One Man's War (2 page)

Chastened, Pete looked down at himself. He'd paid the Vietnamese maid extra piasters to starch his flight suit so he'd look good for Tess. The odor drifting upward stung his nostrils, and his lips drew away from his gritted teeth.

“What the hell is this smell?”

Giggling, Tess said, “Water buffalo dung, Captain. It's a great fertilizer, didn't you know?” She looked down at herself and then over at her women friends whose faces were wreathed with shy smiles of amusement. Tess loved the Vietnamese earthy sense of humor because it matched hers. “I'm afraid we both look like drowned sewer rats,” she said, laughing. “Would you like to follow me to a nearby stream and wash off some of that fertilizer you're wearing?”

Disgustedly, Pete flipped off several chunks that had lodged in the folds of his flight suit. “I hate this place,” he muttered. “Yeah, let's get the hell out of this sewage pit.”

Laughing fully, Tess ignored the pilot's angry statement. She told the women in Vietnamese to tell the marines on the dike about Oanh and his father, and to make sure they were allowed to return safely from the jungle where they'd been practicing their marksmanship. She didn't want the marines to injure one of the villagers by mistake. The women realized the seriousness of the situation and quickly made their way toward the confused marines still kneeling on the south dike. Tess gazed after them for a moment. She could tell when the marines understood what had taken place, and she watched them sheepishly get to their feet, dust off their clothes and continue their patrol. Satisfied, she began slogging through the paddy toward the dike.

“Here, let me help you,” Pete said as he hurriedly tried to catch up to Tess and help her negotiate the steep dike.

Tess turned and halted. She watched the pilot flail around in the muddy paddy, in danger of losing his precarious balance at any moment. “Captain, take your time. That mud will suck the boots off your feet if you try to go too fast.”

“But you should have help climbing that dike.”

Tess's smile broadened. The pilot continued laboring in the sucking mud for a moment—then promptly lost his balance, falling back into the water. She tried to stop from laughing, but couldn't help herself. His handsome features had gone thundercloud black with disgust and fury as he dragged himself upright again. Tess held out her hand to him.

“Come on, Captain, grip my hand. I'll help
you
out of this paddy before you drown yourself.” His attitude might be surly, but there was nothing not to like about the way he looked, Tess thought. He was more than six feet tall, with a lean, tigerlike body. Tess had to stop and laugh at herself. Some men had interested her, but most of them, upon realizing her independent nature, quickly fled. Still, she told herself as she stood waiting for him, it didn't hurt to appreciate someone of this pilot's bearing.

Spitting and coughing, Pete dodged Tess's long, slender hand. Less than two feet separated them now and he glared at her. Laughter made her eyes sparkle like emeralds struck by sunlight, her red lashes making long curved frames around them. There was such a freshness and sense of joy around her that Pete momentarily forgot some of his own awkwardness at the embarrassing situation.

“Naw, you go on up first,” Pete muttered. Wrinkling his nose at the smell emanating from his wet clothes, he followed her up to the top of the dike.

Tess turned and waited for the lumbering pilot as he slipped and slid his way up the dike wall. She smiled benignly at him and extended her hand. “Put a chopper pilot on the ground and he's like a big, fat goose that's too heavy to fly. I'm Tess Ramsey. Hell of a way to meet, isn't it? Who are you?”

Taken aback by her aura of confidence and her easygoing manner toward him, Pete stared at her proffered hand for a moment. It was reddened and chapped, the nails cut short. Her slender fingers were covered with many small, white scars. Hesitantly, he gripped her hand.

“I'm Captain Pete Mallory. Your brother, Major Ramsey, sent me down here to get you.” He was shocked again by the strength of her returning grip as they shook hands. Tess Ramsey was tall and rawboned, just like her older brother, but it took nothing away from her obvious femininity despite her bedraggled, foul-smelling clothes and her slender, almost boyish figure.

Releasing his hand, Tess nodded. “Rats. That's right, there's a small party at Marble Mountain tonight, isn't there? I'd forgotten all about it.” She saw conflicting emotions in Pete's penetrating blue eyes, and she suddenly had the feeling that he was assessing her as a tiger would its next quarry. More than used to appraisal by the military advisors with whom she worked, Tess didn't take his perusal as an insult. She merely ignored it.

