the Last Run (1987) (3 page)

"The bird is on its way. We collected all the shit from the dinks but had to destroy the weapons and leave 'em. Stevens took an AK round through the upper arm. The kid played4 John Wayne' and stood up after the Claymores blew."

Thumper glanced over his shoulder at Robbins's body. He'd had to wrap a poncho around the soldier's middle to hold m the intestines. The grenade blast had almost severed the body at the hip.

"I didn't see the dink who threw the grenade. Did you?"

Wade shook his head. "It wasn't a dink; Robbins threw it. The kid got excited. It hit the bamboo and bounced back."

Thumper slapped his weapon's stock. "Damn that Dickey! The cherries should never have come!"

Wade's head was still ringing, but he could hear the familiar popping of helicopter blades as a bird made its approach.

Phan Thiet Third Platoon Ranger Base Camp

A helicoper landed in a cloud of dust and four men hopped out. Wade had refused to get off at the Evac hospital and had stayed on the bird as it continued its flight to the Ranger camp. He and the three other team members walked directly toward the sandbagged Tactical Operations Center.

Sergeant First Class Gino, the Third Platoon sergeant, stood waiting for them outside the TOC entrance. He was stocky, about thirty-five-years old, and had the tough look of a mafia hit man. His beady brown eyes fixed on the approaching team sergeant. Wade threw down an NVA pack partially filled with papers and documents at Gino's feet.

"Where the hell is the lieutenant?"

Gino looked into the sergeant's angry eyes, then at his bloodstained shirt.

"He's on the telephone to the 01' Man explaining what happened and why he used untrained cherries."

Wade glared at Gino for a few seconds, then softened his stare.

"You called and told 'em, didn't you?"

Gino smiled faintly. "Yeah, as soon as I heard what happened. I called Da Lat and told Childs what Dickey had done. Major Shane called a few minutes ago and sounded pissed!"

Wade reached for his chewing tobacco pouch but stopped. It was in his left leg pocket, but his arm hurt too bad to move. Gino noticed his discomfort and inspected the wound.

"You gotta get that cleaned up."

Wade withdrew the tobacco with his other hand.

"Not before I talk to that dumb shit lieutenant! This platoon and this operation are fucked up . . . and it's because of him\ I'm not goin' out again with cherries. It's gonna get us all killed!"

A tall, dark-haired first lieutenant walked out of the TOC door and, seeing the team, broke into a smile.

"Good job, men. You got the documents and five confirmed kills!"

Wade's face flushed, and he tossed the tobacco pouch to the ground.

"Yeah, and we got one man killed and one wounded because of your stupid order!"

The lieutenant's smile vanished. "You watch your mouth, Sergeant!"

Gino quickly stepped between the two men and put his hand on Wade's chest, pushing him back. "Wade, you report to the medics and get your shoulder checked. Russian, you take him! Thumper, you stay and debrief us. Move!"

Wade pushed Gino's hand away. "Lieutenant, I hope you're satisfied! Your stupidity killed that cherry!"

Russian grabbed Wade's waist roughly and pulled him away.

"The sergeant is delirious! He is upset and doesn't know what he says." Rose grabbed Wade's shirt and began tugging.

Wade fought their grip.

"Lieutenant, you lrilled Robbins, you son of a bitch. You murdered him and ..."

Lieutenant Dickey pointed his finger at Gino as the men pulled Wade away.

"You heard that! He cussed me! He . . . he . . .!"

"He's shot up with morphine, Lieutenant," said Gino blandly, picking up the NVA pack.

Dickey stammered, "Yes, but that's insubordination! That's verbal assault! I want charges written up on him!"

Gino eyed the lieutenant pathetically. "It'll never hold up. Major Shane will never sign off on it, so forget it. Come on, Lieutenant, we've got to debrief Thumper and get the report to G-2."

Dickey put his hands to his hips. "You called Da Lat, didn't you? You told Sergeant Childs about my orders, and he had Major Shane call me . . . didn't you?"

Gino motioned Thumper inside the TOC. As soon as the big man disappeared, Gino shoved the NVA pack into the lieutenant's arms.

