the Last Run (1987) (13 page)

Rose slid off the back of the truck and picked up his jungle fatigue shirt.4 'Thump, man, if you gonna piss off the L-tee again, leave me outta it."

Thumper shut the steel door of the storage container and wiped sweat from his eyes. "Why you blaming me? You could have wrote the statement Dickey wanted."

Rose rolled his eyes at Thumper and motioned toward Russian.

"No I couldn't and you know it. This foreigner woulda killed >>>>

me.

Russian nodded with a confirming grunt. Thumper grinned. "Rose, you needed the exercise anyway. Dickey is just giving us a litde payback. Six hours of unloading trucks is probably just the beginning."

Rose snickered. "This is white man's work. . . Hey, let's skate back to the barracks before that dumb shit gets back and finds somethin' else for us."

Thumper glanced around for the officer and quickly put on his shirt. "Take the point, Rose, and get us outta here."

Minutes later die three team members walked into the barracks and had to step over a pile of beer and C ration cans. Four men from Team 3-2 sat in the corner listening to a Jimi Hendrix cassette while passing a joint.

Thumper kicked a beer can in their direction. "You going to smoke that shit, get out of the barracks!"

A thin soldier wearing a colored headband and sunglasses smiled at him smugly. "Who says?"

Thumper squared his large body to them. "Me."

Russian stepped up beside him. "Us."

The soldier kept his smile. "Hey man, mellow out, it's cool. We leavin'."

Thumper kicked another can toward them. "Pick up your trash first!"

"Sure, man, it's cool.'' The three men giggled and began picking up the cans to the beat of the music.

Thumper shook his head in disgust and walked down the aisle to a small room, followed by Russian and Rose. He sat down on his bunk and looked up at the others. "Somethin's up. I haven't seen an officer or senior NCO lift a hand to stop the shit that's goin' on."

"Is the whole company here?" asked Russian.

Thumper leaned back against the wall. "Almost. There's still one more flight due in from Da Lat, and the major and Childs are at Corps, but that still doesn't explain why the other leaders haven't taken charge and started kickin' ass."

Rose stepped back and looked in the barracks bay, then leaned back into the room, whispering.

"Looky here, I heard from Pete that this is all planned, man. The major told the big boys to leave us alone and wait."

"Wait for what?" asked Thumper, sitting up.

"Pete says they're bringing in a bunch of line doggies from the herd, and they're gonna fill us back up to strength. He said some- thin' about they was waitin' until they got here, and the major was gonna turn Childs loose on us to start smokin' our asses."

"Ooh, shit!" said Thumper.

Russian eyed Rose, not trusting him.

"Peteroski tell you this for sure?"

"Man, Pete is the company clerk, ain't he? We're tight, man. He wouldn't give the Rose no flaky skinny."

Thumper stood up. "Pete is good people. He wouldn't exaggerate about something like this, plus it all fits. . . . Look, tomorrow it's probably gonna hit the fan. We better get our area squared away and look strac to keep Childs off our backs. I got a feeling if Pete's right, Childs will be inspecting all our equipment and dealin' out big-time trouble."

Russian nodded in agreement, but Rose shook his head.

"Man, that's lots of shit to be cleanin'. I want to hit the vill tonight and . . ."

Russian's glare halted his protest.

"Okay man, no big thing. I can't find my rubbers anyway."

Private First Class Peteroski, the company clerk typist and the major's driver, parked his jeep by the Third Platoon barracks and got out to lift the hood. A small yellow dog ran from the side of the building and leaped at the back of his legs.

Peteroski smiled and bent over to hug the playful ball of fur. "Bitch, I missed you, girl. Old Russian been takin' care of you?"

Peteroski ruffled her fiir in reflection. Bitch had belonged to his close friend, Joseph Dove, who'd been killed during the Cambodian mission. Russian had adopted her and was her constant companion when he wasn't in the bush. Bitch liked everybody and loved to be played with, but she especially liked to be fed. When Russian was on a mission, she stayed in the TOC and, strangely, always stayed close to Childs.

