the Last Run (1987) (22 page)

One soldier stood up. Childs ignored him and kept talking. "And for dessert they got ice cream on top of strawberry shortcake."

Another man stood, then another. Childs glanced around for more and threw his shoulders back. "Everybody shut your eyes and don't open 'em. Shitbirds, this is your last chance. Nobody will see ya. Just get up and move out of the ranks to the back. If there's a doubt in your mind that you might not have it and can't live and stay in the jungle with only six men, this is your chance. Remember, shitbirds, today is the easy day. Tomorrow will be agony, and it ain't gonna get any better."

Seven men got up and joined the others in the back. Childs smiled to himself. He'd bet Major Shane at least eight would be affected by lack of food, even for a day. A man's stomach would always overrule the brain if he let it.

"Open your eyes, shitbirds! It's show time!"

At midnight, Thumper whispered to his group of ten to gather close around him. "Okay, what were the last sounds we heard, Black Eagle?"

"One man walking down the trail going east to west."

"Good. How do you know he was on trail, Woodpecker?"

'There was no noise of branches or vegetation being disturbed.''

"Good. Johnson, was he lookin' for us?"

"Don't think so. He was movin' too quick to be huntin'."

"Right. Shepard, was he wearing boots or Ho Chi sandals? Shepard? Shepard? Somebody wake that son of a bitch and tell him he's out!"

12 September

Childs looked at his watch and raised his whistle to his mouth. Sweeeeeeeeeeeee! It was 0700 hours and time for the road march. The company walked out of the valley like zombies. He'd made sure they hadn't slept by throwing artillery simulators all through the night.

"Move it, shitbirds! You're on my time! Cadre, make sure they're all carrying at least sixty pounds in their rucks. If not, use rocks. Hey, shitbirds, anyone wanna quit?"

Childs halted the company at the twelfth mile of the march. "Five minute break. "

Toward the rear of the strung-out company formation the small Indian, Black Eagle, fell back on his rucksack, exhausted. He shut his eyes, knowing he wouldn't be able to get up and complete the last three miles. He was finished. The past six days of constant running and marching with a heavy pack and litde food or sleep had broken him. He was too tired and sore even to get out of his pack or check his feet. It was over. He had let down his savior and himself. When Childs blew the whistle, he would be out.

"You gonna make it, Preacher?"

Black Eagle opened his eyes slowly. The sweat-soaked man standing over him was leering at him with a cruel grin. It was the tall redhead. Black Eagle lowered his eyes in silence.

"I never thought you'd make it this far. You ain't got it."

Tears trickled down the Indian's face, and he said nothing. Childs blew his whistle and bellowed. "Saddle up and move out\"

Woodpecker chuckled coldly. "This is it, Indian. The white men done whipped your ass again, huh?"

Black Eagle forced his head up. "Go with God, my friend."

"I ain't your friend! Get up or you're out. This is the last march!''

The Indian dropped his head to his chest in silence.

Woodpecker snickered as he began walking. "I knew you wouldn't make it."

Black Eagle shut his eyes to pray for guidance in his defeat, but suddenly was lifted to his feet.

"Damn you, Preacher. You gotta make it so I can beat your ass on the run."

"It's over for me. I haven't the strength to ... "

Woodpecker grabbed his arm roughly and pulled him along. "Not till the fat lady sings, Preacher. Where's that God you talk about? He sure as hell picked a loser in you, didn't he?"

"I cannot. . . "

"Move, damn you! One foot in front of another. Yeah, just like that, one foot in front of the other. Ain't there somethin' in the Bible that says the Lord gives strength to the weary?"

Black Eagle slowed and stared at the redhead. "You know Isaiah?"

Woodpecker pulled him forward again. "Nah, I don't know that shit, but my old lady used to read to me from the book when I was sickly. We didn't have much money. The book medicine was free. What'd Isaiah say?"

Black Eagle lifted his head. " 4He gives strength to the weary, and to him who lacks might. He increases power.

" Though youths grow weary and tired, and vigorous young men stumble badly.

