Men in Green Faces (40 page)

He hugged her, kissed her on the forehead, then turned to Truk. “You keep your ass down while I’m gone. Leave the fighting to the young men, and keep your village together.”

Outside, as he walked to the Whaler, Truk’s children ran beside him, asking to be swung around. He hugged each one, then pushed the Whaler off the bank to head back. “Sleep peaceful tonight,” he called to them, “and dream of magical things. For tonight, you’re safe.”

He went to bed early, thinking that when he woke up, he’d have only one more night on Seafloat. The ops were truly over. He closed his eyes, hoping to dream of green fields, wild flowers, family picnics under big oak trees, and children singing.

In the morning, he woke from a nightmare—sappers floating down the Son Ku Lon, Seafloat going up high-order in explosions and flames, the squad dead, blood everywhere, and he longed to begin the trip back to The World.

The last day flew by. Everything seemed to pick up speed. Jim pulled him aside in the late afternoon.

“Congratulations,” he said, and shook his hand.

“What for?”

“You were put in, and have been accepted, for Combat Military Advisory status. When we get home, you’ll go through SEAL Advanced Training for SEAL Military Advisors.”

Gene was speechless. People needed four to six tours before they could get into SAT. It was the elite of the elite. “You’re kidding!”

“Nope,” Jim said, shaking his head. “And I’ll be going through it with you. Now, let’s go get something to eat.”

After evening chow, the squad went to the movie.
True Grit
again. When it ended, they played a last game of poker and hit their racks at two in the morning. The choppers were due in at 0600 to fly them out.

It was 0530 hours when Johnny woke them. “Everybody up. Time to hit it, guys. Your birds are waiting.”

Without a word, they rose, dressed, and carried their footlockers to the helo pads. An Army chopper would carry the lockers. Sea Wolves would carry the SEALs.

They were warming up their engines when the time came to say good-bye to Johnny. “I’ll take you out for dinner forty-five days from now, when you get home,” Gene promised. He turned then to Tommy, standing a little apart.

“What can I say? You taught me well. It was an honor to have been at your side in combat.” He studied Tommy’s face a moment. His seventh tour…“Take care, my friend, my teacher. God be with you.” He took a step back, stood tall, and saluted.

Without a word, Tommy came to attention and snapped one back in return.

The salute told Gene, the way no words could, that Tommy was proud of him. Prouder than even a father could be, because Tommy knew what they’d each endured.

He turned and ran to the waiting helicopter. Jim was right behind him.

“Got everyone?” he asked.

“Head count,” Doc yelled.

Each man sounded off.

“Let’s go,” Jim called to the pilots, and gave a thumbs-up signal.

The Wolves lifted off and circled for the last time. They were headed north, first to Binh Thuy, then Saigon, then The World.

Five thousand feet below, Vietnam, with its bloody miles of death hidden, was beautiful with the thousands of rivers, the rice paddies, the jungle. There were rainstorms off in the distance.

Sitting in the doorway, legs dangling, the jungle rolled away behind him, and Gene watched Seafloat disappear. The last thing he could see was the American flag flying above the triple-canopy jungle.

Three weeks after returning to the United States, Gene Michaels, in a full dress uniform, was ceremoniously awarded the Bronze Star and the Silver Star medals, and two Vietnamese Crosses of Gallantry, to become one of the nation’s highest decorated SEALs. Five months later, he began his second tour in Vietnam.

This novel is a work of fiction. All of the events, characters, names and places depicted in this novel are entirely fictitious or are used fictitiously. No representation that any statement made in this novel is true or that any incident in this novel actually occurred is intended or should be inferred by the reader.

MEN IN GREEN FACES

Copyright © 1992 by Gene Wentz and Betty Abell Jurus.

First ebook edition: August 2011

www.GeneWentz.com