Letters from Becca: A Contemporary Romance Fiction Novel (10 page)

“Whoa, whoa.  I didn’t mean to get you all worked up,” David said lighting his cigarette.  “Since when did you become the leader in the cause to right the wrongs for humanity?”

John paused for a moment, looking deeply into David’s eyes.  “Since I had to pick up someone’s kid - one that wasn’t old enough to have hair on his chin,” he replied, rubbing his face with the palms of his hands.

David lowered his head, contemplating.  Loai interrupted them with their beer and took David’s flask to fill.  Neither of them spoke for almost a minute, both looking down into the dirt.  The bartender returned with his flask.  David nodded in gratitude, and paid him.  Loai left with a bow.  David shook his head, still not looking up.  “I’ve seen seven-year-old Vietnamese children throw grenades into our and ARVN vehicles,” he began. 

John shook his head and looked down at the cigarette in his own hand.

“Remember where we are,” David said, drawing in a deep breath, then looking up as John did.  Their eyes met.  “Don’t think for a second I don’t know what’s happening down here.”  He scratched his chin and shook his head.  “That I don’t see what’s happening.  I see the innocent die with those not so innocent.”  David crushed his cigarette into the ground beneath his foot.  “I’m done being a part of the carnage that’s tearing this country apart.”  David looked around.  “I’m just biding my time.” His eyes met John’s.  “I’m tired,” he sighed.  “I want to go home.  I miss my family.  I miss my wife and I'd like to meet my kids.”

John took a deep drag off his cigarette and looked at him.  “I miss clean socks and real sheets.”

David grinned.  “Here’s to clean socks and real sheets,” he said raising his flask.

“To your family,” John smiled, raising his bottle and tapping the flask.

David repeated sadly, “to my family.”

The men sat back, quietly emptied their bottles and smoked their last cigarettes.

Outside the Officer’s Club, the soldiers in the guard tower suddenly looked skyward.  They heard the mortars within seconds of their leaving the tubes, even though they were over a mile away.  Only those who were in the showers, listening to loud music or talking loudly in the crowded Officer’s Club were at a disadvantage.

The sirens wailed for only an instant before the shells fell from the sky, giving no one a chance to react.  Three mortars fell in three different locations within the camp perimeter.  One landed in the compound between the enlisted hooches and one landed just feet from the latrine.  And one landed on the Officer’s Club.  It was night.  It was dark.  It was loud.  The night sky filled with fire and smoke, the air with sirens, gunfire and screaming.  The hooches were just mildly damaged, soldiers tossed from their bunks.  The latrines were intact.  The Officer’s Club took a direct hit.

A dozen soldiers, wearing whatever they could throw on or woke up in, were already at what used to be the club’s entrance, digging through debris.  The first man they reached had no pulse; the second, no arms on which to check for a pulse.  The third man had all his limbs and a pulse.  Once they moved debris from on top of him and dusted him off, they slowly started to check for other injuries.  There was blood in his hair, but they didn’t see a cut.  Slowly, John opened his eyes.  The man standing over him held him down.

“Don’t move, sir,” he said, turning quickly to motion for assistance.  “Over here!” he yelled.  Several men ran to their aid.  John sat up suddenly, startling the men around him.  “You shouldn’t move sir.  In case there are further injuries.”

“I’m fine,” he said, looking around in a panic.  “David!” John yelled.  David!”

Cries of pain rang out, as did cries for assistance.

John stood up, rubble and sand falling from his clothes.  He paid no attention to anyone and began digging for his friend.  “David?” he yelled louder.  He turned to the men who helped him.  “My friend!  Help me find my friend!”

The men helped John dig through the debris.  They found Loai.  He was terrified but uninjured, except for a few minor scratches.  He bowed in gratitude for their assistance, and helped look for other survivors. 

“David!” John yelled at the top of his lungs.  A soldier with a serious head wound wandered up to them and collapsed into a medic's arms.  John helped the medic carry him to waiting responders.  As John turned around, he spied David crumpled against the bar.  He wasn’t moving.  John tripped and climbed over debris, yelling for help as he went.  “David,” he gasped, uncovering his friend’s body.  He reached for his arm, and then his neck.  “Oh, God, David!” he exclaimed.  John leaned in closer, trying to get a pulse, trying to hear him breathing. 

