One Man's War (11 page)

“Don't we all,” Gib said softly. “Pete might be over at the O club, Tess. That's where we go after a bad mission—to drown the pain in alcohol. And don't go giving me that look. I do it, too.”

“I hate this damned war, Gib! We're pawns of two governments who both think they know what's best for Vietnam. Why don't they ask the people?”

“Take it easy, baby sis,” Gib soothed, getting up. He came around the desk and placed his arm around her, then led her toward the door. “Look, this has been a shock to you, too. Why don't you go back to Da Nang? Take a nice, long shower and try to forget what happened here. You're looking pretty frayed.”

Tess leaned wearily against her older brother. Gib had always been the strong one for the entire Ramsey clan. She allowed him to lead her out of the tent and into the darkness. He closed the door behind them, and they were alone. When he offered her the solace of his embrace, she stepped into the circle of his arms.

“I'm so scared, Gib,” she moaned, burying her face in the folds of his damp flight suit. “I'm scared for all of us...but especially for Pete.”

He squeezed her gently. “Does this guy mean something special to you?”

Tess nodded. “You know how long he's been chasing me and how long I've been telling him no. He just won't take no for an answer, Gib. I—I guess this crash showed me my real feelings.”

Gib pressed a kiss to her hair. “Be careful, baby sis. Mallory's got some serious problems.” He gazed down at her shadowed face and huge, pain-filled eyes. “I've seen him break too many women's hearts already. I don't want that to happen to you.”

Sniffing, Tess forced back her tears for Pete. “You're right. But it isn't like he hasn't warned me, Gib.”

With a sigh, Gib released her and gave her a worried look. “Every time a woman gets serious about him, he abandons her.”

Tess stood there, her brother's strength a bulwark for her. “Just like his mother abandoned him.”

“What?”

“...Nothing. Just something Pete told me. It might be a key to why he is that way, that's all.”

“You're looking tired, Tess. It's been one hell of a day on everyone.”

Tess nodded. She reached up and placed a kiss on Gib's scratchy cheek. “How are you and Dany Villard coming along?”

It was his turn to shrug. “I don't know. I know where I want it to go, but she's frightened, and she's got other issues staring her in the face.” He smiled tiredly. “Nobody said loving someone was easy, did they?”

Tess knew all too well what Gib meant. What she felt for Pete deep within her heart was much more than friendship. But was it love? Did she dare call it that? Or was it the war overdramatizing her and everyone else's fragmented emotions, extruding them to some invisible breaking point where the only option was to reach out to another human being for support and stability? To reach out for sanity's sake? “No,” Tess finally said, “love is never easy.”

Gib snorted softly and placed his hands on his narrow hips as he studied the star-studded sky above them. “I remember Pete telling me one time that falling in love was like a shadow on the sky.”

“What an odd thing to say,” Tess murmured. “What did he mean by that, Gib?”

“I dunno. He muttered something about love being like a shadow in his life, blotting out the sun. I guess he sees love like a bad stain.” He smiled slightly. “Pete's a man who lives, eats and breathes flying, Tess. So he sees everything in terms of the sky, I guess. It's where he feels safest, feels strong.” With a shake of his head, Gib put his hand on the doorknob. “I've heard of love being a lot of things, but never a shadow on the sky.”

Once again Tess felt anguish. “I understand what he meant,” she said, her voice roughened with unshed tears. “And it makes sense.”

Gib gave her a pat on the shoulder. “Glad it does to you, because frankly, love to me is the sunshine, not the shadow. Get some sleep, Tess. I'll see you tomorrow night?”

“Yes...I'll come in tomorrow night,” she promised, and melted into the darkness. Pete's analogy of love spun in Tess's mind. Right now, she knew he needed someone to talk to, to share the horror of what had happened today. Grimly she headed toward the officers club in the distance. Maybe she'd find Pete there, and they could talk. Maybe.

* * *

With a groan, Pete opened his eyes. It was morning, and the sunlight was pouring through his tent flaps. His head felt like it was about to split open, and he was sweating freely in the humidity. He turned over and discovered he was still in his flight suit and boots. Rubbing his face, he slowly made it to a sitting position, squinting in the bright light. Over the next half hour, bits and pieces came floating back to his groggy senses. A couple of his buddies had helped carry him back to the tent long after he'd drowned himself in Johnnie Walker Red. He'd blacked out on the cot, and that was the last thing he remembered.

