Men in Green Faces (20 page)

“Good God,” Jim said. Johnny shook his head.

Gene went on. “Raggedy said that they wanted, and needed, to get the rockets out but everything had stopped. They’re afraid to make a crossing over the Son Ku Lon. Listen,” he said, “I have an idea. I want to send him back in.”

“Let’s hear it,” Jim said.

“I want to run a psy-op on the old man. Make him believe we can’t be killed, and that the villagers don’t have a chance against us, then send him back to convince the villagers to surrender.”

They heard him out and agreed it was worth a try.

“We won’t be able to get close for some time anyway,” Jim said.

“No,” Johnny agreed. “They’d be ready for you now.”

“Have you received anything more on Colonel Nguyen?” Gene asked Johnny, standing up to leave.

Johnny shook his head. “Nothing.”

They’d no sooner left NILO than the General Quarters siren went off. Loudspeakers blared, “Sappers in the water.” They were under attack.

God, thought Gene, running for his 60, nowhere’s safe. If Solid Anchor and the Seabees weren’t under attack, Seafloat was.

People ran everywhere. Pilots, scrambling their Sea Wolves, avoided the MSSC and riverboat personnel trying to get their boats launched, while floodlights searched the waters. Exploding concussion grenades pocked the river with geysers. SEALs and Seafloat personnel scanned the river, trying to spot the swimmers and take them under fire.

When a searchlight caught one, Gene, with the others, opened up. The sappers were coming in from the east, using the swift river current to swim in. The night came alive with firing. Lights caught one sapper after another, and the boats dropped grenades. Three dead bodies floated nearby. Gene watched one of them sink before the boats could pick it up.

“Probably carrying the explosives,” he said to Cruz about the one that sank. “Air bags probably hit, and the explosives went down with him.”

“Way the tide’s going out, he might not surface until he hits the ocean,” Cruz said.

Gene studied the river’s surface intently, but saw no more swimmers. After an hour without further contact, the CO came back to Seafloat and ordered GQ secured. Gene looked at the man with disgust. Seafloat’s commanding officer, a full bird captain, was always the first to leave, on the closest riverboat, when they came under attack.

Like the rest, Gene was still tense and nervous. It was hard to relax after an attack, and it was 0500 hours before the last of them hit the rack.

When Gene woke, Hotel Platoon had arrived and was settling in. He was astounded to see his former instructor, Tommy Blade, among them. Couldn’t miss him. He was six five and 250 pounds of the meanest-looking black man ever to be a SEAL. Gene had been scared to death of him in training, and so had the rest of the SEALs.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Gene asked after making his way to Tommy. “I thought you were still at Basic Underwater Demolition/SEAL training.”

Tommy smiled slightly. “Left BUD/S and went back to SEAL Team One about two months ago. Asked for Hotel Platoon.”

Gene frowned. “How many trips over here is this for you?”

“Seven.” He tossed a bag on his rack. “Got to get set, Gene. See you later?”

“I’ll look forward to it.” He walked away, seven going through his mind. The seventh tour was considered the death tour. Teammates who’d made a seventh tour to this godforsaken hellhole—not many did—went home either shot up or in a body bag. Seven was just an unlucky number for SEALs in regards to tours.

He took a PBR out of the icebox as he passed. He couldn’t imagine making seven tours. If he played things right, he’d make only one. If he even got home.

Alex came around the corner of Gene’s rack. “We have to muster for the work crew, to unload the supply boat.”

“Hell.” The only consolation was that the supply boat would have the mail. With the rest of the squad, Gene mustered outside for the work crew.

It was steaming hot, and he was in a foul mood until he saw Jim. For somebody with such a boyish face, he sure had an evil grin.

“You-O,” said Jim, “I want you to get a Whaler and two other men, and go to the other side of the supply ship and wait. The rest of you will go aboard. I’ve volunteered you to unload the crates of beer, Coke, 7Up, orange, and so on.”

They formed a line. As each case came down, it passed from man to man, off the boat, to supply personnel. Until it came to the beer. For every case of beer that reached the dock, the SEALs dropped a case, twenty feet down, to Cruz, Alex, and Roland, waiting in the Whaler. When the boat was full, they took off.

“Take a break,” Jim ordered.

Gene lit a cigarette, relaxed, and exchanged ‘grins with the others. When Jim saw that Cruz had unloaded the Whaler, and was back in position, he ordered them to start working again.

