For All Their Lives (25 page)

Casey stirred in his arms. With the starlight spilling through the open windows, he realized just how beautiful she was. Her hair gleamed with silver that belonged to the stars alone, her skin smooth and glowing, softer and sleeker than silk. At his touch on her cheek she leaned her face into his hand, eyes closing, lips parting. Wordlessly he smoothed the golden curls, feeling the satiny strands between his fingers, thinking that her hair was like the moon itself, shining and sleek.

When she turned to him, it was to offer her lips to him, clinging softly with arms wrapped tightly around his middle, pressing herself against him. Her appetite for their lovemaking was as intense as his, and that knowledge heightened his desire for her. She was the most exciting woman he'd ever known: soft and lovely one moment, then softer still, but always beautiful.

Casey's emotions found an answering response in Mac as his mouth sought hers hungrily, desperate to satisfy his need for her. Their hands reached for one another, softly touching, rediscovering each sweet caress.

He kissed her neck, tasting the perfumed skin of her earlobe, the gently curving softness of the arch of her throat, that hollow between her breasts which constantly beckoned him. The intricacies of her, the delightful difference invisible to the naked eye, which made her different from all other women. His lips lingered, taking and giving pleasure.

Casey's hands found the smoothness of his back, luxuriating in his warmth and solid physique. Her mouth tenderly nipped at the place where his muscular shoulder yielded to his neck, and she was aware of the quiver of delight that rippled through him.

Mac moved away from her, and when they touched again, his hands slid down her body, adoring her, lifting her into a realm of passion and desire known only to lovers.

His arms circled her, drawing her tightly against him, reveling in the length of her body pressed against his.

Her hands were woven in his hair, pulling it back from his forehead as she kissed him, opening her lips, begging him to enter. Straining against him, her body rose and fell rhythmically, desperately seeking to fill this sudden need that throbbed within her.

Seizing his shoulders, she pressed him backward against the bed. His breathing came in short, rapid rasps, and when she leaned over him, pressing the fullness of her breasts against the fine furring of hairs on his chest, she heard him emit a low, deep growl of pleasure.

Beneath her fingers his skin glistened with a sheen of perspiration, and the long, hard length of him heightened her lusty appetite. Learning her lessons well, taught by him, she tasted every detail of his body, luxuriating in the rippling muscular hardness of him.

Her legs tangled with his as she held herself above him, melting herself to him, rubbing against him, bringing him to the height of his desires. The contact between their bodies was as smooth as satin. She crushed his face into the firm plenitude of her breasts, giving, wanting to give . . . only to give. In giving, she was receiving and being filled with a sense of power that she could evoke this emotion in this strong, rugged man. Bringing him pleasure, pleasuring herself.

She felt his hardness throb between them. His eyes were upon her, delving the darkness, perceiving her with more than his eyes. She was a goddess, golden and fair, bringing the warmth of the sun to his cold, hungry needs.

She mounted him, and the flatness of her belly was hard against his, drawing the aches and the hunger from him. Her breasts were offered to his hands, her mouth as greedy as his own, and he knew there was more between them than finding a momentary respite from the urgency of passion. Love.

 

I
F THERE WAS
one thing Mac didn't want to do, it was dress and return to the Ho Chi Minh trail. If he had his choice, he would elect to stay here forever in this little hooch with Casey. He would handle the war and all that went with it. But it was a dream, and Vietnam was no place for dreams, only reality. He kissed Casey, a long, lingering, gentle kiss that spoke of many tomorrows, before he swung his legs over the side of the bed.

“The team is moving to Chu Lai. It isn't that far from Pleiku. We'll manage. Trust me, Casey.”

Casey nodded, tears brimming in her eyes. She was up and out of the bed, pulling on shorts and tee-shirt. She wanted every minute possible with Mac. She would walk him to the chopper, kiss him good-bye and not care who saw her.

“They're getting ready to set off the fireworks. I'll miss them,” Mac said wistfully. “I knew I was going to miss them, but now that the time is here, I'd like to see them. My mother told me that when I was little she used to take me to see the display, but I don't remember.”