Pete stared at Tess. “You forgot?” Normally, Pete didn't care for women with freckles. And Tess had her share: large copper sprinklings across her high cheekbones and well-defined nose. But on her, they looked like delicious raindrops, merely serving to emphasize her gorgeous eyes and patrician nose. Because she was a redhead, her skin was a pale ivory, and Pete wondered how on earth she managed not to be sunburned by Vietnam's blisteringly hot sun. Maybe that was why she wore that ugly bamboo hat.

With a shrug, Tess turned. “Yes. Tell Gib I can't make it, that I'm sorry. I've got a sick child I'm taking care of right now.”

Flabbergasted, Pete quickly caught up with her. “You can't make it? After all I just went through to get here to pick you up, you can't make it?”

Tess slanted him a glance, more than a little aware of his height compared with her own. Despite his current bedraggled appearance, Pete Mallory
was
a heart stopper. Perhaps it was those cobalt eyes that sparkled with devilry, or the shape of his mouth. With a shrug, Tess tried to shake off the effect the pilot had on her. “That's right. I can't make it, Captain. Gib will understand. He always does.”

Gripping her arm and bringing her to a halt, Pete muttered, “Hey, look, lady,
I
don't understand. I mean, it's not exactly a lot of fun bumping over a ten-mile dirt road to reach this miserable place and then get covered with water buffalo dung to find you. I think you damn well ought to show up after all I've been through.”

A flicker of anger went through Tess. She pulled her arm from his grip. “Captain, I'm staying. Is that clear enough for you?” She turned and continued off the dike onto a well-beaten path that led back to Le My, less than a quarter of a mile away.

Angrily, Pete caught up with her. It was on the tip of his tongue to tell her how bullheaded she was. He'd never met a woman like her before—so damned independent and confident! Her red hair was plastered against her neck and shoulders, and she stank no less than he, yet she carried herself proudly, as if it didn't matter. “You're something else,” he groused. “No girl in her right mind would miss a party.” He gestured to her clothes, which looked like castoffs from the Salvation Army. “And how can you feel good about yourself as a woman running around in these things? I thought US AID advisors had a one-piece khaki uniform they were supposed to wear.”

Tess glanced at him and continued toward the village. “First of all, I don't like being referred to as a girl, Captain. I'm a full-grown woman. Secondly, clothes do
not
make a person what they are.” She grinned slightly, her lips curving into a teasing angle. “Look at you.”

“What do you mean, look at me? What's wrong with the way I'm dressed?” he snapped irritably.

“It's obvious you don't respect the Vietnamese people or me, Captain. Yet, you're dressed impeccably well under the circumstances.”

Stung, Pete glared at her. Damn, but she had a long stride. She didn't even walk like a woman should! He didn't like her candor or the way she saw him, either.

Scrambling to save what little was left of the deteriorating situation, Pete tried another angle. “My friends call me Pete.”

“I'm not your friend, Captain.”

“You can be, if you want. I'd like that.”

“Oh, please! I know your type. You'd be better off chasing some poor Vietnamese bar girl who needs your money to put food in her family's mouths. You forget: I've been over here for fifteen months. I'm on my second tour. There's nothing you marines can put over on me that hasn't been tried by the male military advisors I worked with long before you chopper jockeys landed. So, let's put the games away. I don't play them. Life's too short, too important, to play games.”

“Anyone ever tell you you're outspoken?” Pete demanded hotly.

“Plenty of times.”

“And that doesn't bother you?” he asked, incredulous.

Tess shook her head. “Captain, I'm twenty-six years old and I've kicked around the Far East the last four of those years. There's not much I haven't seen, done or been part of. I'm not your typical American girl out of college, okay? The sooner that fact lodges in that brain of yours, the better we'll get along.”

Pete said nothing more as they walked back to the village. Well, he'd wanted a challenge, and Tess Ramsey was certainly all of that—and more. He thought of giving up. Obviously she could see straight through his usual routine. Then he shook his head. Any woman he'd ever wanted, he'd gotten—it was that simple. He could pursue a girl better than any of his buddies. His reputation was on the line, anyway, because he'd made several bets at the O club last night that he'd bed down Tess Ramsey. Of course, her brother didn't know it. That wouldn't bode well for Pete's career as a helicopter pilot. Besides, Gib Ramsey was a prude in Pete's opinion—a man who didn't chase the bar girls at the O club as most of the pilots did.