“Damn,” came the faint response.  “You gonna kiss me or help me?”

John held him down.  “Can you feel your toes?”

David moved his hand to remove wood and sand from his mouth.  He spat the rest out.  He looked at John and nodded. 

“Do you hurt anywhere?” John asked.

“Yeah, where you’ve got your damn arm,” he said.  David tried to raise up but grimaced and fell back down. 

John moved the tin from over his friend’s chest and clenched his teeth.  “Don’t move,” he instructed.  “Medic!” he yelled.  “We need a medic here!”

David looked down and saw a metal bar extending from his stomach.  He reached for it and suddenly felt dizzy.  “Oh, crap,” he gasped.

John pulled David’s hand away.  “Don’t move,” he instructed as he pulled off his shirt and held it against the wound to help stop the bleeding.

David closed his eyes.  “This can’t be good.”

Two men ran to John’s side.

“We need a litter, now,” John instructed.  “This man’s seriously injured.”

They both stumbled through the rubble calling for a medic and a litter.  There was a cry to John’s right, and he turned around.  One of the soldiers that had been sitting at the table beside them was sobbing.  “Somebody help me, please.”

John was torn.  He turned to David and put his friend’s hand onto the blood-soaked shirt.  “Be right back,” he said as he rose.

“I’ll wait right here,” David said almost in a whisper, leaning his head back and closing his eyes.  “Don’t be too long.”

John rushed to the injured soldier.  The man was bleeding from his leg.  John used his undershirt for a tourniquet and then lifted the man and handed him off to the next person he saw.  “Where’s that litter?” he asked anxiously. 

“On its way, Major,” the medic responded.

Three men climbed over the debris carrying two litters.  John motioned them to follow him.  Two broke off with one litter when they found another wounded soldier.  John and the remaining medic climbed to David’s side. 

“How ya doing?” John asked.

“Just peachy, thanks,” he replied weakly.  “See what I mean?”

John furrowed his brow.

“This is a messed up country.  Who the heck would want to blow up a couple of guys while they’re having a drink, for God’s sake?”

The medic moved the shirt, then put it back, shaking his head very slightly at John.  They rose and carefully lifted David onto the litter.

“The picture,” David gasped, reaching for his pocket, his hand shaking.  “Where’s my picture?”

John patted his shoulder.  “They’re gonna fix you up now, buddy.”

“The picture,” David insisted, in a loud whisper.

“What?” John asked, confused.

“My picture,” David gasped as he grabbed toward his chest.

John reached into his friend’s pocket, found the picture and handed it to David. 

David looked at the picture, and then pushed it to John.  “Keep it,” he said weakly.

“No,” John replied.  “It’s yours.”

“Take it,” David insisted as they lifted him up.  “Please,” he begged weakly.  “She’d want you to have it.  I’ve got plenty more,” he lied.  “Really.”

John walked with him.  “I’ll hold onto it for you,” he said.  “Until you’re out of surgery.”

David grabbed his hand.  “If I don’t make it, you gotta look after them for me.”

“Don’t talk that way, man.”  John shook his head, fighting tears.  “You’re going to be fine.  I promise.”

“I’m serious, John.  You’ve got to tell her I love her.  You’ve got to tell her,” he gasped.  “And the kids… promise me you’ll take care of them.”  He grabbed John’s arm, looking him in the eyes.  “Promise me."

John hesitated, “I promise,” John answered sincerely.

“Hey, John,” David sighed, lying back down on the litter.  “You’re not flying me out?  Right?  I mean after your last time out and all.”

“Nah, I think I’ll let someone else do the flying this time.”

“Good,” he gasped, almost out of breath.  “Nothing against you, man.”

“Right,” John smiled.

“Hey, John,” David said, forcing a weak smile.  “I used to think you were a real asshole.”

John nodded.  “Yeah, well, you always said you aspired to be just like me.”  They arrived at the ambulance and David was loaded into it next to another soldier.  John patted his friend on the leg as he was lifted in and then watched as they closed the doors and raced off to the hospital.  John closed his eyes, said a little prayer to someone he hadn’t talked to in a very long time, looking up toward the heavens.  When he looked back down the ambulance was gone.

