There Will Be Killing (22 page)

“Sounds like an excellent plan to me,” said J.D., hopping right on board. “That's really thoughtful of you, Rick. Thanks, man.”

Abiding by their pact, Gregg and Izzy nodded along and pasted on amenable smiles while they made all the right noises.

“Glad you're agreeable.” Rick slapped them all a high five, right down the line, then chugged back the rest of his beer before confessing, “I was worried the three of you might bail on me when we need you the most. Goddamn, I'm glad to have friends like you I can count on when the going gets tougher than even us tough guys can manage. Now, finish those brewskies so I can pay up with some proper thanks, starting with dinner and some drinks that'll knock your socks off.”

The LRRP wound its way out through the jungle heading north. The toxic, devastating herbicide, Agent Orange, had not been sprayed in this area, and after only a mile from breaking camp they were in a primeval forest. Gregg knew from talking with Rick and other Special Ops and Forces guys and Rangers that everything they did had deep planning and extensive training involved. He was walking along with the best of the badass best, but it still didn't keep his heart from hammering so loud he felt like everyone could hear. Despite Rick's assurances of safety, Gregg knew that anything could happen out here at any time. They could stumble right into a VC patrol, although Rick had told them that they were entering Mnong territory and nothing bad happened on their lands.

Gregg supposed that made the area something of a sanctuary like the Peace Mission Hospital, but still he felt like he had somehow gotten himself into a horrible western movie and entered Apache territory after being reassured that he need not worry now about Comanches.

“Docs, could you use a water break?” Rick asked solicitously.

“Thanks, I sure could,” answered J.D. despite looking as relaxed and in his element as Rick.

“A break would be great,” Gregg wheezed. He was no more accustomed to the jungle than Izzy, who could hardly keep his glasses perched on his nose or the sweat out of his eyes.

They paused long enough to down some water in this place where they were surrounded on every side and even over their heads with what looked like a confusing, moving solid wall and ceiling of green with roots reaching up to trip them and blades of grass to cut them and giant green leaves full of every kind of insect just dumping on their sweating heads.

Damn, why hadn't he gotten that hair cut yet?
All too soon they were back to humping it through the jungle and Gregg couldn't say for how long, just that he had a sense of the day passing and his stomach sinking. He tried not to imagine how terrifying it must be for the new troops to be sent out, how whispers would take on a different, haunting sound in this wildish place, or the impact stories like the Ghost Soldier would make when the fear factor was already so high.

He was not very successful in controlling his imagining. When they finally stopped for another break, he was almost glad for the proximity of J.D. since his presence afforded them some measure of protection—at least as long as he needed them to maintain his cover.

Crouching down next to him and Izzy, J.D. said quietly, “You're doing great. You've made it, we're there, and they are here for us.”

Gregg looked around. “I don't see anything.”

“Me either,” said Izzy.

“Just let your eyes go soft, don't try so hard to focus and you'll see.”

Gregg did as instructed and drew in a sharp breath. “Holy shit.”

“Oh god, we're surrounded.” Izzy frantically grabbed Gregg's arm. “We are dead.”

Rick came over then and J.D. went back to his know-nothing charade.

“Hey guys, I told you not to worry. We've had company for the last hour or so, shadowing us.”

“Who are they?” Gregg couldn't even blink; his eyes were glued on the natives surrounding them with guns.

“These are the Mnong warriors, my friends,” Rick said with a tone of reverence. “You are looking at the lords of the forest, the elephant hunters.”

The Mnong warriors leading, they were all escorted along a well-used path that opened up on the banks of the Srepok River. The river, a muddy green blue, fronted the long houses built on stilts along the sandy bank. Children were happily jumping into the sparkling waters, making the shrieking sounds that kids at play make everywhere. Further down the river women were washing bright colored clothes and drying them out on the smooth stones along the banks. J.D. and several of the troops flanked Izzy and Gregg as Rick and the rest of his platoon approached the village.

A number of Mnong Elders came out to greet and welcome the obviously respected Captain Galt, who hailed them in their native tongue. They exchanged bows and good tidings in what struck Gregg as a very warm and festive affair. He noticed that J.D. responded in English when introduced, though Gregg would lay money that J.D. could speak their dialect better than Rick if he was so inclined.