"Yes, sir, I did! You screwed up, sir! You didn't listen to me or the team sergeants. Wade was right. You did kill Robbins and yesterday Welch and Gymon. They all died because of your stupid, fucking order to take untrained cherries to the field. You better accept that fac$ and start listenin' or you ain't gonna have a platoon! You better start lookin' around and throw out the bums you accepted in this unit. We got potheads, dopers, and shitheads! You coddle them and won't let me throw 'em out!"

Dickey smiled cruelly. "That's it! Sergeant Gino, you're relieved! I've been waiting for you to say something like this. You never liked me! You've always fought every order I've given. Well, you've finally done it. You're through."

Gino shook his head tiredly. "Lieutenant, you can't relieve me. Major Shane will have to do that! Now, like I said, we got to get this information to G-2. Are you gonna debrief, or me?"

Dickey spun around on his heels. "We'll see. Sergeant! I'm calling the major now and we'll see!" He brushed past Gino and hurriedly entered the TOC door.

Chapter 2

Da Lot Temporary Headquarters Sierra Company, Seventy-fifth Rangers

Major Ed Shane slammed the telephone handset down angrily and stood up. "That's it! I want the Third Platoon back here now!"

Sergeant First Class Jerry Childs slowly raised his eyes from the report he was reading. "Sir, you're gonna have to clear that with Corps. The Third Platoon is their baby."

Shane paced back and forth like a caged panther. He was six feet tall and thin, but had powerful shoulders, developed from years of competitive swimming.

"Screw Corps! I've had it. I'll go to Corps tomorrow morning and talk to the G-3. The Third Platoon has lost three men in two days and doesn't have enough experience to do the job. Damn it! It's Corps's own damn fault for giving me nothing but new replacements instead of experienced men from line units like we need. Dickey can't control the platoon. He's new and doesn't have enough experience."

Childs threw his legs up onto the desk. "Gino says the L-tee is a shithead."

Shane began pacing again. "What do you expect? He doesn't know anything. I'll get him squared away. Corps won't give me any other officers. Damn! They say we're pulling out of Nam and can't fill us up to strength, and yet they keep asking us to do more."

Childs lit a Camel and blew out a cloud of smoke.

"Sir, when you're at Corps, you better be calm. General Way- land doesn't like Ranger-types, and now that his deputy, General Burton, is gone, we don't have many friends up there."

Shane stopped pacing. "Yeah, I know; but the situation is getting too bad to continue like it is. We can't do the mission Corps wants unless we have support. I think once I explain the problems to Wayland's operations officer, he'll understand."

Childs shook his head. "Sir, the G-3 is new and don't wipe his ass unless the Corps commander approves it. You gotta have help in convincing General Wayland we need support. Talk to Colonel Ellis, the intelligence officer for Corps. I hear he's got his shit together. He's got a couple of tours as a grunt. He'll understand our problems. Hell, we really work for him anyway. He's the one that uses all the intell we gather. I'd say he's got to help us to help himself."

Shane stared into the weathered face of his small operations sergeant and couldn't help but smile. Jerry Childs looked like a range rider from an old Western: hard, lean, and craggy-faced from being outdoors for most of his life. Three tours in Vietnam had etched three lifetimes of experience into the leathery wrinkles at the corners of his dark, deepset eyes. His flattop haircut, constant scowl, and drill sergeant's bark marked him as a "lifer" to the younger Rangers, but a respected lifer, a total professional.

Shane put his hand on the sergeant's shoulder. "You know, Jerry, Major Colven told me before he left that I'd best take good care of you. He said you were a contrary ol' bastard, but as good as they come. I don't know why you extended your tour another six months, but I'm damn glad you did. I don't know what I'd do without you."

Childs, never one for showing emotion, averted his eyes. "Well, sir, I been in the Army a few days and know how Corps operates-fucked up!" He stood and began walking toward the door. "I'll call Aviation and get you a bird for tomorrow. You best sit and write down all our problems so you won't get emotional when you talk to them paper-shufflers."

Shane began to offer a heartfelt "thanks" for the advice, but the grizzled sergeant walked out of the office.