He looked around.  It was utter chaos.  He felt suddenly disoriented, probably from being thrown half way across the building, or maybe it was from half the building landing on his head.  He wasn’t sure.  He couldn’t think straight.  There was yelling behind him.  John looked around.  For the first time since arriving in-country, he had no idea what he was supposed to do.  It was all so confusing.  He wiped his hair from his face and then looked at his hand.  It was wet with blood.  His blood.

John felt dizzy, so he sat down on a wooden crate beside the tent.  He held the picture further away, unable to focus on it.  He slowly, carefully, slid it into his pocket before dropping his head into his hands.  Then, for the first time in his adult life, John wept.

John sat in the old diner booth, staring at the picture with the worn edges.  Did it still have a faint smell of smoke, or was his memory triggering his other senses?  He lay the picture on the flecked plastic table top and unwrapped the silverware from the paper napkin beside his coffee cup.  A waitress in a pink vintage uniform filled it perfectly, without spilling a drop.

“Ready to order, sweetie?” the waitress asked, smacking her gum.  He glanced at the menu then looked up at her.  For a moment he had stepped back in time as she stood over him, pen to pad, head tilted, her slouched demeanor speaking volumes about where she did not want to be.

John smiled.  “What do you recommend?”

She blew a small bubble, then popped it.  “The diner down the road.” She forced a fake smile.

John looked uncomfortably back at the menu, his glasses balanced low on his nose as he attempted to narrow his search.

“The special’s pretty good,” she said, tapping the menu in his hand with her pen.

John drew in a deep breath before closing it and handing it back to her.  “Breakfast for dinner it is,” he smiled, “fried eggs, over medium, pancakes, sausage and orange juice, please.”  He noted that she didn’t write down his order.  “And coffee.”

“Don’t remember seeing you in here before.  Are you new here, or just passing through?” she asked.

He smiled faintly.  “Visiting,” he replied.  She stood there, as though waiting for the rest of the story.  “Family,” he added.  When she didn’t move, he felt pressured to elaborate.  “From Dallas.” He glanced at her name badge.  “Norma.”

Norma didn’t say anything at first, then forced a toothy smile, stuffed the pen behind her ear and winked.  “Be right back, sweetie.”

John took off his reading glasses and looked out the window at the beautifully maintained park across the street as he sipped his coffee.  How many years had it been since he’d been here?  Too many to count.  He spied a young couple under a tree.  The young man leaned against the base of the decades-old oak, his girlfriend or wife (or whatever they were called nowadays) lay with her head on his lap, looking up at him.  John watched him brush back her hair as he smiled down at her.  Ah, to be young and in love.  He saw himself thirty plus years ago, not so far from here in Brackenridge Park by the San Antonio Zoo.  Marissa loved Brackenridge Park and the Japanese Sunken Gardens next to the zoo.  That’s where he had planned on proposing to her at some point.

After he served his twelve, he had come back to Texas, mainly because Marissa was there.  He had planned on asking her to marry him.  How many years had they danced around that subject, eventually going their separate ways?  He tried to remember why, but couldn’t.  Was it because it was hard to remember, or because the reason wasn’t worth remembering?  He couldn’t remember that, either.

Norma arrived with three plates balanced on her arm and set them before him.  “Anything else?” she asked.

John looked over his plates, taking inventory before looking up and smiling.  “I’m good,” he replied.  She reached behind him, picked up the coffee pot and refilled his cup before sliding his ticket next to it.

John ate slowly, occasionally looking up at the other patrons, but mostly looking down, focused on the task at hand.  When he finished, he pushed his plates away from himself, one at a time, and rested his arms on the table.  He glanced out the window again.  The young couple was walking toward him, hand in hand.  He watched as each of them let go of the other’s hand, still touching each other in subtle, intimate ways—his hand at the curve of her back as he guided her, or her light touch on his arm.  It spoke volumes about their feelings for one another.  As they arrived at the corner, they came together again.  He turned her gently in his arms and brushed back the hair from her face before reaching in and kissing her sweetly.

John watched from the window as they waited for the crossing light.  They crossed the street, his hand again at the curve of her back.  A bus pulled up just as they arrived at the corner.  She turned and kissed him once more, holding his face in her hands before releasing him.  He bounded up the steps, backpack hanging from one shoulder.  She stood, watching, even after the bus door closed, turning as it drove away, as if it were taking her life with it.  John looked down at his watch.  When the doorbell clanged, he looked up.