Casey linked her arm through his. “Look at it this way, Mac,” she said with a giggle in her voice, “we had our own fireworks.”

Mac stopped in his tracks. He laughed until his eyes filled. “I'll hold that thought.”

“No, don't,” Casey said in panic. “If you have our lovemaking on your mind, you won't . . . you could get . . . please don't,” she begged.

“Okay, okay,” he said, chucking her under the chin. “I'll only think about us when I go to sleep.”

“Promise.” The worry and concern in Casey's eyes tugged at Mac's heart.

“I promise. Hurry, Casey, I only have two minutes. We'll have to run.”

“I'm ready,” she said, pointing to her bare feet.

They ran. The last strains of “When I'm Sixty-Four” and “Ruby Tuesday” ended. Mac's face split into a broad grin when he heard the music to “Hail to the Chief.” He allowed himself one brief statement before he climbed aboard the chopper. Waving his straw hat, he yelled over the whirling rotors. “Men, on behalf of the President of the United States, I accept your gratitude. Carry on!” he said, saluting smartly. He pretended to catch a kiss Casey blew him. A minute later he was circling overhead. Casey sucked in her breath in awe when she saw the American flag light the sky. She clapped wildly, as did everyone on the beach.

Suddenly Lily was next to her, her eyes as starry as Casey's. Casey winked and Lily giggled.

“Was today as wonderful for you as it was for me?” Casey asked.

“Oh, yes,” Lily said dreamily. “We only had a few short hours. Eric left around five-thirty. I've been helping with the food. Everyone is so happy. Mac did a wonderful thing. The fireworks flag was a wonderful send-off, wasn't it?”

“The best,” Casey sighed. “How's the food holding up? Is there anything I can do?”

“Help clean up,” Lily said, wrinkling her nose. “There's a little of everything left for any stragglers coming in. When the sun was going down we had over two hundred marines, and not a bit of trouble, if you can believe that. If it wasn't for the pilots we couldn't have done it. Come on, time to get back to work.”

“Yes, it's time. Life goes on, doesn't it? Oh, Lily, I wish I could stop time and just en—no, I don't wish that at all. What I want is for us all to stay safe so we can get on with our lives.”

“We all wish the same thing,” Lily said, hugging her friend. “How about a hot dog and some toasted marshmallows? My treat.”

“I'd be a fool to turn that down.” Casey smiled. Friends were so wonderful.

 

T
HREE DAYS LATER
Casey leaped from the medevac chopper into a soldier's outstretched arms. The first person she saw was Luke Farrell, sitting on his haunches, staring at what looked like a small garden. “Luke! It's me! I'm back!” Casey cried happily.

“Where's Lily?” Luke muttered.

Casey frowned. She'd expected him to grin and throw his arms about her.

“She . . . she's in Saigon. It was either Saigon or Da Nang. Her parents are in the city, so she elected to stay in Saigon. I thought you'd be happy to see me,” she said in an accusing tone. “If you're angry because I didn't say good-bye, there wasn't time. I told Captain Hagen . . . we spoke at the picnic, Luke. I explained all that. Is something wrong?”

Hell yes, there was something wrong. He'd seen her with Mac. Carlin at the picnic; his eyes had followed them to her hooch. He'd eaten his hot dog and ear of corn and took off like a scalded cat. He should tell her how hurt he had been. He'd wanted to be the one to go into that hooch with her. He wanted to get up now, to take her in his arms and say, welcome back, but some perverse streak in him wouldn't allow him to stick his neck out for further rejection. He stared at the greenery in front of him. “What could possibly be wrong?” he said sourly. “No pushes. Things are quiet. We only have six patients waiting to be transferred.” He poked viciously at a luscious green leaf, careful not to uproot it.

“That's a weed,” Casey said tartly. She felt angry and hurt. She'd given up a cushy job in Da Nang to come back here and work at his side, and all she was getting from him was a nasty attitude.

“You can't know that for sure,” Luke muttered. “You damn women think you know everything. It's pretty.”

“It's still a weed. I know weeds. If you keep watering it, tomorrow it'll be a foot high. Weeds grow fast. You should have planted some flowers. Do you want me to help you?”