Finally the supply boat was empty. Everybody went back to the hootch to wait for mail call.

Gene was on his bunk when Cruz walked in and gave Jim a thumbs-up. Everything was hidden. If anybody could stow that much beer, it was You-O.

Doc came in with mail and the packages from home. Back up on his rack, Gene counted eleven letters along with his two packages. The first thing he always did was order the letters by postal date. They could be up to six weeks old by the time they got to him, and he wanted them in order so he could make sense of what Karen wrote. In the days and weeks ahead, he would spend hours reading them over and over.

He started opening the packages, hoping she’d received his request for chocolate chip cookies and tuna. Sure enough, she had, and there was a note saying she’d sent what she could. He knew that. Knew that on his pay, which wasn’t much, Karen had sent more than she could afford. If he hadn’t been drawing combat pay, plus hazardous-duty pay for jump and demo, tax free, he didn’t think they’d be able to survive. I love you, he thought.

His mouth was full of chocolate chip cookie when somebody started banging on the hootch door, next to the head of his rack. It turned out to be Seafloat’s CO, and he’d brought two other officers with him. The CO didn’t enter. Instead, he sent the officers in to ask for Jim.

“The skipper would like to speak with you,” they told him. “Would you please step outside?”

It was easy to hear through the plywood walls. Gene and the rest of the squad listened as the CO accused them of stealing beer.

“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about,” Jim said. “Go ahead. Check it out.”

As the two officers reentered the hootch to search, Gene listened and ate cookies, sitting cross-legged atop his bunk.

“Maybe they didn’t give you the full order,” Jim was saying. “Maybe somebody in supply took it. Have you checked them yet?”

“Your men unloaded.” The CO’s voice rose. “Your guys stole that beer.”

Gene watched the two officers leave.

“It’s clean, sir,” he heard one of them report.

“Fifty-eight cases can’t just disappear,” the CO said. “If I find out you or your men were involved,” he said to Jim, “there’ll be hell to pay.”

Back inside, Jim grinned, shook his head, and flashed a quick thumbs-up at Cruz.

“By the way,” Cruz said to him, his grin even wider, “I believe you owe me some cookies if you got some in one of those packages.”

Gene laughed, looked up, and saw Marc Kenau about to walk past. “Hey, Marc. Can I have a few minutes with you?”

“Have more than a few, if I can have a couple of those.”

Gene held out the box of cookies. “Sure.”

Marc took two and put a whole one in his mouth.

“Listen,” Gene said, “I’d like to use you in a psy-op I want to run on the old man.”

Marc, chewing, listened, his startling light blue eyes bright and intent. When Gene finished, he answered, “Sure, brother. You’re the only one I’d trust to do it. What time?”

“Tonight.” Gene checked his watch. “Between 2300 and 2400 hours.”

“I’ll be there,” Marc said.

They’d run out of JD, but they now had plenty of beer. Gene proceeded to give Raggedy his fill, wanting him drunk enough to bite, and to take what he saw back to Twin Rivers.

“Evening chow’s coming up,” Brian said as Gene gave more beer to the old man. “Gonna have steaks, fresh vegetables, real potatoes—not instant—and even ice cream. Pass the word that it’s one steak per man to start. Then, after everybody has one, we can have another if there are any left. I want to take Raggedy.”

“Sure,” Gene said. “This is his last meal with us. I’m glad it will be a good one.”

“Just in the last two days, he’s looked better, and I think he’s even put on a few pounds.” Brian patted the old man on the shoulder and told him, “You’re in for a treat.”

Raggedy smiled and nodded for all he was worth.

The treat for Gene was seeing Tommy Blade again.

“Gene, I’m proud of you,” Tommy suddenly commented. “I hear you’re one helluva operator.”

“Thanks, Tommy. Coming from you, that’s quite an honor, but I have you to thank for my training.” Curious, he added, “Why did you keep me?”

Tommy looked around. The nearby tables were deserted. “I saw, in you, a whole lot of me. When you wanted to quit, it wasn’t because you couldn’t handle it. You just couldn’t see the reason for the exercise.”

