Men in Green Faces (19 page)

They were heading back toward Seafloat when Alex called, “I’m done,” and dropped the line. “You’re next, Gene.”

He grabbed the ski, secured his life jacket, and when they turned to pick Alex up, he traded places with him.

“Hit it!” he yelled, and away they went.

What a blast, he thought, giving Cruz a thumbs-up to increase speed. God, it felt good…the water’s cool spray, the freedom…Cutting back and forth over the boat’s wake, he jumped about two feet in the air, felt the ski smack water, then come back across. As the boat made sharp turns, he dug the ski deep into the water. The resulting rooster tails were beautiful.

You-O signaled they were turning down a branch of the river. Gene signaled okay, and they left the Son Ku Lon. Brian and Alex picked up their weapons. There were a few Vietnamese squatting, next to the hootches on stilts, right on the new river’s edge.

You-O headed straight for them, then cut sharply away. Gene, forced to do the same, sent up a rooster tail that splashed the children and the old lady on the bank.

“You asshole,” he yelled to Cruz. “Don’t do that again.”

You-O laughed. Gene didn’t think it funny. There was no sense in harassing people, especially little kids and an old woman.

About half a mile down the river, the boat’s engines died. Gene found himself sinking.

“We’re out of gas,” Brian called. “We’ll change tanks.”

Dammit, Gene thought, forced to swim. The boat had two gas lines to prevent that. You-O’d probably only hooked up one when he filled the tanks.

The boat moved faster with the current than Gene could. Underwater, he stroked toward the center of the river. If anybody onshore fired at him, it would be very hard for them to make a head shot, once he came up. He broke the surface, took a breath, and looked around. The boat was out of sight, having floated around a bend in the river.

Where the hell were they? Couldn’t hear them, couldn’t see them. Swimming with the current, he passed a few more hootches on the banks, glimpsed children playing, men and women watching. He’d drenched the kids and old woman with that fan of water. They’d been pissed. He hoped word hadn’t got around.

The current carried him around the bend, just in time for him to see—five or six hundred feet ahead—the boat float around another curve and disappear again. Something was wrong. At least ten minutes had passed. What if it wasn’t just hooking up a gas line? Getting a little scary. Up ahead, about fifteen men and women were walking along the path beside the river. The men were armed.

No sign or sound of the boat, and he was coming even with the walkers. Sure as hell, one would spot him and open up. He dropped the ski and went underwater. He’d go with the current, as far as he could, before coming up for air.

The cloudy brown water was running fast. He couldn’t see, but he had to surface soon; he couldn’t stay under much longer. Had he passed them? Were there more he hadn’t seen, ahead? He came up, gulped air, and had started to dive again when suddenly the boat came back around the bend on step.

Thank God, he thought, pumping his arm up and down, giving the signal for pickup. His skiing trip was over. He’d never go out again. It just wasn’t worth the risk.

Furious, breathless, he climbed aboard. “You-O, you…son of a bitch…depended on you…make sure the boat was ready. Dammit, you…could have got me killed…out there. I ought to—”

“Gene, I’m sorry. It was a stupid move. I’m really sorry, man. I apologize.”

“Ten damned minutes or more…” He coughed. “Out there in enemy territory with no weapon. No protection, nothing.” He coughed again. “Fucking carelessness.”

Cruz looked him in the eye. “Gene, it scared the hell out of me too. Out of all of us. I’m just sorry as hell. My fault, absolutely.”

“Damned straight, we were scared for you,” Brian said. “Hell of a relief to see you wave for pickup.”

Alex nodded, but said nothing.

Gene took a deep breath, half coughed, half cleared his throat, then swallowed carefully. Mistakes happened. Try as they would, things happened. To hell with it, he told himself. Let it go. He wasn’t dead, the day was beautiful, and what skiing he’d done had been great. But damn, his throat hurt.

“I owe you,” Cruz said. “The Jack Daniel’s for the old man is on me. We’re even. Okay?”

He nodded and settled back to enjoy the high-speed cruise back to Seafloat.

After they tied up, he grabbed his 60 and went back to the hootch. Some of the SEALs had hit the bottle a little hard. Happily drunk, they surrounded the old man, trying to carry on a conversation. Neither they nor Raggedy could understand each other, except for a few words. Finding one, they whooped and laughed with delight.

