the Last Run (1987) (14 page)

Chapter 7

6 September

Cam Tiem Mountains

Matt Wade awoke to the woman's gende breathing. She had snuggled close to him and was sleeping peacefully. He shut his eyes to block out the morning's dim light, trying to absorb her softness and warmth a litde more. She smelled of damp clothes, but it was wonderful to have her so close. He'd made love to many women but had never slept a whole night with one.

He savored her body a minute longer, then shook her gendy. She only moaned and snuggled closer.

"Come on, we gotta move." He leaned forward and tried to stand.

"All right, already. I'm up, I'm up." She sat up and patted her hair cautiously. Wade walked behind a tree and relieved himself as she slowly stood and tried to stretch her sore muscles.

"I've never ached so bad in all my life," she whispered, as she went behind a boulder and unzipped her jumpsuit.

Wade heard a muffled shriek and pulled his pistol. He ran to the boulder and cocked the hammer back. Taking a deep breath, he jumped clear, ready to fire.

Viiginia stood with her jumpsuit around her ankles, biting her hand and trying not to scream. She saw him and pleaded in terror, "Get it off. . . get it off me, please!"

Perplexed, Wade lowered the pistol. "What's wrong?"

She shut her eyes and bowed her shaking legs like a chapped cowboy.

Wade sighed and holstered the pistol. A leech was attached to her inner thigh, close to the edge of her lace panties. "I gotta get some matches."

She immediately opened her eyes. "No! Don't go."

Wade returned seconds later and knelt down in front of her smooth, quivering stomach. He struck a match and let it burn a few seconds, then blew it out and tried to touch the hot end to the corpulent parasite, but the woman was shaking so badly he couldn't touch it long enough to work. "Hurry!" she shrieked.

"Quit shaking, damn it."

He held her waist and placed his head on her navel to try and stop her shaking. She grabbed his head, digging in her fingernails in desperation. Wade lit another match, trying to control his own quivering hand. The feeling of her velvety skin on his forehead and the profusion of dark pubic hair spilling out from the bikini panties was unnerving. He blew out the match and held her tighter as he touched the hot match head to the bloated leech. The parasite shuddered and fell off.

"There, it's gone."

She immediately shoved him back and grabbed for her jumpsuit. Wade sighed and took out another match. "Better hold up, you gotta 'nother one under your arm."

She shrieked, dropping the material as if it was on fire, and threw her arms up, shuddering uncontrollably. "Get it off me! Oh, God, please get it off. Pleeease!"

Wade stood and circled her, inspecting for more, unable to keep from noticing that her ample breasts were as rigid as rocks. He again held her waist and pulled her to him to stop her shaking. It took two tries but the leech finally succumbed.

He backed away. "You can pull up your drawers now."

She glared at him as if wanting to kill and pulled up her suit.

"You took long enough!"

Wade met her glare with a disgusted sigh and spun around. He unbuttoned his shirt as he walked to his vest and found two of the gray bloodsuckers on his right side. He lit matches but their position was awkward to reach with his sore arm.

The woman stomped over to him and grabbed the matches away. "Bend over," she commanded.

Wade looked into her angry eyes and reluctandy began to stoop over. She dispatched both quickly and slapped his buttocks. "Now the pants, Mister."

He stood abrupdy and grabbed the matches. "Not on your life."

"Fair is fair, Wade," she snapped.

"You wear underwear, lady, I don't. I'll check myself out."

Her face showed no surprise, just anger. "Wade, you, you ..." She couldn't find the woixis for her humiliation. "You bastard!"

Wade picked up his vest. "South is that way. I'm leaving in one minute. You can follow me or you can go on your own. I don't give a damn either way."

She saw in his eyes he meant exacdy what he said, making her even more angry. No man had ever looked at her with such disdain before. She controlled her desire to slap him and turned to pick up her vest, knowing she had to follow.

Wade removed the partially filled survival water bag from his vest, took a long drink, then offered her one.

She pointedly reached for her own water bag. It was empty.

Wade still held his out with a condescending grin. She snatched it from his hands. "What about food? Surely you could find some roots or something?"

