Blood & Tacos #2 (5 page)

"Tell me, Sergeant. You’re gunning for the OCS, are you not?"

Kitchen stiffened a bit, allowed a small smile. "Yes, sir."

"Well, one thing I can tell you," Taylor said, flinging another
dart. It hit the wall just past Kitchen’s ear. "Explaining yourself
to non-coms is not a habit you want to get into."

"Yes, sir."

"On the other hand," Taylor said, "I am bored out of my mind
right now. Sergeant, whatever your feelings about this mission, it’s simply
not something we can ignore and hope will go away. It calls for action, not
advice."

"All due respect, sir, but we’re all pretty bored around here."

"Today, yes, but that will change any minute, if it hasn’t already.
That fucking idiot Diem had to go get himself assassinated. And now I hear the
reds have made the Gulf of Tonkin into a practice range. If the White House
has its way, this war will get hot overnight."

"That’s great news, sir!"

"Yes, well, officially, I applaud your enthusiasm, Sergeant."

"Thank you, sir!"

"Unofficially, I think you are a braying jackass. I may be bored keeping
MACV fully stocked with paper clips, but I didn’t join this man’s
army to fight phantom commies in canopy jungle. If we go to war, fine, but I
see no reason to hurry it along."

"Can’t we get SOG to take care of this, sir? Isn’t this their
specialty?"

"Indeed it is, but without a handwritten invitation from LBJ, the only
thing the Studies and Observations Group will be studying and observing is as
much pussy as they can handle. Which is quite a bit, to hear them tell it."
Major Taylor leaned back in his chair and hurled a dart into the drop-tile ceiling.
It took its place with four or five others, along with a few sharpened pencils.

"So we go to ARVN," Kitchen said.

"And so we go to ARVN. Let them get what action they can before our Marines
come over and hog all the enemy rounds."

"But this Tinh, sir, he’s—he’s not even an officer."

"Don’t be a complete idiot, Sergeant. ARVN’s officers run
their army like Sergeant Bilko ran his motor pool. They’ll rob you blind,
and then steal your smoked spectacles. The enlisted men are the only ones worth
a shit, and Sergeant Son Tinh is better equipped for this sort of thing than
even an American officer, present company very much included. Any more questions?"

"No, sir."

"Good. Now, hold perfectly still …"

Mathes burst into the room, and Taylor’s dart landed point-first in Kitchen’s
knee. Kitchen bit the inside of his cheek to keep from screaming. Mathes had
to clench his own fists to keep from laughing.

"Major Taylor, sir!" Mathes said in loud, shaky voice. Kitchen
stared daggers at him. "Reporting with Sergeant Tinh as ordered, sir!"

"Very good. Sergeant Tinh," Taylor said, returning their salute,
"I trust all is well in the 18th?"

"Yes, sir."

"Lovely. At ease. Sergeant Tinh, as I’m sure you’re aware,
we have quite a situation on our hands."

Mathes glanced at Kitchen, the dart in his knee, sweat beading on his forehead.
When Taylor wasn’t looking, Kitchen plucked the dart from his flesh, visibly
blanching at the sight of blood on the tip. A strangled giggle escaped from
Mathes.

Taylor turned quickly. "Is there something funny, Corporal Mathes?"

"Sir, no, sir!" He kept his eyes on a corner of the ceiling.

"As I was saying, Sergeant Tinh," Taylor said, "we have a
situation here and I feel you’re the only man I can turn to."

"Mm. Thank you, sir."

"Yes, well, don’t thank me yet. Tell me, Sergeant, have you ever
heard of the Vietnam AmerAsian Nightclub?"

Thuy was trying to think. He allowed his fists to unclench and focused inward,
on the formations therein. Once again, he felt serenity and tranquility in his
grasp, if only those bastard mongrels would shut the fuck up.

Fists clenched again, Thuy rose from his mat and stomped over to the bastard
pen, where the mongrels mewled and whimpered. Father had always told him that
he was the most impatient, irresponsible boy he’d ever seen—could
never wait for anything, but always late for everything. But even as a young
whelp, he could not possibly have made this much noise!

"Quiet!" he shouted, his long mustache trembling past his chin.
"You have been fed! There will be no more!"

My poked her head up through the trap door in the far corner. A smudge of dust
lay above one thin eyebrow. "Thuy!" she said. "Why do you
shout at them? They cannot understand you."

"They will learn!" Thuy said. "Yes, they will learn their
true purpose if I have to beat it into them!"

My climbed into the room and shook her dirty slippers off, revealing her delicate
feet. As she approached the pen, a troubled look disturbed her features. "Oh,"
she said, sniffing at the air, "no wonder they’re upset. Don’t
you smell that?"

"All I smell is the Yankee blood in these … mutants."

"They need to be changed," My said, retrieving clean diapers from
the bureau, some old safety pins from the glass jar atop it. "Go back
to your meditations, Thuy. I will change them myself."

