the Last Run (1987) (12 page)

"What can I do for you, Lieutenant?"

"Sir, I want to talk to Colonel Rite about transferring to a field unit."

The captain put down the pictures of the awards ceremony of the day before and stared at the lieutenant standing before him.

The lieutenant was five-eight or five-nine, tanned, and had unusual gray hair. He wasn't wearing parachute wings or any other patches except the Corps patch on his shoulder.

"Why do you want a transfer?"

"Sir, I want to be in a line unit. I feel I could contribute more in a field assignment and ..."

The captain held up his hand, interrupting him. "Don't say anymore." He turned for his officer assignment book. He was not one to stop an officer who wanted to go to the field. The lieutenant would be easy to place, and finding a replacement liaison would be no problem. No sense bothering the colonel with something he could do himself. He found the book and turned to the air defense vacancies. "No sweat, Lieutenant. Consider it done. We aim to please around here."

The door to the colonel's office opened, and Colonel Rite walked out holding his coffee cup. "Mey, get me some coffee, will you?"

The closest Vietnamese girl rose with a smile. Her white tunic clung tightly to her delicately proportioned body. With a slight bow, she took the cup from the overweight colonel and shuffled to a table nearby.

The colonel walked to the captain's desk and quickly scanned the pictures lying there, then glanced up at the lieutenant's odd gray hair.

The captain gestured toward the young officer. "Sir, he wants a field assignment, so I knew you wouldn't mind my taking care of it."

The colonel nodded, took the cup of coffee from the petite secretary, and walked back into his office. He sat down and took a sip of the hot coffee, then suddenly lifted his head with a grin. "Ellis, you son of a bitch, you wanted an officer . . . well. . ." He yelled toward the door: "Steve!"

The captain opened the door in seconds. "Yes, sir?"

"Send that lieutenant to Sierra Rangers."

The captain stepped the rest of the way into the office, thinking he had't heard the colonel correcdy. "Sir?"

"Send that lieutenant to Sierra Rangers," the colonel repeated.

"But, sir, he's air defense. He's not qualified to . . ."

"Steve, I want him in Sierra Company."

"Yes, sir, but. . ."

"Mm>, Steve."

"Okay, sir." The captain walked out, shutting the door.

The colonel smiled broadly. Ellis, this'11 teach you not to screw around with me. I can screw back. He reached for the coffee cup with a chuckle.

The captain shook his head, perplexed, and sat down.

"Sorry, Lieutenant," he said, "looks like you're going to a Ranger company.''

Gibson yelped with joy. "Really, sir?"

The surprised captain stared at the grinning lieutenant. It wasn't the reaction he'd expected. The phone rang on one of the secretaries' desks. She answered and spoke softly to the captain.

"It is for you, sir."

"Tell 'em to hold just a sec." He leaned forward for a pencil. He looked up at the lieutenant's name tape above his right pocket.

"Take this note, Fielding . . ."he looked down, writing rapidly on a notepad. "To Sergeant Alcord down the hall. He'll cut your orders." He tore the paper off the pad and handed it to the young officer and picked up die telephone.

"No, sir, I'm not Fielding. It's 'Gibson', sir. John Dalton Gibson. The fatigues are . . ."

"But your name tag says ... aw, never mind. Sergeant Alcord is down the hall. Give him the information." He put the phone to his ear. "Captain Holden, G-l office. . . . Oh, hello, sir, sorry I had you on hold. Yes, I've got the report right here.

Lieutenant Gibson ran down the stone steps of Corps Headquarters to the liaison office. It had taken Sergeant Alcord only a few minutes to fill out the necessary paperwork, although he had explained that the actual orders would take five days to process. Still, if the lieutenant wanted to report today, he could do so and the orders would follow.

Gibson hurried to his desk, opened the middle drawer, and took out a photograph of the platoon he'd left only a few days before. They were his "Banshees," the death angels he cared so much for. Well, guys, I'm going to the Rangers. Hot damn!

