The Last Detective (14 page)

Cole crawled past Johnson to check Fields. Fields was a red lace of blood and shredded cloth. Rodriguez was alive, but one side of his head was gone, exposing his brain.

“Sergeant? Rod?”

Rodriguez did not respond.

Cole knew that Charlie would arrive soon to investigate the explosion. They had to leave immediately if they wanted to survive. Cole went back to Johnson.

“Tell'm we have one KIA and one head wound. We're going to have to drag back over the ridge to where we came in.”

Johnson repeated Cole's report in a low murmur, then pulled out a plastic-covered map to read off their coordinates. Cole motioned Abbott forward.

“Watch the trail.”

Abbott didn't move. He stared at what was left of Ted Fields, opening and closing his mouth like a fish trying to breathe. Cole grabbed Abbott's harness and jerked him.

“Goddamnit, Abbott, watch for Chuck! We don't have time for this.”

Abbott finally lifted his rifle.

Cole wrapped a pressure bandage around Rodriguez's head, working as fast as he could. Rod thrashed and tried to push him away. Cole lay on him to pin him down, then wrapped his head with a second bandage. The rain pounded down, washing away the blood. Thunder made the forest shudder.

Johnson crawled up beside him.

“Fuckin' thunderstorm has'm grounded, man. I knew that shit would happen. Fuckin' weather assholes, sendin' us out in this shit. Ain't even seen Charlie, and we're fucked by a buncha goddamned lightnin'. Fucked, an' the slicks can't get in. We're on our own out here.”

Cole finished tying off Rodriguez, then pulled out two Syrettes of morphine. Morphine could kill someone with a head wound, but they had to carry Rod and they had to move fast; if Charlie caught them, then everyone would die. Cole popped both Syrettes into Rodriguez's thigh.

“You think the three of us can carry Rod and Fields?”

“Fuck, no, are you crazy? Fields ain't nothing but hamburger.”

“Rangers don't leave Rangers behind.”

“Didn't you hear what I just tol' you? They can't get the slick in here. The thunderhead's gotta move out before anybody's goin' anywhere.”

Ted Fields's leg was still twitching, but Cole willed himself not to look at it. Maybe Johnson was right about Fields; they could come back for him later, but right now they had to evacuate the area before Charlie found them, and it would take two of them to carry Rodriguez.

“Okay, we'll leave Teddy here. Abbott, you're gonna help me carry Rodriguez. Crom, get the rear and tell'm what we're doing.”

“I'm on it.”

Johnson transmitted their intentions as Cole and Abbott lifted Rodriguez between them. That's when a bright red geyser erupted from Abbott, followed by the chunking snap of an AK-47.

Johnson screamed, “Gooks!” and sprayed the jungle with bullets.

Abbott dropped Rodriguez and fell.

The jungle erupted in noise and flashes of light.

Cole fired past Johnson even though he couldn't see the enemy. He swung his M16 in a tight arc, emptying his magazine in two short bursts.

“Where are they?!”

“I got Charlie! I got you, you motherfuckers!!”

Johnson jammed in a fresh magazine and rattled off shorter bursts, four- and five-shot groups. Cole reloaded and fired indiscriminately. He still didn't see the enemy, but bullets snapped past him and kicked up leaves and dirt all around him. The noise was deafening, but Cole barely heard it. It was that way in every firefight; the adrenaline rush amped out sounds and numbed you.

He emptied a second magazine, ejected it, then rammed home a third. He fired into the trees, then crawled over Rodriguez to check Abbott. Abbott was pressing on his stomach to cover his wound.

“I've been shot. I think I was shot!”

Cole pulled Abbott's hand away to check the wound, and saw a gray coil of intestine. He pushed Abbott's hand back on the wound.

“Press on it!
Press hard!”

Cole fired at shadows, and shouted at Johnson.

“Where are they?! I don't see them!”

Johnson didn't answer. He reloaded and fired with mechanical determination—
brrp, brrp, brrp!