Peteroski gave her a last pat and stood up, shaking his finger. "Now let me get to work."

"You skatin' a-gin, Pete?"

Peteroski smiled, recognizing the familiar voice of Lieutenant Bradley Lee Avant. The officer was short, powerfully built, and could have been considered handsome, but he always kept his head shaved. He'd come to the company just prior to their leaving for Da Lat and had been assigned First Platoon leader. According to his files, he was a graduate of North Geoigia Military College and had gone to law school for a year-and-a-half, but he certainly didn't show it. In Da Lat, he had always kept everybody laughing with his corny Southern drawl and quick wit.

"Sir, I'm not skating. I'm about to change the major's jeep oil filter."

"I see. And ya was gittin' instructions from the dawg, right?"

Pete laughed as the officer leaned over and patted Bitch's head.

"Dawg, is you a coon hunter, a possum hunter, or is you really a mechanic?" Avant stood up and motioned toward the barracks. "Pete, I hope the oF man knows what he's doin' not lettin' us do something about the troops. I ain't smelled so much pot since visitin' Adanta during the hippie antiwar marches."

Pete merely nodded. He knew these things were going to change pretty fast. He'd overheard the major and Childs talk about their plan just before leaving for Nha Trang.

Avant sighed and threw Pete a wave as he opened the barracks door and went in. Pete gathered his tools from the front seat and opened the hood.

Lieutenant Dickey stomped out of the Headquarters building and glanced quickly around the Ranger camp. Seeing the major's jeep, he knew he had found his culprit and marched straight for the vehicle.

Pete was leaning over the engine when Dickey stopped in front of the jeep and pointed his finger at the clerk. "You, soldier, what's your name?"

Pete looked up at the obviously irritated officer. "Peteroski, sir."

"You're the one! You were seen taking a fan from my room."

"Yes, sir?"

"You don't just walk into an officer's billet and take his property."

"I had permission from Lieutenant Avant, sir. I was to pick up all Company fans and distribute them in the troop barracks."

"Not without my permission you don't. Who is this Avant? Who does he think he is?"

Avant, having heard the conversation, pushed open the screen door and walked out. "OF cousin Avant is the Company supply officer. And him is me. And he thinks he's a good-un'."

Avant walked up to Dickey and held out his hand with a smile. "I'm Brad. Don't think we've met yet."

Dickey ignored the gesture and stared coldly. "You can't order an enlisted man into my billet and have him take my fan."

Avant dropped his hand but still held the smile and glanced over at Pete. "Why cousin, Pete ain't never ^n-listed, he was drafted. Weren't ya, Pete?"

Dickey fumed. "You know what I mean."

Avant slowly turned his head back toward the taller officer and his face hardened to stone. "You mean, did I, the duly appointed supply officer of this company, assign Private First Class Peter- oski the responsibility of collecting company property, as per the instructions of the company commander, Major Edward Shane, for the explicit purpose of cooling troop billets? You bet your sweet ass I did!"

Dickey was completely taken back by the sudden change from Avant's country boy drawl to articulate verbal assault. He knew that if Shane ordered the fans taken, he was powerless to pursue the matter any further.

Dickey backed up a step. "Very well, you can keep the fan, but I will take this up with Major Shane as soon as he returns." Dickey turned on his heels and marched straight for the officers barracks.

Avant broke into his smile again. "Nice ta meetcha, cousin."

Pete shook his head in awe. "Sir, where did you learn to . . ."

Avant winked. "In law school. They always said beat them with their own words and they'd know they done been whipped."

"Why didn't you finish law school, sir?"

"Pete, I was a student and workin' for my po' Daddy's law firm till he found out I was bangin' his secretary. How was I supposed to know she was his sweet young sugar baby."

"Really, sir?"

Avant's smile dipped slightly. "Yeah, most of it." His expression changed as he motioned toward Dickey, walking away in the distance. "Pete, remind me now and then not to like that guy, will ya?"

