the Last Run (1987) (31 page)

Preacher slid down and hit hard, falling over in front of Wade. The sergeant reached out quickly and cut Preacher's rope as Thumper helped the Indian to his feet. Bullets cracked over their heads, and they could hear men screaming in Vietnamese. Wade grabbed for his slung weapon just as a wide-eyed VC burst through the smoke cloud running direcdy toward him and shooting wildly. Wade brought his rifle up, but before he could fire, a loud burst behind him flung the VC sideways. Russian stepped in fi;ont of his sergeant and fired again, riddling the soldier with bullets.

Woodpecker fired from the hip at two fleeing figures, knocking one down. Thumper aimed carefully and fired. The second soldier's head snapped back, and his legs buckled. Rose finished off both with a long burst.

When he saw Sergeant Zubeck and his men rushing the first hut, Wade motioned his own men forward. Zubeck fired half a magazine and fell behind a ripped corpse next to a cooking fire. Six other bodies lay in grotesque positions around the small fire. The bodies reeked of blood and torn, exposed intestines. The gunsmoke hung just above the ground like a thick fog as he peered over the body to spot the enemy that had pinned them down. Muzzle flashes popped like light bulbs just to the right of the first hut, where three or four men lay in a shallow depression. One of Zubeck's men rose up to fire but was immediately struck in the side and pitched backward, groaning.

Lieutenant Avant crawled to the soldier and pulled him back behind a tree. Zubeck looked over the body again. There were three thatch huts-two were fifteen meters away and a third sitting twenty meters behind the others. Wires ran from the trees to the second hut; it had to be the communications hootch.

Wade crawled up to Zubeck just as two Vietnamese ran from the entrance of the third hut. Zubeck's men cut them down in a long volley. Lieutenant Avant looked around the tree he was hiding behind. "Wade, give me and Zubeck covering fire. I'm going to the second hut. Zubeck, you take the first. On five!"

Wade yelled to his men.4 'Cover fire to the right of the hootches ... on my command! Ready. . . . Fire!"

Zubeck and Avant jumped up and ran for the buildings as the teams threw out a protective curtain of lead.

Phu Bic crawled through the back entrance of the radio hut. The radioman had run without priming the fuse starter. Bic ran over and pulled the ring, igniting the fuse that immediately began sizzling and smoking. Bic knew he had only ten seconds. He ran for the back entrance. Suddenly a Yankee burst through the front door, shooting. Bic jumped for the exit but bullets tore into his back, knocking him into the wall. He felt as if he'd been struck by burning coals. As he fell to the floor, he caught a glimpse of the American-an American with no hair. The Yankee stepped closer, smiling strangely, and lowered his rifle.

Avant began to yell out he'd gotten the radio when he saw the smoking fuse. He jumped for the door just as the hut exploded in a vehement blast.

Wade saw the hut disappear in a shattering explosion and ducked down to avoid flying debris. Cursing, he grabbed his weapon tighdy and jumped to his feet. "Mother fuckers!" He ran direcdy toward the enemy position, shooting.

Rose screamed out, "Get some!" and joined his seigeant, followed by the rest of the team.

The four VC in the depression were still stunned by the blast. Two tried raising up to fire, but bullets plowed the ground in front of them. The other two ran but were shot in the back and legs.

Rose reached the depression first and fired point blank into the two cowering men. One screamed out, clutching his stomach, and cried pathetically. Rose pointed the barrel of his smoking M-16 at the man's face and pulled the trigger. The weapon was empty. Preacher ran up and fell to his knees beside the wounded soldier as Rose ejected the spent magazine and inserted a new one. Preacher looked up with a pleading expression as Rose lowered the barrel with a cruel grin. "Get back. He's gonna splatter."

Preacher leaned over the soldier in front of the gun barrel and began inspecting the wound.

Rose lowered his weapon slowly. One of the men who had tried to run was moaning. Rose bent over the writhing soldier and pulled a first aid bandage from his harness. He looked at Preacher and winked.