Gibson quickly collected his other belongings and pushed open the screen door. He would drive to the BOQ, pack his gear, and come back for the final time before leaving. "Damn! The Rangers!"

Cam Tiem Mountains

Matt Wade stood holding a compass trying to determine which direction was south. He remembered they'd crossed Highway 1 and had headed north into the mountains. He figured they couldn't be more than fifteen kilometers away and could make the road by tomorrow.

Wade wore the crew chiefs mesh survival vest and .38 caliber pistol. The sleeveless vest was standard issue for all pilots and crew, with a pocketed front holding a first aid kit, hand flare, deflated plastic bag for water, matches, knife, compass, and pen gun with flares.

Virginia wore the medic's vest, which held identical items. She stood staring at the agent's neck chain, which Matt had given to her minutes before.

Wade folded the compass and whispered firmly, "Let's go."

Virginia stood fast, still staring at the thick gold chain and Star of David medallion. Wade took the chain from her hand and put it around her neck.

"We gotta move. Stay five feet behind me and stop when I do. Don't talk and don't step or grab anything that might make noise. We're going to leave a fake trail, then double back and head south."

She looked at him tiredly and began to nod, but stopped as another thought occurred to her. "What's your name?"

Wade shook his head, put his finger to his lips to quiet her, and began to move.

"Look, I'm sorry. I just forgot, okay?"

The sergeant kept walking.

Virginia sighed and looked at Walter's corpse one last time. "Shalom," she whispered, fighting back her tears, and began to follow the sergeant.

Nha Trang Corps Headquarters

Colonel Ellis, Major Shane, and Sergeant Childs had just returned from lunch and began walking up the Corps Headquarters steps when a shiny jeep honked its horn and squealed to a halt beside them. A wide-eyed lieutenant yelled as he hopped from the Jeep. "Sir! Sir!"

J. D. Gibson couldn't believe his luck; he'd seen the camouflaged fatigues and black berets of the two Rangers as soon as he pulled in. The tall Ranger was a major and had to be the commander of the company.

He ran up the steps to Major Shane. "Sir, I'm sorry for honking, but I wanted to introduce myself to you. I've just been assigned to your company.''

Childs shook his head in amusement and glanced at Shane, whose mouth had fallen open. Shane recovered quickly and stared at the gray-headed Air Defense Artillery officer in the incredibly ill-fitting uniform.

"L-tee, you couldn't possibly be assigned to me. I can't use an ADA officer."

Gibson looked down at his uniform. "Oh no, sir, this uniform is. . ."

Ellis put his hand on Shane's shoulder and tossed his head toward the Headquarters entrance. "Rite did this. Come on, let's go talk to him."

Shane glared at the mumbling lieutenant. "You stand by that . . . that pimp mobile until I get this straightened out."

Gibson looked in the direction the major was pointing and almost cried when it was obvious he was pointing to his jeep. Shane and Ellis jogged up the steps as the lieutenant tore at his shirt and threw it toward the vehicle.

Childs watched as the gray-haired officer yanked a dirty duffel bag from the back seat and pulled out a faded fatigue shirt.4 'Goddamn it, I'm not an ADA officer!'' He put on the shirt and glared at Childs.

Childs stared in disbelief at the faded shirt with sewed-on parachute badge, combat infantryman badge, and Ranger tab over the 173rd Airborne insignia.

The seething lieutenant approached Childs menacingly. "You still an asshole, Childs?"

The sergeant's jaw tightened and met the officer's glare, but suddenly softened, recognizing him.

"Yeah, and I see you're still up to your old tricks, huh?"

Gibson's frown turned into a grin. "Good to see you, Sarge. Been a long time."

Childs held back a smile and extended his hand. "You were company commander of Ranger Class Nine as I remember. I gave you a twenty-five bad spot report for jumping into Ledo Drop Zone with a fuckin' turtle."

Gibson shook hands warmly. "Pretty good memory for an old cuss like you. That was two years ago."

"I could never forget a Ragbag that killed the class mascot."

"How was I supposed to know I'd fall on the damn thing? As I recall, you made us give it a full military burial!"