Yesterday his stomach had been clenched like a painful fist, but Pete felt nothing there now. There was a sense of safety in feeling nothing at all, and he closed his eyes, a sigh escaping from his lips. What day was it? He looked at the Playboy calendar taped to his locker. Well, they sure as hell wouldn't schedule him to fly a day after the crash. Good, he wouldn't fly today. And then the scenes of the rocket attack slowly encroached upon his spongy mind.

Joe...how was Joe, his copilot? The kid was just out of marine OCS and navy flight school, and he loved to fly as much as Pete did. Had he made it through surgery?

And Jerry? What about his gunner? God, Random had been assigned to him a year before he'd shipped over with the squadron to Marble Mountain. The lance corporal was a good marine who was gung ho and fiercely loyal. Before he'd shipped to Nam, Jerry had become engaged to be married to Maria back in New York. How many times had Random showed him a picture of that good-looking Italian chick he was going to tie the knot with?

“Damn it,” Pete rasped, rubbing his face. He had to get over to the MASH unit and find out how his crew was doing after surgery. Guilt shredded through him as he slowly got to his feet. He should have checked on them last night. The pain in his head increased tenfold. No matter how rotten he felt, he had to make it over to the MASH unit. His crew needed to know he cared. Men stuck together in times of crisis. They didn't abandon one another.

Fumbling for and finding his utility cap, Pete settled it on his aching head. Putting on his aviator glasses to protect his sensitive eyes from the brutal sunlight, he staggered out the tent door. His crew needed to know he was there for them. Men stuck together.

* * *

“I'm sorry,” the nurse at the entrance desk said, “neither of your crew made it out of surgery, Captain Mallory.”

Pete stood thunderstruck. He stared at her, open-mouthed. “But—”

“They're dead,” she said as gently as possible. “The body bags are already over at—”

“No!” The cry lurched from his constricted throat. Dazed, Pete turned and ran out of the tent. Back out in the sunlight, he stumbled to a halt. His chest hurt, his eyes burned and he felt a scream clawing up through him, one that demanded to be released. He wavered, both hands pressed against his chest as he tried to absorb the nurse's words, absorb the reality of war. Joe and Jerry were dead. And he was still alive to remember what had happened, how they'd lost their young lives.

Whirling around, Pete moved drunkenly down the flight line toward the nearby beaches. They would be devoid of people, and he needed to be alone. This time he couldn't escape the pain. This time he couldn't go far enough, fast enough, to escape the terrible anguish exploding deep inside him.

Tess's image hovered before his eyes. Tess, who was strong and vulnerable at the same time. As he ran, the humid wind tearing at him, Pete knew he had to see her soon. Somehow, only Tess could protect him against these terrible, overwhelming feelings.

* * *

Tess thanked the jeep driver who had given her a lift to her tent from the convoy staging area. The evening was beautiful as she stood outside the tents, looking up at the sky. Lavender and gold stained the horizon, although the serene beauty was ruined by jets taking off and the whap, whap, whap of helicopter blades cutting into the dusk around her. As she trudged into her tent, she worried how Pete was getting along.

Last night she'd gone to the officers club only to discover that he wasn't there. Some of Pete's buddies told her they'd carried him back to his quarters after he'd drank himself into a stupor. As much as she'd wanted to see him, Tess knew it was stupid to try under the circumstances. Early this morning, she'd hitched a ride back out to Le My, and had worked steadily through the day. But not an hour went by that she didn't think of Pete—of the pain he carried over the death of his friends. Tess had gone back to the MASH unit last night, only to find that neither Joe nor Jerry had made it. The discovery had strengthened her realization about how tenuous a hold a person had on life. By the grace of God, Pete had escaped most of the injury. But it could just as easily have been him, Tess acknowledged.

In her tent, she changed into a light cotton wrap and went to take a shower. She had promised to meet Gib for dinner at the officers club at 1800. Yesterday's crash had made her realize that even her brother, whom she loved with a fierceness that defied description, was vulnerable to being shot down.