Cole watched Johnson's bullets chew up a heavy thatch of jungle, then saw muzzle flashes to the right. Cole drained his magazine into the flashes, reloaded, then tore a hand grenade from his harness. He shouted to warn Johnson, then threw the grenade. It went off with a loud
CRACK
that rippled through the trees. Cole threw a second grenade.
CRACK!
Johnson lobbed a grenade of his own—
CRACK!

“Fall back! Johnson, let's go!”

Johnson scuttled backward, firing as he withdrew. Cole shook Abbott.

“Can you get to your feet? We gotta get out of here, Ranger! Can you stand?”

Abbott rolled over and pushed to his knees. He kept his left hand pressed hard to his stomach, and moaned with the effort.

Cole fired into the trees, then threw another grenade. Johnson didn't need to be told what to do; he knew. Fields might be dead, but Rodriguez was alive. They would carry him out.

Johnson and Cole fired short bursts behind them, then got on either side of Rodriguez and lifted him by his harness.

Cole shouted, “Go, Abbott. Go! Uphill the way we came.”

Abbott stumbled away.

Cole and Johnson dragged Rodriguez away, firing awkwardly with their free hands. The shooting died down when they threw the grenades, but now it built steadily again; Charlie shouted to each other through the green.

“Minh dang duoi bao nhieu dua?”

“Chung dang chay ve phia bo song!”

Cole felt bullets snap past. Johnson grunted and stumbled, then caught himself.

“I'm okay.”

Johnson had been hit in the calf.

Then Cole felt two hard thuds shudder through Rodriguez and knew that their team leader had been hit again.

Johnson said, “Mother
fuckers
!”

“Keep running!”

Rodriguez belched a huge gout of blood and his body convulsed.

“Jesus Christ!”

“Fucker's dead! Motherfucker's
dead!
”

They put Rodriguez down behind a tree. Johnson fired down the hill, chewing up two magazines as Cole checked Rodriguez for a pulse. There was none.

Cole's eyes burned hot and angry; first Fields, now Rodriguez. Cole emptied his magazine, then pulled the grenades from Rod's harness. He threw one, then another—
CRACK! CRACK!
Johnson stripped Rod's ammo, and they fell back, Cole firing as Johnson ran, then Johnson firing to cover Cole. Cole had still not seen a single enemy soldier.

They caught up with Abbott at the top of the hill and took cover behind a fallen tree. The rain fell even harder now, draping them in a gray caul.

“Johnson, get on the radio. Tell'm we've got to get out of here.”

Cole stripped off Abbott's gear, then pulled open his shirt.

“Don't look, cherry! Keep your eyes on the trees. You watch for Charlie, okay? Watch for Charlie.”

Abbott was crying.

“It burns! It hurts like the dickens. It really hurts!”

Cole loved Roy Abbott in that moment, loved him and hated him both, loved him for his innocence and fear, and hated him for taking a round that now slowed them down and might get them killed.

Johnson held Abbott's hand.

“You're not gonna die, goddamnit. We don't let cherries die on their first mission. You gotta earn your death out here.”

Cole said, “Rangers lead the way. Say it, Roy. Rangers lead the way.”

Abbott struggled to echo, fighting back tears.

“Rangers lead the way.”

Abbott's intestines had burst through his abdominal wall like a mass of snakes. Cole pushed them back into his body, then wrapped Abbott with pressure bandages. The bandages soaked through with red even before Cole finished wrapping him, a sure sign of arterial bleeding. Cole wanted to run away, leaving Abbott and the blood and Charlie behind, but he fumbled a morphine Syrette out of his med kit and pushed it into Abbott's thigh.

“Wrap him again, Johnson. Pull it tight, then hook him up.”

Rangers saw such heavy combat that each man carried cans of serum albumin blood expander strapped to their web gear. Cole threw the empty Syrette aside and snatched up the radio as Johnson hooked up Abbott's serum can.

“Five-two, five-two, five-two. We have heavy contact. We have two KIA and one critical wounded, over.”