Wade and the rest of the men spread out and began moving toward the hootches. Sergeant Zubeck had been in the first hut and was thrown through the door when the radio shack had exploded. He lay on his back, stunned, as Thumper approached and lifted him to his feet. The sergeant fought to keep his balance and shook his head. "Where's the L-tee?" he asked groggily. Thumper motioned to the smoldering debris. "He didn't make it out."

Zubeck fell to his knees. "God, no."

Lieutenant Foley received a report from the Cav pilot that two of the huts had disintegrated in an explosion and that one of their birds had taken several hits but was flyable. Foley tried calling Zubeck's radio operator, but he wasn't monitoring. It had been three minutes since the teams went in and he should have reported by now. The helmet earphones suddenly popped and an excited voice spoke rapidly. "Camp secured, have one WIA and one KIA. Got fifteen enemy KIA and three WIA. Radio destroyed by dinks, captured bucoo documents, need Demo to blow PZ, need medevac ASAP. Over."

Foley had a list of the men's names with a number beside each. He took a breath before pushing the transmit button. "Eagle Assault, what line number of KIA and WIA? Over."

There was a five-second pause before the answer came back. "Sierra-three, line number zero-one, KIA; line number zero- four, WIA."

Foley didn't need to look at the list to determine the name of the dead soldier. Avant was the leader and was listed first.

J. D. Gibson sat back in the seat of his bird dog circling two miles away monitoring the operation. He dropped his head at the news of his friend's death. His eyes clouded, and he stared at his left hand-it had patted Avant's leg only thirty minutes before.

The image of Avant's silly grin filled his mind as he leaned his head back on the seat and fought back tears. He clenched his fist, wanting to smash something to release his anger and frustration. The death of a friend was always a possibility that lingered in the back of his mind, but the reality of its happening still brought shock. He had prepared for it in his own way, but the incredible empty feeling of loss and the overwhelming feeling of frustration could never be anticipated. Damn, was there a clue or sign of its coming that he should have seen? The answer came back, making him feel small and useless: Dying in war couldn't be avoided. Death could strike anyone at anytime, anyplace. It was always there waiting . . . waiting like a black widow in her web. And everyone in this sad land was caught in a struggle that might make him her victim.

Gibson raised his head, letting his tears fall freely. He cared, damn it! He'd cared and to hell with not showing emotion. His friend at least deserved his tears. God, Brad, he thought, I'm so sorry.

The Huey set down gently in the pick-up zone. General Larose hopped to the ground along with his operations officer and Major Shane. The bird lifted up and a medevac came in behind it.

Larose bent over the wounded Ranger and patted his shoulder. "Thanks, son."

Private First Class Brasseaux smiled through his pain and held up his hand. "We kicked ass, sir."

Larose took his hand, squeezing it tightly. "You sure did. I'll visit you in the hospital and pin on your Purple Heart."

The young soldier's face broke into a grimace of pain as the medic tried to take off his shirt. Brasseaux looked up at the general and clenched his teeth. "I'll be back."

The general released his hand, stood up, and cast a disgusted look at the three wounded Vietnamese lying beside the soldier. Two were hurt badly. He stepped over them and joined Major Shane and Sergeants Zubeck and Wade.. Beside them were the rejnains of Lieutenant Avant, covered with a blood-soaked hammock.

Wade explained what had happened in the assault as he escorted the general through the camp.

The general shook his head after the tour and surveyed the scene one last time.

"Major Shane, your men performed superbly. I'll put all of them in for awards. It's too bad about the radio and codes, but the setback to their operation is more than enough compensation. It'll never replace your lieutenant, but. . . but he died heroically in the service of his country. I'm proud of him, and I'm proud of your men. If there's anything I can do for you or them, call me."

Shane looked at his assembling men, then back at Avant's body.

He nodded in silence and knelt down by his dead officer. "Goodbye, Brad."

Gibson ran his hand through his short gray hair and sat down tiredly in the operations briefing room. He'd landed an hour before at the airfield and had driven out to Mustang.

Childs was posting the situation map and looked over his shoulder at the young officer.