Gene was amused. The old guy was no dummy. He’d sat himself right on top of his pillow with the bottle of JD hidden beneath it, so the SEALs were sharing their booze with him.

“Hey, Gene. Come over here, will you?”

Apparently Jim had enough of bed rest. Gene joined him at the table in the center of the hootch.

“You’ve got to interrogate him,” he said. “Find out about his area. We’ll have to turn him over in two days, max.”

Gene thought a minute. No way did he want the KCSs to get their hands on Raggedy. “Can I do it here and not at the KCS camp? I’ll use one of the Vietnamese SEALs to translate.”

Jim drew carefully on his cigarette. “You can try. If he doesn’t cooperate, you’ll have to take him over.”

“Okay.”

The half-inch-long ash dropped off. “Damn,” Jim said, “you moved the air.”

“Sorry about that.”

“Go find your interpreter.”

He sighed. Time to break up the fun and games.

W
ALKING OVER,
G
ENE SAW
Raggedy had his Jack Daniel’s out again. When he reached the bed, he took the almost empty bottle away. “He’s had enough,” he told the other SEALs. “We have to ask him some questions.”

They lost their smiles and moved away. When Gene turned back, Raggedy had flopped over on his bed and was out like a light. The old man had not only had enough, he’d had more than enough. No choice but to wait until he woke up.

Gene coughed. His throat hurt like hell. He might as well get some sleep himself.

He took his meds, got into his rack, and opened his Bible. By the time he fell asleep, he’d gotten into the New Testament.

When Gene woke, the first thing he saw was Raggedy smiling. He was sitting in bed, eating evening chow. Brian sat beside him, smiling and gesturing. Somehow, he’d persuaded the old man to use a spoon and not his hands. Obviously they were enjoying themselves.

Funny, Gene thought. In combat, their point man was one mean mother. If you were nearby, he’d kill you quicker than an eye blink. But the real Brian was a tender soul, with a lot of compassion. Caring for Raggedy, the true man showed.

Now he thought about it, Brian was the only one in the platoon who’d never joked about him being religious. Most of the teasing had come during their SEAL training, when the men were just getting to know each other. Now they were as used to him as they were to Roland always volunteering to make knife kills.

Maybe Brian was a believer too, but he couldn’t tell one way or the other. If their point man prayed, he did it alone, which was okay by him. For himself, religion meant sanity. It was his link to home, and Karen. He returned You-O’s wave as he went out the door.

Willie was in the chow hall, sitting next to Jim. Gene sat down beside Doc, across the table from them. “Willie, I’ll be questioning the old man, with one of the Vietnamese SEALs, after the movie. Do you want to come?”

Willie stretched, then ran his hand through his red hair, leaving little tufts standing up. “Sure. Nothing to do tonight. We’ll use the briefing room.” He smoothed his unruly hair down and picked up his coffee cup.

“That’s goo—” Gene started to say, and broke into a fit of coughing. It felt like his throat was tearing apart. When it stopped, he swallowed half a glass of water trying to soothe it.

“You sound shitty,” Doc said. “How do you feel?”

“Okay.”

“Taking the meds?”

“As ordered.” He swallowed again, carefully. “What’s playing tonight?”

Willie raised his eyebrows. “Didn’t you hear?
Bullitt
is in.”

“Sure, buddy,” Gene said. He’d believe it when he saw it.

“It’s true.” Jim grinned. “It finally got here.”

“All right!” Doc and Gene said in unison.

“One of my favorites of all time,” Gene said. “Willie, how many days now before you leave this shithole?”

“Four.” He grinned, ruffled his hair again.

“Getting our third platoon in tomorrow,” Jim said. “Hotel. They’ll fly in about 1000 hours.”

“Who’s in it?”

“Don’t know. I do know we’ve got to unload a supply boat tomorrow at 1200. They want us all out there.”

Gene sighed. “I’ll pass the word, but why in the hell do we have to help unload a fuckin’ boat?”

“Those are the orders from the CO of Seafloat.”

“Dammit, we operate all the damned time. Everybody else puts in eight.”

“Gene,” said Jim, “there’s no use in bitching. I tried. Let’s just go do it and get on with the day.” He stood, as did Doc and Willie.

“Aye, aye, sir.”

“See y’all at the show,” Willie said. “Save me a seat.”

“Okay, buddy. Front row. I’m getting out there early for this one.”