" 'Yet those who wait for the Lord will gain strength; they will mount up with wings like eagles, they will run and not get tired, they will work and not become weary.' "

Woodpecker released the smaller man's arm and walked ahead. He looked over his shoulder. "You're an Eagle, ain't ya?"

Black Eagle bent forward and increased his pace to catch up. "Yes, I am an Eagle, and you are a helper, the Lord sayest. 'And I will ask the Father, and he will give you another helper, that he may be with you forever.' "

Woodpecker set his eyes to the front. "I ain't no helper, Indian. I'm the guy that's gonna whip your ass. Come on, we got some catchin' up to do."

Childs mounted the platform and looked over the gaunt faces of the company. There were only 112 left. Days of eating only two meals and training for fifteen hours had taken its toll. He knew they'd been pushed enough.

"Shitbirds, that was the big cut. We lost twenty-one on the march. There will be no PT tonight or tomorrow. You get a day of rest tomorrow. Get your feet checked and gear cleaned. Do it!"

The unbelieving men didn't move. They knew it had to be a trick of some kind. Childs wouldn't give them a break. It was impossible for him to give any compassion. Childs stepped off the platform and barked over his shoulder, "Move, Shitbirds! Before I change my mind!"

Lieutenant Gibson lifted his head tiredly. "You heard him. Let's move it, maggots."

Avant felt too weak to speak. He merely motioned his men to the barracks. The company dissolved slowly, leaving a single soldier who had fallen to his knees. Black Eagle lifted his arms and looked skyward. He had raised his wings to soar above the pain in his body, to fly with his happy heart above the misery and ache. He chanted the warrior ancestors' song of victory. Before, he had always sang silently. Smaller than most of his red brothers, he was considered weak and his words were not heard. His academic successes and track awards meant nothing to his proud people, who lived in the glory of the past. He had dropped out of Trinity Bible College to become a warrior like his ancestors, for only to the words of a warrior would his people listen.

Today he had fallen in the struggle but was lifted by a warrior of another color, whose spirit had given him renewed strength to win his battle of faith.

Black Eagle knew there would be more battles to fight, but now there was another eagle to soar with him.

Matt Wade sat with his team on the floor of the barracks. As he stretched out his sore legs and leaned back against the wall, Russian's dog, Bitch, pranced over for an approving pat. Wade stroked the small animal's head affectionately. "That was it," he said. "That was the last of Childs's torture chamber. It'll all be downhill from here on out. Childs will ease up on PT so the men can get their strength back and concentrate more on training."

Rose lay back against his bunk. "Good thing, man. I'm as beat as they are, and I didn't even carry a ruck. Man, I looked at a Playboy the other night and pinned up the food advertisements. It ain't right when ya think more about food and sleep than you do poontang."

The dog left Wade and sat on Rose's lap. "Russian, Bitch is fatter than ever. Ain't she in training, too?"

The Russian grunted and snapped his fingers. Bitch came to him immediately. "Litde one is a Ranger, like us."

"Yeah, but we ain't got but two meals a day. How does she rate?"

"The KPs feed her."

Thumper sat up worriedly. "Russian, you'd better watch the dinks around that dog. Rose and I were in Phan Thiet one time and saw this dog get hit by a truck. The Vietnamese had that squashed mongrel hung up and skinned in two seconds. This guy brought out a blowtorch and started cookin' it on the spot. The dinks were crowdin' around all laughing and jumping around like it was Christmastime." Thumper looked at Wade and winked. "Come to think of it, guess who was jumping around with the dinks, waitin' to chow down."

Rose started pushing away from Russian and looking for a fast exit. "Hey Thump, man, I just had a little bite ..."

Russian hugged the dog protectively and snarled at Rose. "You do this?"

"Well, hell, Russian, I just wanted to ... It was just a little bite and . . . "

Russian grabbed Rose's leg and pulled Rose to him. "You no touch litde one again!"

Private First Class Peteroski ran down the hill and pulled open the barracks door. On the floor in front of him, Russian held Rose down so Bitch could lick his face. Seigeant Wade and Thumper were laughing uproariously as Russian scolded, "Do not lick him! Bite him! He eat your brother!"