Tess changed into a light blue cotton skirt that nearly brushed her ankles, a pair of sandals and a simple white cotton blouse with short puffed sleeves. Her mind, and if she admitted it to herself, her heart, were really centered on Pete. Perhaps after dinner she could hunt him down and talk with him—see how he was handling the deaths of his friends and coping with the crash.

Pete Mallory was sitting at the officers club bar when he saw Tess step through the door of the large tent facility. The shot of Johnnie Walker Red hesitated midway to his lips. His heart thudded powerfully in his chest as she stood there uncertainly, as if looking for someone. Him? He tipped his head back, gulped down the whiskey, and placed the shot glass on the varnished plywood surface. Tossing piasters to the Vietnamese bartender, he slid off the stool. The bar was always filled with off-duty marine officers, plenty of Vietnamese bar girls in skimpy miniskirts, loud music and thick clouds of cigarette smoke. The overall odor was a mixture of alcohol and cigarettes, something Pete could tolerate over the memory of other smells that haunted him.

He went to intercept Tess, who stood uncertainly, holding a small leather purse. A huge part of him reached out toward her. His gaze stripped her, and he felt like a starving, predatory wolf devouring her simple beauty with his eyes. What he really wanted—needed—was to bury himself in her warm, loving arms.

“Well, if it isn't my favorite lady,” he teased.

Tess whirled to her right at the sound of his voice. “Pete!” She quickly looked him over, her heart beginning to hammer. He was in his wrinkled green flight suit and black boots, the garrison cap tucked beneath one shoulder epaulet. It was his face, the terror lurking in the depths of his blue eyes, that shattered her heart. His skin was pale and beaded with sweat, his mouth drawn into a smile that didn't reach those tortured eyes.

“The one and only. Lady,” he whispered as he gripped her by the shoulders, “you look good enough to eat. Come here, give your favorite pilot a kiss.”

The odor of whiskey assailed Tess as Pete pulled her toward him. “Pete...no!” She placed both her hands against his chest to stop him. “You're drunk!”

Pete's grin grew. “Me? Drunk? No, honey, not drunk, just forgetting a few things. Come on, how about that kiss? The last one wasn't so bad, was it?”

Heat flew to Tess's face and she struggled out of his grip. “Pete, get ahold of yourself, will you?”

Confused, Pete cocked his head in her direction. “I thought you wanted me.”

Tess looked around, afraid someone would overhear their conversation. “Pete, straighten up! You're drunker than a skunk, and I've got no intention of kissing you in this condition!”

Hurt, he muttered, “Well, I just thought you'd be glad to see me. I'm glad to see you.”

Tess couldn't stand the hurt-puppy-dog look he gave her. He certainly knew how to manipulate her emotionally. Gripping his arm, Tess turned toward the dining room. She was a bit early for dinner with Gib, so she hauled Pete along with her.

“Come on, mister. There are only two things you're getting from me: hot black coffee and some food in that gut of yours. And don't you dare fight me on this, Pete! Don't you dare!”

He gave her a loose grin and shrugged. “Far be it from me to say no to a lady.”

The hostess gave Tess a table in a corner away from most of the other patrons. Tess ordered coffee and hamburgers for both of them, then, after the waitress left, she turned grimly to Pete, who sat at her elbow, the same silly smile on his features.

“You're drunk.”

“Naw, I'm not drunk, honey.”

“Have you been drinking since yesterday night?”

With a shrug, Pete muttered, “No. I got up this morning and...well, I started drinking late this afternoon.” He looked blearily at the watch on his right wrist. “About an hour ago, honey, so don't look so upset. I drink every night. Everyone does.”

Her heart wrung with compassion for Pete, but Tess was angry with him, too. “You've been through a lot the last couple of days,” she said softly. And then the anger leaked through. “Drinking is just another form of escape, Pete.” And there was no doubt he was trying to hide.

Pete held the beaded, cool glass of water between his trembling fingers. Maybe they wouldn't shake as much if he held onto something, he thought. “In this business, it's a healthy thing to do,” he said stubbornly.