the Last Run (1987) (40 page)

The lieutenant glanced one more time at the waterfall, then began the long walk back to the camp.

Lieutenant Foley exhaled a deep breath as the first camouflaged C-130 landed with a roar and sped down the runway. In minutes, the aircraft's rear cargo door opened, and the first contingent of Rangers filed out. Major Shane was leading them.

"Welcome to Phan Thiet, sir," said the lieutenant, saluting and joining the major as he walked toward the waiting trucks.

"Thanks, Bob. Is everything set up as planned?"

"Yes, sir, these trucks will transport the men to An Lom. It's about an hour's drive away and all set up, but we have a slight problem."

Shane had been watching the Rangers load the trucks. When Foley said "problem," he turned toward the bespectacled officer.

"The engineer camp we're using has some serious racial problems," Foley explained. "I know I warned you before, but it's gotten worse. The engineers are working up at Due Co, thirty miles from here, and left their troublemakers and potheads behind. They only have a first lieutenant as the rear area commander, and it looks to me as if he's lost control. They've had three fragging incidents in the past two weeks."

Shane waved Childs over. "We got a bigger problem than we thought at the base. The L-tee will bring you up to date. I'm going to Phan Thiet and call Corps and tell them we arrived. I'll see you this evening at An Lom."

Childs and Foley saluted. Childs dropped his hand and looked at the L-tee. "Now, what's the problem?"

Chapter 20

G eneral Binh Due sat at the head of the table, trying to look interested as the Political Directorate droned on about upcoming topics of training by the political commissars. This month's topic was "the armed forces' contribution to the Socialist state." Next month it would be "vigilance against reactionary elements." The general had little use for the rhetoric of the commissars, even if they were powerful in the eyes of the Politburo. They bored his soldiers with political studies and party meetings. Their real purpose was to ensure political loyalty and reliability.

The general leaned back in his chair and looked at the faces of the council members. He couldn't help but be pleased. His plan had worked. The young men who came were only representatives of the key party Directorates and had no decision-making power. The older leaders could not make the long journey. Old Trung Vee, the logistics director, was the only exception. He was a close friend and an ally to the cause. He was a graduate and, later, a teacher at Nguyen Ai Quoc School in Hanoi, and he was gready respected. The school's ties to the central committee were well known. Between himself and old Vee, the general thought, they would keep the council from making problems. He would be able to push through his policy of patience.

Colonel Sy passed the general a note. General Binh Due unfolded the paper slowly, thankful for the mental diversion. The note read:

Lieutenant Huy checked the ravine and reports it is impassable. A stream runs to a sheer drop-off of fifty meters. The waterfall is beautiful. It is unfortunate the Political Directorate representative likes the sound of his own voice, no?

The general smiled and winked at his adviser as the speaker went on with his monotonous dissertation.

Rose turned the faucet and watched in astonishment as hot water flowed out. He hadn't seen such a phenomenon in some time. Like stateside, he thought happily, as he splashed the warm water on his face to clean off the convoy dust.

The Rangers had arrived at the engineer base of An Lom an hour before and had been assigned their barracks and had stored their gear. The new latrine facility with running hot and cold water was a pleasant surprise.

As Rose looked into the shaving mirror while drying his face, three more black faces appeared in the glass. Surprised, he turned around. The sound of the running water had muffled their steps.

"What's happenin', dudes?"

"What the fuck you doin' here, man?"

The speaker was standing in the center of the three and was of medium height. He wore rose-colored glasses, and his hair was puffed out in a large afro. He spoke menacingly, with his finger pointing viciously at Rose's face. His sleeveless fatigue shirt was unbuttoned, exposing two necklaces made from black bootlaces. Both of his wrists had black leather bands wrapped around them.

The other two men were taller and stood a pace behind their leader. One wore dark aviator sunglasses and had a blue bandana tied around his forehead. The other had a similar headband and wore a thin mustache over a cruel grin.

Rose leaned back on the sink basin, smiling impassively.

"We just got in, man. This is our latrine, ain't it?"

"Your latrine, shit! Motherfucker, us niggers own this whole camp, man!"

Rose casually turned sideways to the leader. He would take him out with a side kick, if there was going to be trouble. He maintained his smile, dropping the corners of his mouth only slightly as he quiedy spoke. "It's cool, man. There musta been a mistake. I'll go and get it straightened out."

The leader took a confident step closer, smiling. "You done fucked up, Oreo. We goin' to teach you a lesson."

Rose locked his eyes with those of the approaching soldier. "You fuckin' with Rangers, fool! You best let it be."

The spokesman broke Rose's stare as he chortled through his nose and glanced over his shoulder at his friends.

As if on signal, the others snickered and moved a step closer.

Rose smiled. "You blew it, brother."

The jeering man tensed. He didn't like the confidence the small soldier was displaying. "You gonna ..."

A toilet flushed to their right. The three men started at the sound. They had assumed the Ranger was alone. Thumper walked from behind a partition and leaned against the wall as he buckled his pants.

He was shirtless, exposing his large, muscular upper torso. He glanced at Rose and winked. "Who're your friends?"

The soldier wearing the aviator glasses spit. "We ain't no Uncle Tom's friends, fucker!"

The leader backed up, joining the others and eyeing the big man who looked like big trouble.

Thumper pushed off the wall and walked slowly up to the soldier who had spoken. Rose's smile broadened when Thump's over-developed chest and shoulder muscles rippled as he held out his hand. "I'll be your friend."

The leader's eyes shifted to Rose, then back to Thumper.

"This honky's shit stinks. Let's get out of here."

The three men backed out slowly as Thumper lowered his hand and shook his head.

When the men had left the big soldier looked at Rose and spoke evenly. "You'd better get the team. They'll be back."