Wade shook his head, mumbling, and began walking.

"I'm starved, Wade!"

He kept walking and disappeared over the crest.

"Damn you," she whispered, and hurried to catch up.

An Khe Ranger Base Camp

Major Ed Shane pushed open his hootch door and stepped out into the cool morning air. He'd gotten up early to inspect the troop barracks and company area while his men still slept. He gazed down the gendy descending hill to the barracks and began to take a step, then stopped abrupdy.

From the corner of his eye he saw a strange shape, and turned. A figure was rolled up in a poncho beside one of the rooms. "What the . . . ?" He marched over and tapped the sleeping figure with his foot.

Lieutenant Gibson threw back the poncho and grabbed for a nonexistent rifle.

"Whoa, L-tee, it's just me."

Gibson sprang to his feet, wearing only boots and fatigue pants. He'd used his shirt for a pillow. "Damn, sir, you scared the hell outta me. I guess I was really out of it."

"Why are you sleeping out here, for Christ's sake?"

"The door was locked, sir. I tried knocking, but... "

Shane's eyes narrowed, and he pounded on die door, waited a few seconds, and pounded again.

Lieutenant Dickey opened the door, yawning, wearing light blue pajama bottoms. Seeing the major, he stiffened immediately. "Sir?"

"You didn't hear knocking last night?"

Dickey's eyes shifted to the bare-chested soldier, then back to Shane. "No sir. Did someone knock?"

Shane eyed the tall officer suspiciously. "Dickey, if you sleep that soundly, you'd better find yourself another profession . . . and get rid of those damned PJs! You'd look like an ass running to a bunker if we got mortared."

Dickey shrugged his shoulders. "Sir, my stereo must have covered the noise. I'll keep it turned down from now on."

Shane stared at the lieutenant, thinking to himself: He should never have given me an excuse. I hate excuses. That's strike one.

The major motioned to Gibson. "Get our new L-tee squared away, Dickey. Show him the shower point and then the camp. And remember my meeting at 0800."

Dickey began to say "Yes, sir" but Shane had turned around and headed for the troop barracks.

Dickey rolled his eyes and stepped out the door. "Toss your stuff in the corner, cherry. I'll divvy up the room later."

Gibson stepped closer to the taller officer as he put on his shirt. 66What did you call me?"

"Cherry. All newbies are called ..."

Gibson raised his hand abrupdy. "First, I'm not a cherry. Second, I heard you turn on your music after I knocked. I was going to pound your damn door in but had already laid out my gear and decided to give you the benefit of the doubt. . . until now. I don't know what your problem is, but don't screw with me."

Dickey raised his head arrogantly. "I don't have a problem. I told you and the major what happened."

Gibson shook his head in silence. He'd seen Dickey's type before and knew argument was useless.

Dickey opened the door wide. "I'll be dressed in a few minutes and show you the camp."

As he began picking up his poncho liner, Gibson wondered if he'd made another mistake in coming to the Rangers. The door next to Dickey's opened and out stepped a short, stocky soldier who looked like "Mr. Clean." Gibson couldn't help but stare at the shaven-headed officer as he approached with an extended hand and a huge grin.

"Howdy, cousin, I'm Brad Avant, First Platoon leader. I couldn't help but hear y'all. I'd be tickled ta show ya 'round Rangerland."

Gibson wasn't sure how to take the silly grin and cracker drawl, but he shook hands. "J. D. Gibson. Thanks for the offer, but Major Shane told Dickey to take ..."

Avant shook his head dramatically, stopping Gibson in mid- sentence. "No, no, no. I, the resident Welcome Wagon host, must have the honors." Avant lowered his voice. "Plus, Dickey is an asshole, and it wouldn't do for the men to see you with him."

Gibson eyed Avant. He still wasn't able to figure him out, although Gibson prided himself in making snap judgments based on appearance and brief conversation. Avant went from exaggerated drawl to perfect pronunciation all in the same sentence. And his humor and last direct statement didn't jibe. It was as if there were two different men talking out of the same mouth.

Avant winked. "I know what you're thinkin', cousin, but don't worry none. I ain't crazy. I'm your new best friend. Believe me."