Childs couldn't help but crack a grin, remembering the entire Ranger class trying to keep from giggling as Gibson read the eulogy of a fallen comrade who'd died heroically during a parachute drop, smashed flat in the act of cushioning the drop of a fellow paratrooper.

When Colonel Ellis and Major Shane walked down the steps, they were obviously upset. Shane halted abrupdy, seeing the lieutenant's faded shirt, and looked at Childs for an explanation.

Childs quickly introduced the officer and explained the error in their first impression. As he talked, Shane and Ellis's smiles became bigger and bigger until they burst out laughing. Colonel Rite had insisted that the lieutenant could contribute in some way to the unit; besides, there were no other officers available.

Ellis patted Shane's back. "You'd better get him outta here before Rite finds out he outsmarted himself. I'll get his orders cut immediately so he won't get pulled."

Shane grabbed the lieutenant's arm. "Come on. You're taking us to the airfield."

"Where are we flying to, sir?"

"An Khe, L-tee. An Khe and your new home."

Cam Tiem Mountains

The sergeant cussed and prodded her for almost two hours before finally stopping. Virginia Wolinski, exhausted, fell back on a rock stream bank. She had never felt so miserable in all her life. She looked up at the first blue sky she'd seen since leaving the crash. They had found a stream an hour before and followed it up to a rocky ravine where the sun finally revealed itself and gave her hope. At last she felt free of the dark, wet world she'd just traveled through, a world from another time where an endless maze of enormous, unbranching tree trunks soared upward into a green canopy so thick it turned midday sunlight into twilight. The jungle was an incubator of oppressive humidity and stifling heat, a brown, silent hell where fiingi and bacteria lived on the dead and parasites fed on the living, where she was just an inconsequential speck waiting to be devoured by its vastness.

She shut her eyes, dreaming of another place that some people called a jungle, too-but New York City wasn't a jungle to her. It was her home, her family. She understood it, and it had made a survivor of her. She loved the constant motion of its sights, sounds, and smells. It had taught her painful lessons, but in its way had also given her its protection, and she desperately wished she were back there now.

The sound of splashing water broke her trance, and she opened her eyes. She heard it again and raised up on her elbows. The sergeant was on the opposite bank of the stream, throwing water up on his bare chest to clean his shoulder wounds. His body was hard and lean. The contours of his upper torso rippled with muscle. He wasn't particularly handsome, but there was a ruggedness about him that had caught her attention from the first moment she saw him. He exuded confidence; it showed in his walk and in the way he held his head. His eyes seemed to penetrate beneath the surface of things. She'd known his kind in the city. They were easy to pick out of a crowd by the way they led rather than followed. He was a survivor, too, a man who felt at home in his jungle. In that he was like her. But now she was at his mercy; he was her only hope, and she didn't even know his name.

The sergeant stood and looked at her, but his eyes told her nothing. He picked up his shirt and vest, then crossed the stream. He looked tired as he sat down beside her and opened the first aid kit from the vest.

"This is a good spot to rest, isn't it?" she whispered, sitting up.

He rubbed some ointment on his wounds and glanced around. "Naw, it's too open. We'll rest when we get to the top of the ridge ahead of us."

She stared at him, unbelieving. "I'll never make it. I don't even think I can stand up."

He put on his shirt. "You can still talk, so you can walk. Let's go." He stood and threw on the vest.

She shook her head in determination. "I'm not going another step unless you at least tell me your name."

He began walking, then stopped and looked over his shoulder. "It's Wade. Now get up and move your ass!"

Her eyes narrowed defiandy as she got to her feet. "You're an asshole, Wade. You know that?"

The tired soldier turned and began walking. "Yep."

An Khe Ranger Base Camp

Rose tiredly dragged the last heavy ammunition box to the edge of the two-and-a-half-ton truck and sunk to his knees. "That's the last one, man."

Thumper and Russian wordlessly picked up the ends of the eighty-pound box and walked toward the steel conex container a few yards away.