Cam Tiem Mountains

Matt Wade reached the crest of the ridge and sat down heavily against a large mahogany. Several seconds passed before the small woman appeared and fell down beside him. Wade leaned forward, grabbed her arm, and pulled her toward him. She groaned and sat up. "Can't you leave me alone?" she pleaded.

"Yeah, but the ants won't if you lie down like that. Sit against the tree."

She crawled to the trunk and sat back. "Are we going to make it?"

"Yep."

"How much farther is the road, for God's sake?"

"It's down this ridge in the valley. I just don't know how far. It's gonna be dark in awhile, so go to sleep. We'll make it tomorrow."

The woman scooted closer to him and shut her eyes.

Two hours later she awoke feeling something digging into her scalp. She opened her eyes, but it was so pitch black it was as if she was buried. She felt in her hair and touched a hard-shelled creature that immediately attached to her finger. She shrieked and flung her hand up, striking the sergeant, who shot up.

"What's the matter?" he whispered harshly, as she frantically brushed at her tangled hair.

"Oh God," she mumbled as she ran her hand through her hair, praying the creature was gone. "Something . . . something was in my hair and . . ."

Wade reached out in the darkness, touching her, and put his arm around her shoulder. "Come here, damn it. Sit between my legs and lie back on me. Whatever is out there will get me first, okay?"

The woman unhesitatingly scooted over his leg and lay back, still shaking. His arms folded over her protectively and he gave her a gende hug. "Try to get some sleep."

She lay rigid for awhile but finally relaxed in his warmth. She drew up her legs. She'd almost forgotten what it was like to be held by a man who didn't paw at her. All the painful memories of the past seemed as if they had happened only yesterday. She'd slept with many men at first. It was part of the business. A woman trying to get a start had to pay the price. Mosdy one-nighters like her singing engagements. The "interviews" and "auditions" usually meant a night in bed with the club owner or manager. Those were the days just after she'd left her home to make it on her own. She couldn't go back and she couldn't go forward. The booze and grass made some of them tolerable, but there was always the revulsion the next morning. Walter had ended the bad times. He'd heard her sing and had taken her under his wing. He had thrown away her cheap makeup and had given her a new name and, more important, hope. Walter was obnoxious at times, but he kept her away from the seedy club owners and managed her career. He was a has-been, and he knew it, but he believed in her, honestly believed she had what it took to make it. She had needed his confidence. They had needed each other. They had both gotten over bad times and were looking for better.

She cried silendy, touching his necklace, praying he'd died quickly and still believing.

An Khe Ranger Camp

The jeep's lights shined briefly on a long, white, one-story structure before extinguishing and leaving the passengers in the darkness. Major Shane, Childs, and J. D. Gibson had been picked up at the An Khe airfield and taken to the Ranger Camp's officer/ senior NCO quarters.

Shane walked to the motel-like building and stopped at the first door on the end. "L-tee, you'll be bunking in Hootch Four with Lieutenant Dickey. This is my room. If you need anything, come on down. We've got an officers' call at 0800 in the headquarters just down the slope. See you then."

"Yes, sir," said Gibson, picking up his duffel bag. Childs walked ahead and pounded on the door midway down the building. "Gino, open the damn door. I need a beer!"

Gibson knocked on the fourth door. There was no response. He knocked louder and tried the door; it was locked. The lieutenant looked up and down the dark building. The major and Childs had disappeared into their rooms. Gibson knocked on the door and waited for several seconds, then threw down his bag. Screw it! In minutes he had his poncho and poncho liner spread out by the door. He'd slept outside with his platoon for six months; one more night under the stars was nothing new.

Lieutenant Dickey turned over in his bunk. Some idiot knocking on my door at 10 p. M. The nerve!

He reached up and touched the TEAC tape deck play button and lay back down.

10 p. M.! Who could be so dumb, he thought, as he shut his eyes and concentrated on the soft music.