Gibson looked into die eyes of the officer and suddenly felt a strange warmth for him. He couldn't put his finger on it, but he felt Avant was right.

Avant broke into an even wider smile, as if reading his mind, and backed away, pointing at Gibson's patches. "Mercy sakes, but we have a gen-u-wine veteran from the 173rd. Man, do we need your experience. Where'd ya go to school?"

"Texas A&M. How 'bout you?"

' 'North Georgia Military, then on to law at Emory in Adanta."

"How come you're in the ... "

"Infantry?" helped Avant. "I didn't finish law school. Ya see, cousin, I done seen the light one night. The light spoke ta me and said, 'Boy, you've been a killer since three and a bullshitter since two. Go and be infantry. Go forth and rape, pillage, and plunder fo yo country.' But hell, that's another story. Come on! Get your shaving gear. I'll show ya where we shave, then we'll tour Rangerland."

Ten minutes later, Gibson and Avant had finished shaving and stood on a rise outside the shower building.

"J. D., as you can see, An Khe is one big mama of a base. It takes an hour just to drive around the perimeter. Ya see the big boulder mountain off to our right? That's Hong Kong mountain and the big landmark of An Khe. The actual town is just outside the main gate, but it ain't much to see. Mostly cheap tailors and sleazy bars. Hell, J. D., ya even pay for the clap in them joints."

Avant pointed out the road far below them. "That road leads to the center of the base where the Fourth Infantry Division and a slew of support units are. And, my friend, just below us here is Rangerland."

Gibson followed Avant's hand as he pointed down the grassy slope to the small camp. A dirt road split the camp, with eight small plywood barracks on one side and the single-story headquarters building and sandbagged operations center on the other. Gibson couldn't get over how open the area was. It looked like grazing land on a ranch in Texas rather than a fortress. The terrain was completely void of trees except for a small valley just below the barracks. The only sign that it was in fact a fortified base was across the valley and up a barren hill, where large, wooden observation towers stood.

Avant noticed him looking at the towers. "There is a tower about every five hundred meters, and in front of them is enough concertina wire to go around the world. There's a swath plowed a klick wide all the way around the perimeter and at night it's all lit up like a ball park. Ya see down there? The mess hall is just below the barracks in the valley, and across from it is the Mini- Ranger school. It has a rappeling tower and a couple of shacks used for classrooms."

Avant turned around and pointed at the long, white structure. "That is what we call the motel-and it's where we just came from. It's the officers' and senior NCOs' hootch. Why don't you get your gear and throw it in my room? No use you bunkin' with Dickey."

Gibson frowned, thinking of the earlier encounter with the arrogant officer. "Brad, what's Dickey's problem?"

"Cousin, he's a Yankee. Whaddaya expect? I believe the boy thinks he got commissioned field marshal instead of loo-tenant. He's supposed to be real smart, but looks to me it's book smart, not people smart. He got a real knack for pissin' people off every time he opens his mouth."

Gibson nodded in agreement. "Well, what about the other officers? What're they like?"

"Major Shane is super, I'm super, you're super, Dickey is an asshole, and Foley is okay. Dave Foley is a West Pointer and is the operations officer and acting executive officer. He came in just before I did and seems to have his shit together when it comes to planning and flying missions. He ain't a field soldier, though. He's strictly a staff type. Foley makes no bones about not liking the infantry. He shoulda been an engineer, but the Academy boys was kinda short on grunts. Foley is smart and knows he ain't no John Wayne like us."

Gibson looked at Avant, shaking his head in bewilderment. "What makes you think I'm a John Wayne type? You don't even know me."

Avant threw his arm around Gibson's shoulder and began walking him toward the motel. 44 'Cause, cousin, ya just left the bush and you're still alive. That's pretty damn good credentials. Plus, ol* Brad is a fair judge of character. I got straight As in jury selection. I read people like a book. When I heard you talkin' to Dickey this morning I knew you thought he was an ass. That means you're a pretty good judge of character, too. Face it, cousin, we're alike. A1U gotta do is loosen you up a bit. You ain't smiled since I metcha. The troops gonna think you're a badass that knows it all."