"Don't get down, L-tee. Lieutenant Avant is gone. There's nothin' we can do about it but drive on."

Gibson nodded and lifted his head. "I wanna go out on a team. I need to get back in the field and hold a weapon again."

Childs faced the lieutenant, looking into his pale blue eyes.

"Revenge is a killer. You'll forget the rules and take too many chances. Just forget it and keep flying."

Gibson forced a smile. "I don't wanna go for revenge. I just wanna get back in the bush and feel like I'm doing something useful. Team One-three has a sick man, so I'll take his place."

Childs knew exacdy what the L-tee was feeling. He had felt the same way many times. "I'll talk to the major when he gets back this evening. In the meantime, pack your shit. I'll tell Sergeant Selando he's gonna be an assistant team leader and you'll lead the team for training purposes."

J. D. began to offer his thanks when Childs's voice turned cold. "L-tee, don't fuck it up. Selando and his team are good people. Don't be trying to even the score out there or you'll get one of them greased."

J. D. 's eyes narrowed as his jaw tightened. "You know Childs, you really are an asshole."

The sergeant snickered and turned back to the map. "Yeah, L-tee, I am . . . but I'm right and you damn well know it. Lead that team right or I'll personally kick your ass."

Gibson stared at the sergeant's back, knowing he had wanted to even the score. The crotchety sergeant had seen through him and, in his typical direct way, let it be known he was wrong.

The lieutenant stood and walked for the entrance. He stopped at the first step and looked over his shoulder. "Thanks."

Childs kept posting the map and only nodded in acceptance.

Chapter 15

24 September

Gibson raised his hand and halted the team. He looked back at the five camouflaged faces and motioned them down for a break.

Team 1-3 had walked out of Mustang the day before and were en route to a mountain trail. Gibson checked his map. The trail was only a few hundred meters away. The team had not liked the idea of his taking over and only reluctandy accepted his leadership. He knew he was being judged, as his platoon in the 173rd had judged him when he first took command. The looks on the faces were the same. "Does he know what he's doing?" their questioning stares wanted to know. Only with time would their questions be answered.

Gibson took a long drink from his two-quart plastic canteen and motioned his men up. He pointed to Watkins, a baby-faced Kentuckian, and whispered, "Take point. The trail is a couple hundred meters straight ahead. Take it slow."

The soldier glanced at Sergeant Selando, who nodded for him to follow the order.

Gibson noted the gesture and stared at the stocky sergeant, who returned the glare with a surly smirk. Gibson waited for Watkins to pass by him and then stepped close to the olive-skinned sergeant, whispering harshly, "Don't ever do that again! I don't need your approval on anything."

Selando still held a condescending smirk. "Yes, sir."

Feeling the heat of the sergeant's eyes on his back, Gibson stepped in front of the sergeant and began to follow the point man. Selando was experienced, but so was he. There was no room for two team leaders. Selando hadn't accepted that fact yet and would be watching his every move.

Gibson shook the thought from his mind and concentrated on looking ahead. It don't mean nothing, he said to himself, and stalked forward cautiously.

Woodpecker, lying back on his poncho liner, looked up at the sun and snapped his fingers to the beat of Rose's radio.

<4Fm going to tan up this bod and find me a woman tonight."

Rose pushed sand up into a mound and gazed out at the breaking waves. "Man, this R and R shit is what's happenin'. If I'd knowed they was gonna do this for rappelin' outta a chopper and killin' dinks, I'da volunteered."

"You did volunteer," said Preacher blandly.

"Man, you crazy? They told us we gonna do it. I didn't raise my hand."

"Yes, but you volunteered for the Rangers, so it's the same thing."

"Preacherman, you thinkin' like a preacher again. Just cause you say one thing one time don't mean it means it all the time. Why, I told a hundred women I dug 'em. And at the time, I did. But that don't mean I really dug 'em, you know what I mean?"

The Indian smiled. "Yes, I understand. And one day I hope you do."

As if confused, Rose looked at Preacher and shook his head. "Preacher, you're a heavy trip, man. Hey, Thump, where is Matt?"