The suspicion was solidified when J.D. whispered, “They're giving us a special guest house and offered to bunk Rick's guys together but Rick declined and they'll be setting up camp nearby. I don't think they'll be coming to the party tonight. Rick wants them fresh for tomorrow.”

Rick clapped his hands. “Okay men, take off with Oakley and we'll join you in the morning.”

“We?” Izzy repeated with alarm.

“Oh sorry, Doc.” Rick guffawed at Izzy's openmouthed expression and several of the tribesmen joined in the universal language of humor. “Me and one of the top warriors here who expressed an interest,
we'll
be joining them. But if you want to come along you're welcome to join the party.”

“Uh-uh, no thanks,” Izzy quickly assured him. “I am perfectly happy staying in our special guest house.”

Rick paused, no doubt wondering where Izzy had gotten that information prior to his dispensing of it, then let it go with a shrug. “Aw darn, and here I was hoping you'd rather go hunting with the rest of us. Of course you'd have to step things up a notch to keep pace so I guess it's just as well all you docs hang out at the Holiday Inn here and sleep off what's in store for the night with these good people.”

In short, the guests from the 99th were treated to something better than any Holiday Inn Gregg had ever slept in. The interiors were shaded and cool compared to the outside. The bamboo woodwork was expertly done in a manner that allowed shade, shelter and ventilation. The place was immaculately clean and had a fresh herbal scent. They had comfy hammocks at intervals which allowed them protection from any creepy crawly creatures.

As they got settled, Rick gazed longingly at his own hammock. “Man, wish I could pack it in here with you once we call it a night—or early morning—but that wouldn't be right. If my men are sleeping outdoors, that's where I need to be too, even if it's just to catch a few Z's.”

“You're an exemplary commanding officer,” J.D. told him and Gregg had to agree.

“Thanks for saying that.” Rick shook his head. “With so many of these attacks, good men lost, and taking my guys out when their morale is down, I don't feel so exemplary lately. Listen, I heard you guys talking up the patrol, telling them what badasses they were while you had to be sweltering in the heat that we're used to. I really appreciate that. Makes me realize what a great idea it was to invite you here when you could have just as easily begged off and stayed in Nha Trang.”

Gregg and Izzy met eyes.
Not really
was the silent message shared. J.D. quickly covered the awkward pause, assuring Rick, “When Colonel Kohn passed the invitation along, we didn't think twice about accepting. It was the least we could do considering how much harder you and your guys have it, though I have to say, who would want to be in Nha Trang when we can crash here instead?”

“Yeah, this is really cool,” Gregg affirmed, taking his cue. “Not just this Mnong Hotel, but the air, it's cooler, too.”

“Absolutely, what Gregg and J.D. said. I just got Dear Johned by a chick who's going to this thing called Woodstock, but I'd rather be hanging here with you guys than with her if you can believe that.”

“Yeah, I can believe it.” Rick promptly produced some weed. “Let her put this place in her peace pipe and smoke it if she wants a real trip.”

After the pipe made the first round, Gregg wondered if it was such a good idea for him and Izzy to get stoned if they needed to be on their feet. Then again, if J.D. decided they were expendable, or if they got attacked and killed by some VC once Rick left, then at least this was one helluva send off.

“So, about these Mnong that hunt elephants,” Izzy coughed out, “Is it for their tusks?”

“Hell no!” Rick actually looked appalled. “The elephants are like their brothers, not animals. They capture them to be tamed because they're like the most powerful spirits of the forest so the warrior who captures and tames the most is the most powerful leader of the tribe. Legend even has it the founder of this village captured four-fucking-hundred elephants in his lifetime. Try topping that.”

“Man, that's crazy.” Gregg tried doing some mental math to estimate how many a year in an average lifetime but the best he could do was, “Wow. That's a lot.”

“A warrior without peer,” J.D. said somberly, then grinned at Rick. “Like you. All hail Rick Galt, Lord of the Jungle!”

“We aren't worthy!” Izzy and Gregg bowed in semi-supplication towards Rick's feet.

“Aw shucks, you shrinks are so good for my self-esteem, makes me want to keep you around.” Inspired by their theatrics, Rick yanked open his shirt and pounded his chest.

Izzy howled. Gregg snorted smoke out his nose. J.D. called, “Oh Jane dear, what's for dinner? By the way, anyone else hungry?”

