the pop bottle.

“Right now.” Casey grinned, gulping at the lukewarm orange pop. She ripped at the string and the tattered paper. Her eyes sparkled when she looked at Lily. “Half is yours. We share whatever is in here. Agreed?”

Lily clapped her hands before she dropped to the floor. She sat cross-legged, her eyes glued to the lid of the box Casey was about to remove. “Oooh, hurry up!” she dithered.

“Aaah, cotton panties,” Casey said, holding up a bundle of briefs. “Fourteen pairs, and the day is on each one. A set for you and one for me. We're the same size, isn't that great? Talcum powder. Four. Two for you and two for me. God, it smells heavenly. Chocolates!” she squealed. “We can gorge! Toffee! Macaroons! We've died, Lily, and are in heaven. Look here, a tin of coffee. Real French coffee! We're dead. Lie down, Lily, but not until you fill your mouth with this wondrous, this fattening, this exquisite chocolate. And oh, my God, look, licorice too!” Casey said, digging into the bottom of the box. Suddenly she crossed her arms over her chest. Her eyes rolled back in her head when Lily lifted a tissue-wrapped bundle from the very bottom.

“I know what it is, I know what it is,” Casey cried excitedly.

“Tell me before I unwrap it,” Lily cried, just as excited as her friend.

“It's a dress, an outfit of some kind. I told Nicole about Mac in my letter. She would do this—send me a dress, I mean. She always nagged me about the way I dressed. She said I was too conservative, too old-maidish. This is going to be spectacular, I just know it. Quick, open it before I have a fit of some kind.”

The dress was so simple in line, it was elegant. At a glance she could tell it wasn't a mini, but close to it. The hemline would touch her knees. “Chanel!” she gasped. “Oh, look, here's a note.”

“The way things are going, I'll be old and gray and sitting in a rocking chair before I get to wear this dress,” Casey said. “This isn't a China Beach dress though. It's a Saigon dress, and that's where I'm going if the major gives me leave. What do you think of that?”

“I think it's a wonderful idea. Will you take a letter to my parents and one for—Eric. I know he's married. It doesn't change my feelings. I must believe the promises he made to me. I love him, Casey,” she said softly.

Casey's expression didn't change. She had to believe Lily knew what she was doing. “Of course. Oh, Lily, I can feel a regular shower pelting my skin already. Just the thought of air-conditioning leaves me giddy. I can't wait to dine in a restaurant and eat regular food that actually tastes like it's supposed to taste. Napkins, glassware . . . silverware . . . sleeping on a bed that isn't soaking wet. Luxury beyond belief. I'll get to read a newspaper, maybe even a book, go to a movie.”

“If you're going to do all that, when will you have time to see Mac?” Lily asked anxiously.

Casey giggled. “Somehow, I'll fit him in. He's probably as hungry for civilization as I am. We'll do all these things together.”

“Will he sleep in that same dry bed?” Lily grinned.

Casey shrugged. “Nothing is impossible. I suppose you'll want a full report.”

“Absolutely, right down to the wrinkles in the sheets. When are you going to try that dress on?”

“Not till I get to Saigon. God, Lily, it will smell just like this place. I want to be clean and powdered. It's a size six, so it will fit. If anything, it might be a little loose across the bosom. I'll bet
you
could wear it. It would look beautiful on you. I can't get over how close we are in actual build. When I get back, it will be your turn to wear it. You'll look like a princess. I'll write Nicole and thank her from my air-conditioned room. Maybe she'll send us another one.”

Lily picked up on the word us immediately and hugged Casey. “You are a wonderful friend, Casey. Without you, I would have gone back to my family and given up all hope of being a doctor. If there's a way for me to go back to the States when you leave, I want to go with you. I want us to be friends all our lives.”

“I feel the same way toward you,” Casey said.

“Right now we have to think about how we're going to preserve this beautiful creation, otherwise it will be full of mildew in three days' time. Come along, my American friend, we are going scavenging. Someplace in this compound we will find rice paper and a plastic bag.” Lily giggled. “First though, we must eat these sweets. Ah, I never thought my sweet tooth would be fed again.” This last was said as she stuffed three half-melted chocolates into her mouth. As she chewed she unwrapped pieces of toffee. When her sweet tooth was stated, she sighed and pulled Casey to her feet. “Follow me and be quiet. We could get shot for stealing.”

“No!”

“Oh, yes, your American officers frown on pilfering. So,” she drawled, “I will point out the places where we will find what we need, and you will steal it. Agreed?”

“To preserve this dress I'll do whatever is needed,” Casey said happily. “If they shoot me, Lily, wear the dress in good health.”

“Okay. Now follow me.”