The tinny voice of their company commander, Captain William “Zeke” Zekowski, came back scratchy in his ear. The thunderstorm was ruining their communication.

“Say again, five-two.”

Cole wanted to smash the phone, but instead he carefully repeated himself. Panic kills. Keep it tight. Rangers lead.

“Understand, five-two. We've got a slick and two gunships in orbit three miles out, but they can't get in with that weather, son. It's blowing through fast, so you hang on.”

“We are pulling back. Do you copy?”

The crackle of static was his only answer. The rain beat at them so hard that it was like standing in a shower.

“Does anyone hear me?”

Static.

“Sonofa
bitch!
”

No radio. No extraction. Nothing. They were on their own.

When Johnson finished taping the serum IV to Abbott's forearm, they helped him to his feet. Now the rain was their friend; the heavy curtain of water would hide them and wash away their signs and make it hard for Charlie to follow. They would be safe until the others came to save them.

Johnson stepped out front to take the point when a shot cracked dully under the rain and his head blew apart. Johnson collapsed at their feet.

Abbott screamed.

Cole spun around and fired blindly. He dumped his magazine, then picked up Johnson's rifle and emptied that magazine, too.

“Shoot, Abbott! Fire your weapon!”

Abbott fired blindly, too.

Cole shot at everything. He fired because something was trying to kill him and he had to kill it first. He threw his last hand grenade,
CRACK!
, then stripped a grenade from Johnson's harness.
CRACK!
He stripped off Johnson's ammo packs, then stripped off the radio. Johnson's head came apart like a rotten melon.

“Run, goddamnit! RUN!”

He pushed Abbott down the hill, then fired another magazine into the rain. He reloaded, fired, then hoisted the radio. Bullets slammed into the deadfall in front of him, sending up a spray of splinters and wood chips.

Cole ran. He caught up to Abbott, hooked an arm under his shoulders, and pulled him forward.

“RUN!”

They tumbled down the side of the mountain, stumbling through glistening green leaves as thick as leather. Vines ripped at their legs and clawed at their rifles. The pop of gunfire stayed close at their heels.

Cole led them down a steep incline into a drainage overflowing with a torrent of rain. He stayed in the water so that they wouldn't leave tracks, pulling Abbott along the rushing stream and out into the wider ravine. Charlie shouted behind them.

“Rang chan phia duoi chung!”

“Toi nghe thay chung no o phia duoi!”

Somewhere to their left, an AK ripped on full automatic.

Abbott plowed headlong into a tree and crashed into the weeds, tearing the IV needle from his arm. Cole pulled Abbott to his knees, hissing for him to get to his feet.

Abbott's face was white where the grease paint had washed away.

“I'm gonna vomit.”

“Get up, Ranger. Keep going.”

“My stomach hurts.”

The entire front of his uniform and the thighs of his pants were saturated with blood.

“Get up.”

Cole pulled Abbott onto his shoulders in a fireman's carry. He staggered under the weight; between Abbott and his gear, he carried almost three hundred pounds. The jungle thinned. They were getting close to the clearing where the slick had dropped them.

Cole wrestled free the radio as he stumbled along the creek.

“Five-two, five-two, five-two, over.”

The captain's broken voice came back.

“Copy, five-two.”

“Johnson's dead. They're all dead.”

“Settle down, son.”

“Three KIA, one wounded critical. Charlie's on our ass. You hear me? Charlie's right behind us.”

“Stand by.”

“Don't tell me to stand by! We're dying out here.”

Cole was crying. He sucked breath like a steam engine, and he was so scared that his heart seemed in flames.

The captain's voice came back.

“Cole, is that you?”

“Everyone is gone. Abbott's bleeding to death.”

“A First Cav slick thinks he can get to you from the south. He's low on fuel, but he wants to try.”

More shouts came from behind Cole, and then an AK opened up. Cole didn't know if the VC saw him or not, but he didn't have the strength to look around. He staggered on. Abbott began screaming.