“I am,” Gregg said, suddenly ravenous at the thought of food.

“Me, too,” agreed Rick. “Good thing Cheeta isn't around.”

“I'm so hungry I could eat an elephant!” Izzy proclaimed.

“Man, that's sick,” Rick said, laughing smoke out the side of his mouth. “Let's just keep that joke between us. The guys cooking dinner might not get it and we don't want to offend our hosts.”

Izzy had been to some pretty impressive New York galas and restaurants and parties but he had never seen anything like the heaping platters of smoked and grilled meats, of roasted vegetables and huge baskets of tropical fruits that the Mnong village brought out in their honor. Rick had said he wanted to make up for the awful incident with the elephant shooting, and he had more than delivered.

The sweet smell of the foods mingled with the fire smoke rising up into a starry night. The villagers were dressed in their finest with gold and silver jewelry. The elders were unsurpassed in their beautifully woven black smock-like shirts with intricately woven stripes of red, yellow, blue, and green.

The leaders of the village had created a communal drinking fest with great celebration. “It's their way of making a friendship bond,” Rick explained as they all sat around these large pots that reminded Izzy of huge jars with long pipes that acted as straws that all the men were drinking from.

Gregg took another big hit and collapsed onto his back.

“Are you okay?” Izzy asked, wondering if he was anywhere near it himself.

“Man, this stuff is intense. My god. This is like draining a personal keg of beer.”

“Yeah like wine infused with intoxicating plants.” Izzy could feel his lips smiling a wild smile; his eyes felt like they were spinning. “I have to get the recipe to take home. They think Haight-Ashbury is psychedelic and mind altering? I have never been this high ever, ever.”

Rick leaned over, grinning. “They really like you guys, all of you. They like you a lot. See? They're even bringing out the music!”

Drumming started and various sized gongs began to play, ancient and hypnotic. Rick pointed to an instrument that looked a little like a xylophone made of stone. “Can you believe? They invented that thing like 5,000 years ago. Izzy, they want you to dance. C'mon, show us how it's done.”

“Ooo-kaaay!” And, somehow he managed to get to his feet, dancing and dancing and shaking his hips and entwining his arms like snakes reaching for the sky while everyone clapped, until he stumbled and fell on his ass a little too close to the fire. Scooting back to his place like a dog scratching its butt on the grass, the villagers roared with laughter and clapped even harder.

“Now they REALLY like you!” Rick said approvingly. “Too bad you didn't bring your guitar. Hey, anybody know where J.D. went?”

“He is always somewhere,” Gregg mumbled. “Hopefully he found a tiger to chase him.”

“Don't like the guy, huh? Why not, have something to do with that pretty missionary girl?”

Just then Izzy noticed J.D. standing. . .somewhere, he couldn't be sure how far away or how close with his eyeballs zooming in and out, but JD was outside of the party circle with one of the elders he thought Rick had said was the Headman. Izzy started to point but then J.D. and the Headman or whoever he was were out of sight, and maybe he only imagined them there anyway.

Gregg just took another liquid hit from the pipe straw going into the jar and slurred, “Have you ever finished one of these things?”

“I think they're bottomless,” Rick told him, then clapped his hands like a grand sultan and said, “Let's get this dance going again, Izzy. C'mon, I'll join you!”

The night moved on, endless it seemed with a bottomless keg. As the music played faster, Izzy began to wonder if there was some kind of herbal amphetamine infused in the psychedelic brew because by some miracle, or chemical infusion, they did not all pass out as they partied all night long. J.D. rejoined them at some point, insinuating himself as discreetly as he had disappeared.

The sky was starting to lighten. There were streaks of red and purple across the water as the tropical dawn began.

Izzy thought he was hallucinating when he saw a line of elephants coming toward him. Then he was sure he was hallucinating when several pigs were slaughtered in front of his spinning eyes.

Their heads were ceremoniously cut off, and he abstractly wondered if that's how the Boogeyman-Ghost Soldier did his own whack jobs. Only, this was like something okay because it seemed respectful somehow when the pigs' heads were reverently placed like headdresses on the great lords of the jungle.

Each elephant now wore a crown of blood and a pigs head as the elders bowed before their celebrated guests.