“No, I don't want you to help me,” Luke snapped. “It made me happy to think this might turn into a flower, and you come along and ruin the whole idea for me. That's shitful, if you want my opinion.”

“This isn't about weeds and flowers at all, is it? Look, I had orders, I didn't have a choice, I had to go to Da Nang. I'm back. I didn't belong there. I didn't
want
to be there. So I came back to where I'm needed. What do you want? Do you want me to get down on my knees and beg you to take me back? If that will get you over this . . . this . . . whatever it is you're going through, I'll do it. We're such a good
team,
Luke. Now you've spoiled it all. Water your weeds, see if I care.”

Casey stomped off, her shoulders stiff with anger. A few feet across the compound she realized Luke wasn't following her. She thought he would quickly beg her forgiveness. Her shoulders slumped. She dropped her bag and walked back.

“How about a beer, Luke? I'm buying.” It was her way of apologizing for whatever it was Luke thought she'd done wrong. She waited, holding her breath, for his response.

“Only if you admit you lied about this gorgeous thing being a weed. Just look at it, for God's sake. It's like green velvet, all shimmery and soft. And look how the water beads up on the leaf. It looks like an upside-down umbrella. I requested flowers, but I guess it wasn't a top priority. I liked those that you planted when you first arrived. I guess I was . . . I wanted things to be like they were before the picnic,” he blurted.

“You can't go back, Luke, only forward. You taught me that. Now, how about that beer?”

“I missed you, Casey. I mean, I really missed you.”

“And I missed you. God, I couldn't wait to get back here. I thought I'd go out of my mind in Da Nang.” Casey stood on her toes and kissed Luke lightly on the lips.

Both of them totally misunderstood the conversation.

 

T
WO WEEKS LATER
, across the front page of
Stars and Stripes
blazed a banner headline that read:
ARMY HOSTS FOURTH OF JULY PICNIC IN DA NANG
. It was a tongue-in-cheek article that claimed the host or hostess of the infamous party was a phantom whose guest list included two hundred marines. The article went on to describe the tons of American food, the fireworks, and the man who thanked everyone in the President's name. The phantom, it read, wore bush shorts, sandals, a flowered shirt and straw hat, the same attire worn by all the guests except the marines, who were in full battle dress.

It was the end of September before Mac received a copy of the article from Phil Benedict, who said in his note: “Your old man called me personally to ask me if you were the phantom. I said, with respect, sir, I work at the Pentagon, how would I know? He said, and this is no joke, that you were making a laughingstock out of him. Not true, old buddy, I heard via the grapevine that the Joint Chiefs thought it was a hell of a feat and they toasted the phantom over drinks the day the paper came out. Onward and upward, old buddy. Stay well.”

Mac passed the article around. It was found in December, in the pocket of a dead soldier, tattered and torn, along with his picture of a pretty nurse on his arm, taken at the picnic.

In the real world, December ushered in yuletide festivities the men in Vietnam could only dream about. Another year was drawing to a close, and Americans, if they weren't too busy with holiday shopping, took precious minutes out of their busy schedules to reflect on the year's events. They mourned the death of Louis Washkansky, the world's first heart transplant, paid their respects at St. Patrick's to Cardinal Spellman, and then rushed out to buy the newest appliance called a microwave oven, after which they clucked their tongues in collective approval when the church banned the movie
Barbarella,
starring Jane Fonda.

On December 23, two days before Christmas, the commander-in-chief, Lyndon Johnson, set down at the largest base in Vietnam to confer with, console, and wish the troops a Merry Christmas. Mac stood on the sidelines waiting for a chopper to take him to his appointment in Saigon, where he was to meet and spend the holidays with Casey. He expected to hear the President say he was ordering a lull in the bombing, but instead he said the Viet Cong had met their match and the United States would not “shimmy” in its resolve. He spoke about protesters back home, and assured the troops that slogans and signs could not diminish the pride Americans felt in their fighting men. The applause was restrained. Mac stood, stone-faced, his hands jammed into his pockets.