The exercise had been a bitch. Even now Gene wouldn’t want to repeat it. They’d staggered up on the beach next to the mud flats after a six-hour ocean swim, shaking with cold, and so weary they couldn’t even talk. And that’s when Tommy’d ordered them to do headstands in the mud. He’d sunk in to his neck. He’d scraped mud away from his eyes and out of his ears, gasping for breath. And Tommy’d ordered them to do a repeat, before sending them back into the ocean to wash off.

“Remember, you waited until it was over. You completed everything.” Tommy rubbed the back of his neck. “I couldn’t tell you why, at that time. You showed guts, then reason, and only wanted an explanation.”

Gene was quiet, remembering how upset he’d been. He’d spent plenty of time in Vietnam’s mud since. Nothing here could match the mudflats during training.

“You’ve made me proud to be your teacher,” Tommy continued. “You’ve got one helluva reputation going on down here. I was right in keeping you.”

“Tommy,” Gene said, “let me buy you a beer.”

“Absolutely,” said Tommy.

Walking out, he added, “Gene, I’ve asked for you to take my place for a few days during Hotel’s break-in op. You know the area, you’re good, and, like me, you carry the 60. Jim said it was okay, if you agreed.”

“Sure, Tommy. Anything you want.”

“You love to operate.”

“Yeah.”

Over beer, Gene learned that Tommy was leaving for Saigon to take the chiefs test—the reason he’d asked him to substitute. All new platoons were taken out by a platoon member who knew the area and sounds, the hot spots and so on. Most of the men were new, just out of training, but three or four had prior tours. Things changed so fast, though, and several years might have passed since the priors’ tours.

“What’s that smell?” somebody asked as they walked back to their hootches.

A rotten, foul smell was coming from the east side of Seafloat. Gene’s nose crinkled. It really stank.

“That’s a floater,” Tommy said.

He’d know, Gene thought, after being here six times.

They went to see if a body from the sapper attack had floated in between the barges that made up Seafloat. A couple of hours of daylight were left, so they’d be able to spot it if there was one. It wouldn’t take long in the water, with the heat, for a body to bloat.

Standing at the edge, near Jim and Delta’s Chris, they looked. Nothing.

Jim and Chris ordered two men to put on scuba tanks and check under the barges. Alex and Roland got tanks, put on masks and fins, took flashlights, and went into the river. From Delta, Marc and Steve Mansen did the same, on the west side of Seafloat.

Gene coughed, and almost gagged at the same time, from the stench. Beside him, Tommy breathed through his mouth rather than his nose. Not five minutes had passed before Alex and Roland came up.

“We’ve found a body under our hootch,” Roland yelled.

Before Jim replied, he gave three hard raps on the other deck, bringing up the divers under Hotel’s hootch to tell them.

Gene waited for the four divers to bring the swollen corpse to the surface. It had to be pulled down first, then over to the side, and up. Visibility would be nonexistent under there, so they’d have to do it by touch. After another five minutes, up it popped.

“You-O,” Jim ordered, “get a Whaler and a line, and take the body to the south shore.”

“There’s something else under there,” Marc called, “and it’s not a stiff.”

“Find out what it is,” Chris ordered, knowing the divers had a good twenty minutes of air left in their tanks.

They dove. Time passed.

Gene looked at his watch. Twenty minutes almost gone. Long time down in the dark. But not as dark as the ocean. Not as cold and dangerous either.

He and Tommy exchanged glances. Finally heads broke water and a large, block-shaped object was handed up to them. Carefully they laid it down on deck. Jim knelt and cut open a corner of the wrapping.

Gene stared, horrified. Behind him, he heard the gathered SEALs’ “Oh, shit” at the sight of the huge block of C-4 plastic explosive. All of them backed away.

“Call in Explosives Ordinance Disposal,” Jim ordered.

EOD had to come. SEALs knew explosives, but were trained in setting them, blowing things up, not disarming them. That was EOD’s job. Anytime the SEALs did any disarming, they did it by blowing up the explosive in place.

EOD flew in about an hour and a half later, took the charge apart, and defused the device. “You were lucky,” they said. “There were pencil fuses on it and they were fired. Only a faulty wire kept the whole two hundred and twelve pounds from detonating.”

Holy shit, Gene thought. That was enough to blow up half of Seafloat, and any boats next to it, to hell and back. If the sappers had placed the charge at the other end, where the fuel and ammo were, Seafloat would have left the map.

“They must really want you guys bad,” the wiry EOD man said. “They knew what they were doing. You SEALs were their target. Cover your asses.”