Rose nodded in silence and turned toward the door.

Ten minutes later, Rose stood at the sink shaving. He heard the latrine door open but didn't turn his head. Six blacks entered, led by the same soldier who had acted as the kingpin before. Rose dipped his razor into the sink, swirled it, and casually turned toward the approaching men.

The leader stopped two paces from Rose.

"Motherfuck, you shoulda skyed!" He glanced quickly around the latrine. "Where's your big honky friend? I got somethin' for him." He snickered as he tossed his head in the direction of the other five men.

'I'm right here,'' snapped Thumper as he walked from behind the partition, followed by Wade, who walked up to the leader.

"There it is, man," said Woodpecker as he strolled out from the shower stall behind the sinks. Preacher walked out from another stall, and both men let the bolts on their M-16s slam forward. The resounding metal echoed through the small building, sending visible chills up the leader's arms as he backed away from Wade and sought protection from his own surprised followers.

Just then, Russian walked in through the door, holding his rifle at port arms. He lowered the muzzle slowly and pointed it at the center of the group.

Wade poked the leader's chest and spoke in a growl. "This is a warning. Don't fuck with Team Three-one or any Rangers. We got problems enough with dinks, let alone the likes of you. Now, move your asses out!"

The leader caught his breath and stood glaring at Wade for several seconds before turning wordlessly and walking for the door. The other sullen men followed.

Russian blocked the exit. He shook his head sadly and lowered his weapon, holding it in one hand. "You listen to my sergeant or there will be trouble."

The leader raised his hand to brush past the stocky bull. "Get out of the way, fucker!"

Russian's free hand was a blur as he caught the man's arm in mid-flight.

"Do not say such things to me. Is clear?" he grunted, applying pressure. The smaller man bravely took the pain without twisting his body, but his hoarse whisper gave away his suffering. "Cla . . . clear."

Russian released his grip and stepped aside, but not before looking into the eyes of each of the defiant men.

"It ain't over, you know," said Rose, looking at his team leader.

Wade's eyes were still on the door. "I know."

Childs tossed down a pad of paper and stood up.

"Them shitheads will do it tonight! I say blow 'em away and forget it!"

Sergeant Gino shook his head and leaned back in his chair. "You're right, Jerry. They'll probably frag the Third Platoon Hootch. It's a matter of pride and they don't know we know about the previous fraggings, but I don't hold to greasin' friendlies."

Wade was leaning against the wall of the ops center with the other team sergeants. The meeting had been called to discuss how to handle the rabble running loose on the base. Besides his team's incident, one Ranger from 2-1 had been beaten badly in another latrine.

Seigeant Gino looked up at Childs as he paced the room.

"Jerry, we gotta do it legal. If you catch them in the act of fraggin', you gotta let them pull the pin to prove intent. I guess we could secredy evacuate the barracks tonight and stop them after the incident."

Childs glared at Gino. "That's coddling them shits, and you know it."

Gino glared back. "Yes, but it's better than murder!"

Childs stiffened. "Murder? You call ambushin' them shits murder? They've fragged people already and hurt one of my men. What the fuck is that called?"

Gino lowered his head. "I understand, Jerry, but you can't put a team out there tonight and blow away those GIs."

J. D. Gibson had sat quietly in the corner all during the discussion. Now he stood up slowly and walked to the center of the room. "I think I got a answer to the problem," he said.

Private Nuu squatted down beside Sergeant Thong as he stirred a pot of rice on the small cooking fire. "Where is the Tall One?" asked Nuu.

Silendy, Thong motioned behind him toward the ridge.

Nuu glanced up the slope, speaking reflectively. "Does he not grow tired of this war?"

Thong quit his stirring and looked at the young soldier as if seeing him for the first time. You do not know what tired is, my friend. You are a boy and have not seen enough of this war to be tired."

Nuu looked into the sergeant's eyes with sadness. "I have seen enough. We are killing our own people and are telling ourselves we are saving them."

Thong spoke softly. "Sacrifice is needed for victory. Many who don't understand will die. The general and I understand this, and one day you will."

Nuu sat back on the ground and hugged his knees. The image of the farmer he'd shot filled his mind. As far as Nuu was concerned, both he and that farmer had paid too dear a price for something they could not feel, touch, or see. Words and ideas had caused coundess deaths and untold destruction. Ideas could not be planted, used to build a house, or help to love a woman. Nothing was gained in war but death and destruction. Nuu shut his eyes. He didn't want to be like the general and the others who justified dying for the sake of ideas. They were the ones who didn't understand ... a war such as this one could never really end until everyone cast their ideals aside with their guns.

General Binh Due stood among teaks, mahoganies, and pines beside the old Montagnard trail above the camp. He needed silence to clear his mind after the marathon committee meeting.

The setting sun painted the western sky in spectacular reds and oranges. The air smelled of sayo and pine. It was a good time to think and renew one's strength. All the posing and handshaking had drained him. He'd won the batde today, but had come away wounded and weary. The government representatives had again attacked religion as antirevolutionary. Internal security forces were being strengthened by the creation of youth organizations and surveillance groups.

The thought of the future made him weary. He and his family would always remain suspect. The endless talking and the seeking out of people not committed to the Fatherland would continue after the war's end. He would never be able to free himself of those who knew of his Catholic background.

There would never be true peace. The government would not allow it. They needed an enemy to keep the people united. Cambodia and Laos would surely be victims. The machinery of the government was built on conflict-conflict he was tired of leading.

The general bid farewell to his silent friends and began walking down the hill. At least the camp would be quiet. He had told General Sang to take the committee members to his division camp on the premise they would feel safer among many soldiers. The real reason was that he didn't want to entertain them while they rested for the return journey back to their homes. He didn't want to talk to those who wouldn't listen.