"Sergeant Tinh," Taylor said, "as you know, the American
military has had a presence in your country for some time, back when your people
were fighting the French. Though our government has been careful to stress that
we are not here as combat troops, that does not preclude some engagement with
the natives. Do you understand?"

"No, sir."

"Right. Well, Sergeant, when men—soldiers—are overseas, it
does not take long before they miss the comforts of home."

"Mm. Boom-boom."

Mathes dug his nails into his palms. In nine weeks of Basic, he never cracked
once, and here he was going to lose it in front of a Major, a First Sergeant,
and an ARVN Sergeant on a top-secret mission. Fuck this country.

"Yes," Taylor said, clearing his throat, "boom-boom. And
boom-boom, as history has shown us, leads to children." The Major actually
began to redden a bit. "Now, Sergeant, a man cannot simply bring home
a child at the end of his tour. The wife and kids might not take well to a new
baby brother or sister."

"
Bui doi
," Tinh said.

"Yes, I believe that’s the native phrase. Not as harsh as the English—"

"Bastards," snarled Sergeant Kitchen.

"Thank you, Sergeant. Now, lest you think all Americans heartless, Sergeant
Tinh, there has been a sort of enterprise enacted to look after these children,
to try to keep them off the streets."

"Mm. This nightclub."

"Yes. Vietnam AmerAsians is the quaint label our government gave these
little bundles of joy. Despite whatever monetary support their fathers see fit
to part with, their mothers often must continue to work, as waitresses, bar
mistresses—"

"Whores," said Kitchen.

"Sergeant Kitchen, do you want to take over this briefing?"

"Uh, no, sir, I—"

"The VAA Nightclub," Taylor went on, "is the home of an old
mama-san who watches over these infants. A Mrs. … what’s the name
again, Sergeant Bigmouth?"

Mathes actually whimpered a bit in the back of his throat.

"Tu, sir," Kitchen said. "Mama Tu, the men call her. Sir."

"Yes, and unfortunately, Sergeant Tinh, these children have just last
night been kidnapped from under Mama Tu’s watchful eyes."

"How many?" said Tinh.

"Three boys and a girl. We received word that they are being held for
ransom at $10,000 apiece. Even if we had the money, which we don’t, there
is little doubt these children would not be returned alive."

"Yes, sir. You want me to find these b?i d?i and bring them back alive."

"Can you do it, Sergeant? We need it done quietly and very, very quickly."

"Yes, sir."

Taylor smiled down at him. "Very well. We have picked the right man for
this job. Dismissed."

"Sir?"

"Yes, Sergeant Kitchen."

Mathes dared to take his eyes from the ceiling and saw Kitchen glaring at him
as he spoke. Glaring and grinning. "Sir, as grateful as I’m sure
we all are for Sergeant Tinh’s help, perhaps it would be wise to send
one of our men along with him." He paused, and Mathes could have sworn
he was about to lick his lips. "In a purely advisory capacity, of course."

My hummed as she tended the cookfire, boiling some milk. A loose strand of
hair hung in her face and she brushed it back behind her ear. Thuy felt the
foolish yearning for her he’d felt when they were but children. He hurriedly
pushed it away. "Woman!" he said. "Where is my supper? Must
I wait until these brats are seen to?"

"They’ll be awake soon, Thuy," she said softly. "Even
sooner if you don’t keep your voice down."

"This is my home! I’ll speak as I please."

"It was your idea to bring these children here," My said. "Your
glorious five-day plan."

"I will not be mocked, woman," Thuy said as he strode towards her.
"Not even by you."

Hai ran into the hut. "Sir! The Americans have enlisted Son Tinh, sir!
Just as you said they would, sir!" Hai’s broad grin and lazy right
eye made him look more like a stupid kid than usual.

Thuy allowed himself a smile. "Excellent news, comrade. Assure Le he
will be justly recompensed."

Hai frowned. "Sir…?"

Thuy fetched a weary sigh. "Tell Le he will get boo-koo reward. The weapons
have all been cleaned and inspected?"

"Yes, sir!" Hai said, "I inspected them myself."

"Well, I suppose we’ll have to hope for the best anyway."

Hai smiled, but My scowled at Thuy. "Thuy! Hai has done nothing but serve
you loyally. Must you be so … so unpleasant?"

Thuy grunted. "Good work, Hai. Go below and tell the men to prepare.
We should expect Sergeant Tinh in the next 36 hours. 48 at most."

Hai saluted and hurried down through the trap door.

My smiled after him. "You see—"

Thuy gripped her by the arm and whirled her around. "You will not chide
me in front of my troops, woman! Understand?"

"Thuy, you’re hurting me—"

"Do you understand? Answer me!"

My’s eyes flashed, but then she lowered her head. "Yes."

"What?"

My’s lower lip trembled. "Yes, sir."

Thuy released her arm.

The milk began to burn, and the smell of rancid almonds floated on the air.
In their pen, the mongrels awoke and began crying.