Childs strode into the communications room, thinking how much Shane and his ex-commander were alike: high-strung and fiercely concerned for the welfare of their men. Major Colven had rotated home three months before, but it seemed like yesterday that Colven shook his hand for the last time and told him, "Take care of Shane. Keep him outta trouble. And Jerry, take care of my Rangers."

Childs stopped by the field phone and stared blankly at the wall. The discussion about Corps and his thoughts of Colven had brought back painful memories.

Just four months before the company had been a proud, unbeatable unit, staffed with the best men he'd ever worked with. But then came the Cambodian mission. The damn Corps paper- shufflers, who'd never humped a ruck, had ordered the Rangers into Cambodia to find NVA base camps for the larger American units to destroy. The teams found the base camps, all right, but Corps took away their helicopter support in the middle of the operation, leaving them helpless and outnumbered. The result was the death of twenty Rangers and as many wounded, all experienced and all irreplaceable.

Childs's face reddened with anger. The faces of those men still haunted him at night. They screamed out to him, asking "why?" And he didn't have the answer.

Corps had said it was a mistake. A fucking mistake! A mis- routed message in a misrouted system. A bureaucratic error where no one was to blame. A mistake. Yeah, a mistake that had killed his men and had sent others home broken.

The sergeant glanced down at a piece of paper beside the phone. It was the note he'd made when Sergeant Gino had called from Phan Thiet. Sergeant Wade had been wounded and a cherry killed. The note was yet another reminder that the bastards at Corps weren't finished with the company yet.

After the Cambodian disaster, Corps, in its infinite wisdom, cut off replacements. Within a short time, most of the experienced men left in the company rotated home. Without experienced leaders to train newer men, the casualty rate climbed. Major Shane had fought for and gotten replacements, but Corps would only give him men who'd just arrived in-country. The company was now at only sixty percent strength, and was mostly filled with cherries. And, as if to throw salt on the wounds, Corps had recently split the company. Third platoon was in Phan Thiet, while the other two platoons were here in Da Lat.

The company was dying, and Childs was helpless. Tomorrow, Major Shane's trips could mean life or death for Sierra Company, Seventy-fifth Infantry, Airborne Rangers. His major was the last hope, but no matter what the outcome of the major's trip, he'd stay and fight with the company to the end. He loved the company; the men were his personal responsibility and they needed him. They were the reason he'd extended his tour and stayed on. He'd take care of his men and help Shane as Colven, his old commander, had asked.

Childs began to crank the field phone's handle but a wave of guilt swept through his body as an image of his wife filled his head. She was sitting in the porch swing in front of their small house, waiting. Her sad expression tore a gash in his heart. She needed him, too.

The sergeant shut his eyes and clenched his teeth. Linda would understand. She was a professional soldier's wife. She knew he had to stay. He couldn't leave his men when they needed him.

Tightening his body, he threw his shoulders back and took in a deep breath. "I'm sorry, honey," he muttered, then grabbed the phone handle with determination and began cranking.

Phctn Thiet District Office, Military Intelligence

The corps's assistant intelligence officer finished reading and tossed the report onto his desk. "This confirms it."

A captain seated by the desk stood. "Yes, sir. The documents brought in by the Rangers this afternoon confirm that the Thirty- third NVA Regiment is definitely moving. The pieces are falling into place. We haven't had any attacks because they are moving into the mountains and consolidating. The Forty-second and Thirty-third regiments are now confirmed."

The intelligence officer stood and walked over to a wall map. "Let's say you're correct. They are consolidating. Even so, it certainly isn't for an attack. They're moving to the farthest point from our remaining ground forces."

"Sir, they're doing exactly what they did prior to Tet '68. They will reequip, train, and then break up and strike."

The major pulled at his chin in thought, then picked up the report from his desk. "What's this last line mean?"

"I'm not sure, sir. That was found in a diary on a radioman or a signal repairman. His last entry stated he was happy to be returning to work for the Tall One and ultimate victory. The 'Tall One' caught my attention. The analysts are translating the rest of the diary, but I know of only one time before that I have seen that phrase."