Pete shook his head in bewilderment and spoke excitedly. "Come on, Matt, the old man is looking for you. We got a call and you're flying out tonight!"

Russian released his hold and let Rose up as Wade got to his feet.

"Settle down, Pete. What's this all about?"

"We got a call from Corps about you savin' some singer. The old man told 'em he didn't know anything about it and they musta had the wrong unit. Well, some colonel got on the line and really let the ol* man have it. Major Shane wants you right now!"

"Aw, shit!" said Wade, shaking his head.

Thumper stood and put his arm over his sergeant's shoulder. "You didn't tell them what happened?"

"It was no big thing. I didn't think it was ..."

"Come on, Sarge!" said Pete, holding the door open.

Major Shane leaned forward in his chair. "So you're telling me crashing in a chopper and saving a young woman's life was no big thing?"

Wade shrugged his shoulders apologetically. "Sir, we were only fifteen clicks from the road and ..."

"Never mind, Wade. It doesn't matter. I understand." Shane walked around the desk and put his arm around the worried sergeant. "But next time do us a favor and tell us when you crash in a chopper, okay? Top, you'd better get him to the airfield."

Shane extended his hand. "Sergeant Wade, I'm just sorry I can't be there for the ceremony."

Wade shook hands, relieved that his commander wasn't angry with him, but before he even released his grip, First Sergeant grabbed his arm roughly. "Come on, He-ro. You got a plane to catch."

Two hours later the Huey settled down on the concrete runway at Nha Trang airfield, where a captain was waiting with a jeep for Wade. The cool evening air was blowing off the ocean and felt good to Wade as they drove to a hotel next to the headquarters.

The Captain, who was the public affairs officer for Corps, explained that the award ceremony would be at 10 a. M. the following morning. The Corps commander himself would award the Soldier's Medal. Wade fought to stay awake as he listened to the itinerary, which would begin when the captain picked him up at 0900.

Wade left the Captain and walked into the plush room alone. He headed direcdy for the bed, but immediately noticed a wine botde in a bucket of ice on the nightstand. A card rested against the silver bucket. Wade sat down on the bed and picked up the card. "Thanks again!" it said and was signed, "Virginia, Sophia Wolinski, the best little singer in Southeast Asia."

Wade smiled and lay back on the bed. No tellin' how she called from whatever fire base she was at to do this, but knowing her, if anyone could find a way, she could.

. Wade shut his eyes, too tired to think any more about her, and dozed off in exhausted sleep.

The still, sultry night air was alive with the sound of crickets as Sergeant Gino walked up the road toward the white motel. He glanced at the luminous hands of his watch. The sergeant was upset with himself. It was after eleven, and he should have been in bed a good hour ago. He'd made the rounds of the barracks and stopped off at Selando's room for a quick beer. He'd ended up drinking four and shot the shit for over an hour. Damn, he thought to himself, I need sleep to keep up with these young kids, not beer.

As he approached the hootch door, all thoughts stopped. The familiar sound of the crickets had been momentarily replaced by a distant, but distinctive, metallic thunk.

Gino froze, hoping he'd imagined it, but he heard the noise again: thunk.

"Oh, shiiiit! The sergeant spun around and yelled at the top of his lungs, "Incoming! Incoming!"

His warning was still echoing off the barracks walls as he heard the faraway sound again. "Thunk. . . . Thunk." Gino ran for a nearby bunker. At least, he thought, he wasn't the only one who wouldn't be getting any sleep for awhile.

Black Eagle stirred in his sleep when someone ran by his bed screaming, "Mortar attack! Hit the floor!"

Black Eagle turned over, mumbling to himself that it was all just part of a bad dream, but something in him couldn't completely deny the reality of the warning.

Within the darkness of the small barracks, panic-stricken men began yelling and running in every direction for protection. Black Eagle's stomach tightened with fear and his chest refused to bring in enough air to breathe, but still he didn't come awake. He dreamed he was falling from a plane at night without a parachute. Death was coming but he couldn't see the ground to know when.