Tess led Pete to the back of a large thatched hut—literally, a wooden frame roofed with a blend of dried grass and woven palm leaves. Behind it ran a small stream about four feet deep and six feet wide. She gestured to the water.

“This is where you can clean up. I suggest you strip out of that flight suit, wash it out and put it back on.”

“Hey, wait! Where are you going?”

“To my hut to get cleaned up,” Tess said wryly. There was something vulnerable about Pete Mallory in that moment. It struck Tess acutely, and she mentally assimilated the discovery. For all his macho bravado, suddenly he looked helpless. “When you get washed off, come to my hut. I've got a comb you can use, and some soap, plus a small bowl.”

He grinned suddenly. “Sounds good.”

“That's an invitation to clean up, Captain, not chase me. Okay?”

“Anything the lady wants,” he returned, flipping a smart salute in her direction.

Tess shook her head and turned away.

Things weren't looking too bad despite the embarrassing situation, Pete decided as he stripped out of his smelly flight suit and threw it into the stream. Luckily, he wore a regulation olive green cotton T-shirt and boxer shorts under the suit, but those were going to have to come off, too. The stream was surrounded by tall elephant grass, a profusion of shrubbery and a few rubber trees, so he was relatively hidden from any curious eyes as he stripped naked and stood in the lukewarm water of the clear stream.

Humming to himself and plotting his next strategy, Pete knelt down and began sluicing the clean, clear water over himself. It was hell without a washcloth—more than ever he missed the amenities that Americans back in the States took for granted. Finally cleaned up, he struggled back into his wet clothes and zipped up his flight suit. Running his fingers through his dripping wet hair and pushing it off his brow, Pete turned and walked back into the village.

Damn! He came to a halt, realizing that Tess hadn't told him which hut she was in. He grimaced, taking in the number of thatched dwellings. Just then, a young boy, thin as a proverbial rail, approached him curiously.

“Missy Tess said you come,” the boy said in pidgin English. He gripped Pete's hand and tugged on it.

Extricating his hand from the boy's small, thin one, Pete followed him, whistling cheerfully. Maybe the day wasn't lost after all. Maybe, if he was diligent enough, persuasive enough, he'd talk bullheaded Tess Ramsey into coming to that party tonight—as his date.

T
ess's hut looked like all the rest: woven rice grass hung around the outside of a wooden frame. Carefully woven palm spikes had been thatched to make a thick, impermeable roof to keep the rain at bay during the monsoon season, which would begin shortly. The boy pointed to an opening covered with a faded orange cotton cloth.

“Tess?” Pete called hesitantly at the door.

“Come in.”

He pushed the cloth aside. The three small windows were open to allow air and light into the hut, but he had to stand still for a moment to let his eyes adjust. Tess sat cross-legged on a rice mat with a child in her arms. She had cleaned up and changed out of her black pajama outfit into a pale pink cotton blouse and khaki pants that looked threadbare. Her hair had been washed and brushed, and it lay in damp strands down her back. Long hair meant sweet exploration, Pete thought as he imagined his fingers combing through that rich red, gold and copper carpet. The image sent a sharp shaft of longing through him.

The child in her arms was a little girl, no more than four years old. Frowning, Pete stepped closer.

“What's wrong with her?”

Tess glanced up at him. In the shadowy light, Pete's face showed the first genuine concern she'd seen in him for someone other than himself.

“She stepped on a rusty nail the other day.” Tess ran her hand worriedly down the child's spindly leg to where a dirty bandage covered her small foot. Feeling the child's damp brow, she murmured, “She's running a fever.”

“Has she had a tetanus shot?”

Tess held his troubled stare. Maybe he wasn't as shallow as she'd first thought. Maybe there was a shred of depth and concern for others in his life. Maybe. “What tetanus shot? Captain, out here we don't have such things.” She gently unbandaged the girl's foot. The flesh was red and swollen around the puncture wound.