Three hours later, when the moon was high, the conspirators were back in Casey's tent, their arms full of cellophane, wax paper from cereal boxes, and rolls of surgical tape. They spread their precious loot out on Casey's cot, trying to smooth the crinkly paper.

“The worst thing that will happen is your dress will smell like cornflakes,” Lily said, doubling over with laughter.

Ninety minutes later they had an airtight bag held together with surgical tape. The designer dress was folded between the wax paper of twenty-three cornflake boxes before it was placed lovingly by two pairs of hands inside the makeshift bag. They used the last of the surgical tape as a seal.

“Have you given any thought to what will happen in the morning when the cooks find all those cornflakes in their mixing bowls?” Casey asked fretfully.

“A lot of thought,” Lily muttered. “The cereal will be damp in another hour, so that's what's for breakfast. Lunch too. Dinner also. I personally love cornflakes.”

“I adore cornflakes,” Casey said, bobbing her head. She'd agree to eat cornflakes for the rest of her life to preserve the dress, in the hopes of wearing it when she finally met Mac.

“It was a fun evening, wasn't it, Casey?” Lily asked as she munched on the macaroons.

“It sure was, and we didn't even get shot.”

 

O
N
M
AY
10, 1966, United States planes blanketed a Viet Cong base with napalm, on Mac Carlin's orders. It was an order that enabled Mac and his men to destroy the base and wipe out a series of smaller trails, temporarily crippling the enemy. The order earned him a Bronze Star with a V device for valor. He also managed to get a three-day pass to China Beach.

The word went out on the Bamboo Pipeline: Captain Mac Carlin respectfully requests the honor of Casey Adams's presence in China Beach at a mutually agreed-upon date. The return message via the Bamboo Pipeline was: Saigon has air-conditioning and dry sheets. Confirm time and date.

 

O
N
T
UESDAY
, J
UNE
7, 1966, the day Ronald Reagan won the Republican nomination for governor of California, Mac Carlin boarded a Chinook with stops at Phuoc Binh, Dong Xoai, and Bien Hoa. At Bien Hoa he caught a dust-off for Saigon.

Casey wasn't as fortunate. When she boarded the chopper at Pleiku, she was told she might make it to Saigon on time, but not to count on it. She changed choppers four times: in Qui Nhon, Tuy Hoa, and Nha Trang, where she waited nine hours for a pilot who would take her to Cam Ranh Bay, and then waited eight more hours for a chopper to Saigon. When she walked off the field at Tan Son Nhut Airport, she had less than seven hours to spend in Saigon before heading back to Pleiku. She wanted to cry with frustration, both at her circumstances and at the way she was dressed—in the required jungle fatigues and jungle boots. Her hair, which had grown almost three inches, was pinned on top of her head in messy disarray. The little makeup she'd started out with had long since washed away with her perspiration.

She held her breath as she walked through the double doors of the elegant Tu Do Street Princess Hotel in downtown Saigon. The cool air blasted her. The small suitcase she carried, with the blue dress inside, was a child's case. It was bright red with a colorful picture of Mickey Mouse on the front and brought smiles to the faces in the lobby. She felt silly, but exhilarated, a megawatt smile on her face.

She saw him then. He was getting to his feet, but he was moving slowly, as though afraid. His eyelashes were still incredibly long. He was as tanned as she was. And then she saw his smile, saw the warmth in his eyes. “You made it,” he said hoarsely.

“I would have walked,” Casey said simply.

“Me too.” Mac grinned.

“Have you been waiting long?”

“All of my life,” he said.

“Me too.”

“I only have eight hours left,” Mac said.

“I have seven.”

He was dressed in clean jungle fatigues. She couldn't wear the blue dress after all, it was too fancy. Her heart thumped. “I can be ready in fifteen minutes,” she said breathlessly.

“I can carry your bag to the room,” Mac said in a strange voice he barely recognized as his own. “I'll come back down here to wait for you,” he added hastily. “You look just the way I remember.”

“You do too. I told everyone about your long eyelashes. I didn't think we'd ever . . . what I mean is, I hoped, but . . . the pilots, they're just super. If it wasn't for them, I wouldn't be here.”

“Thank God for the Bamboo Pipeline,” Mac said at the door to her room. He handed her the Mickey Mouse bag he'd been carrying. He shuffled his feet. “The shower is great. Don't take too long, Casey.”

“I won't. Wait for me.” She smiled.

“You bet. Fifteen minutes.”

He walked on air. He felt the same way. She was the same. Everything was the same as it had been in San Francisco, but now they were half a world away from California. He shivered with a delicious feeling of triumph.
They
were the same. Casey thought so too. He could see it in her face.