Back at the hootch, Gene wasted no time in setting two chairs up in the first row of seats. A rope-hung sheet doubled for a screen. He draped one of his shirts over each chair, to save them, before going inside for insect repellent.

“Hey, Gene.”

He looked up to see Brian and the old man. Raggedy was dressed in greens.

“I’m taking him to the show,” Brian said.

“The word was passed that it’s
Bullitt
.”

“Hah,” Brian said. “Bullshit.”

Gene followed Brian and Raggedy out and took his seat next to Willie. The first thing they saw was a spliced-in news clip.

“Get that shit off,” somebody yelled. “Let’s see Steve.”

The film’s title came up. It was
Twelve O’Clock High.
Half the audience left.

“What’s this bullshit?” Cruz yelled. “The last thing we want to see is more combat.”

Sitting two rows back were Brian and the old man. Gene paused on his way out. “Have him in the briefing room after the show, Brian. Okay?”

“Sure.”

He and Willie went ahead and spent some of the time writing up questions. While they were setting up the Twin Rivers area map, Willie asked, “Y’all ever get laid over here?”

For a split second, he saw Sara. “Yes. Just once. An American nurse.”

“Only once? Doesn’t the urge get to y’all when you go into town and see all those young ladies?”

“Sure, but except for that one time, I’ve always thought of Karen. It’s tough, but I just change my thoughts to how nice it would be to be held and loved back in the States, or I think of a dick-dragger. Sometimes, I just get up and leave.”

That was true. Except for Sara, that’s how he’d always handled his feelings. Just blocked them out. “How about you?”

“Yeah, a few times, but not lately. I can’t afford to get the clap or anything else. Don’t forget, I’m not married. Yet. I just hope that when I am, it’s as solid as yours.”

Gene, both hands on the back of a chair, leaned forward. “Karen is the best thing that ever happened to me. She’s—”

Brian and the old man came in. Behind them a Vietnamese SEAL closed the door.

“Okay,” Gene said, “let’s get this over with.”

“I’ll wait outside,” Brian said, and left.

Gene looked at the smiling old man and started with “We’re not your enemy. We’ve been sent to help you and your people. We’ve taken good care of you here, haven’t we?”

The interpreter was good, relaying Gene’s words as he spoke them. Raggedy listened without turning his head, watching Gene and nodding.

“Yes,” the old man said. “You number one.”

“You realize that we can get in now, at any time? We took another man out the night before.”

“You have him? Where is he?”

“He’s safe. Let me ask the questions. I want to know where you came from. Where is the main village?”

Gene listened to the interpreter’s translation.

“The village is two hundred fifty meters around the river bend from where you captured me.”

“Who’s there, and what’s going on?”

The old man bowed his head and said nothing.

Gene grabbed the interpreter’s wrist on the downward swing of his open hand. “Don’t even think about it. He’s talking.”

The Vietnamese SEAL’s eyes blazed. “He’s VC.”

“Shut up. Just interpret the questions and responses. Nothing more.” He locked gazes with the furious interpreter, seeing hate in his eyes. If the sonofabitch touched the old man, he’d find out what real trouble was. If he didn’t take him out himself, Brian would.

He turned back to Raggedy. “What’s going on? Who’s down there? I’ve got to know. I won’t let anyone hurt you.” He paused. “Tell me.”

The old man nodded and began to talk about a weapons factory, about the starving people, about their fear of the NVA. Once he started, they couldn’t quiet him. For two hours, they listened. When he finally finished, they stood to take him back to the hootch.

The Vietnamese SEAL walked out first, muttering below his breath, unaware that Willie, during his tour, had quietly picked up quite a bit of the language and understood his “I’ll get you, you motherfucker.”

“Watch him,” he warned Gene before they parted. “Never let him get behind you out in the bush.”

Once he’d settled Raggedy back in their hootch, Gene gave him another bottle of Jack Daniel’s. Then he went looking for Jim.

When he found him, they went to see Johnny at NILO, and he ran over the debrief with them. The village was 250 meters away. They were putting B-40 rockets together and had a large stockpile. There were about 30 NVA and 140 villagers. “The old man said they were starving and that they’d eaten all the dogs weeks ago. No supplies are getting in, and what little they had went to the NVA.”

He coughed, then continued. “Some babies have died already due to hunger and sickness, and about sixty of the villagers were forced to fight and set up rocket ambushes on Twin Rivers. He said they knew about the men in green faces. The NVA told them we come from under the water and eat their babies.”