the Last Run (1987) (53 page)

Preacher could see the helicopter a hundred meters ahead. The sight of the bird was all the incentive he needed. He strained with all his might, tapping his last reserve of energy. The trees and trail became a blur as he pushed his body to the limit. Suddenly he felt shoved forward, as if by a giant blow to his lower back. A tingling sensation spread through him and he began falling forward. The ground seemed to leap toward his face so quickly that there was no time to raise his hands to protect himself. He slammed into the dirt headfirst and everything turned black and cold.

Shane saw the Indian fall and ran toward him just as the gunship passed overhead, firing. The trail behind Preacher disappeared in a succession of explosions that sent up clouds of smoke and debris.

Shane grabbed the unconscious soldier, threw him over his shoulder, and began running. He slowed twice to look back for Childs. A Ranger met him halfway and took Preacher.

"Where is Childs?" yelled Shane as the Ranger began running.

"Dead." The young Ranger didn't look back.

Shane suddenly felt tired and weak. He began to jog slowly. He didn't care anymore if he made it or not. The second Ranger screamed for him to hurry, then cursed and ran after him. Shane slowed to a walk and looked back once, hoping his friend would appear miraculously. The Ranger grabbed his arm and pulled him toward the bird. Suddenly, Shane screamed, "Jer-reeee!"

Chapter 28

Shane stood against the wall of the emergency room as an orderly cut Preacher's shirt away and started on his trousers. Nearby, Wade, Woodpecker, and Thumper, all nude, lay face down on gurneys with their arms attached to IV tubes. Their blood-stained clothes were scattered on the floor. Lieutenant Gibson was on a table in the back of the room. A doctor and an assisting nurse feverishly worked on him, while another doctor with blood stains on the front of his green smock leaned over Wade, tying off a bleeder in a deep wound just below his buttocks.

Wade's doctor looked up at his assistant. "That's all we can do for him. Get me another set of gloves for the last one."

The doctor pulled off his bloody rubber gloves and turned to Preacher. He stared at the back wound as he raised his hands to receive fresh gloves from the orderly. The doctor leaned closer and placed a finger next to the bullet wound. "Looks like a fragment of a ricocheting bullet; too close to the spinal cord for me to screw with. Start IV with ringers and send him with the oth- ers.

An orderly took Shane's arm and led him to a nearby stool to begin cleaning his head wound.

"You're the lucky one of the bunch, aren't ya?"

Shane looked up at the freckle-faced Spec-4 with a questioning stare. "What are they going to do with my men?"

The orderly realized the major wasn't feeling so lucky and erased his grin. "Sir, they'll be med-evaced to Sixty-first Med at Cam Ranh. The surgeons there will take out the shrapnel, then they'll be sent on to Japan."

"What about Gibson?"

"Who?"

"The lieutenant, over there. What about him?"

"He's pretty bad off, sir. The stomach wound messed him up and he lost a lotta blood. Doc Litde is doing the best he can."

The doctor with the blood-stained smock walked over and inspected Shane's head wounds.

"Uh huh . . . Well, major, you'd better sit back. Looks like I've got some sewing to do. Why don't you give the orderly here your unit phone number, and he'll call and have someone pick you up."

Shane looked up at the doctor. "Are they going to make it?"

The doctor took a needle from the orderly. "The three with the shrapnel wounds will be all right. The small man with the bullet in the back may be in trouble. The bullet is lodged close to the spine. It depends on the surgery whether he walks again. The lieutenant has a fifty-fifty chance. Sit back now; this is gonna sting a bit."

Colonel Ellis had called for a chopper and flown to Nha Trang as soon as he'd heard the last situation report from Lieutenant Foley. Ellis had arrived at Corps Headquarters and briefed General Wayland on the operation for several minutes.

"And the B-52's bombs hit the main camp at 1400 hours. The Rangers located at the eastern end of the valley then attacked the NVA Headquarters and shot General Due. They had difficulty in disengaging and ..."

General Wayland stood up abruptly. "Excellent! This ought to make Region sit up and take notice of this Corps! Put this report in briefing format and have it on my desk in an hour. I'll fly to Saigon and personally give it to General Abrams."

Colonel Ellis coughed and stepped closer to gain the general's attention again, but Wayland turned to his G-l. "Charles, have a photographer ready to go up with me and ..."

"Sir!" said Ellis loudly.

The general eyed his G-2 coldly. He did not like being interrupted. "Yes, what is it?"

"Sir, I think you should fly to An Lom and personally thank the Rangers."

Wayland shook his head and began to walk for the door. "I don't have time for that. Draft me a letter of appreciation and give them some awards."

Ellis shook with anger. He restrained himself from yelling, but his voice still rang out forcefully.

"Sir, don't you want to know the Ranger casualties?"

The general paused in the doorway. "Put it in a follow-up report. And Colonel. . . after you finish writing the briefing, get some rest. You look terrible." Wayland walked out the door, followed by his aide.

Colonel Ellis lowered his head, feeling defeated.

Colonel Rite, the portly G-l, smiled smugly and stood up. "It doesn't matter about the Ranger losses. We won't replace them anyway. While you were playing hero in An Lom, we received a new list of units to be deactivated for the draw-down. It seems your Rangers aren't needed anymore."

Ellis jerked his head up. "What?"

"Yes, colonel, your prima donnas are being deactivated effective within a few months. You can call the Ranger commander and tell him it's all over."

Ellis stared past the pudgy colonel, thinking of the last words sergeant Childs had spoken to him. Ellis's eyes shifted to the colonel in a cutting stare. "You're wrong, asshole. It ain't never over."

Pete sat on the jeep hood outside the Phan Thiet Emeigency Room, waiting for his major. He was watching the sun sink behind the distant mountains. Somewhere in those mountains was the body of a man he respected and cared for very much. The grizzled seigeant had been gruff at times, but he knew Childs had liked him just by the litde things the seigeant had done-a look, a pat, a small conversation now and then all told Pete that Childs had respected him.

The door of the emergency room swung open and Shane walked out. The right side of his head was bandaged. Pete hopped off the hood with a look of concern. "You okay, sir?"

Shane headed straight for the jeep and climbed into the front seat. "Get me outta here."

Pete jumped in quickly and started the engine. He glanced at Shane, wanting to say how sorry he was, but the major was obviously upset. Pete pulled away from the curb and shifted to second gear.

Shane closed his eyes. He wanted to be away from everything and everybody. He wanted to be in a place where he could sort his feelings and find some reason behind life's absurdity.

Forty minutes later the jeep's lights shone on the camp. A large group of Rangers was waiting to see how their leader was. Shane didn't seem to notice. He pointed ahead to the operations center and spoke for the first time since leaving the hospital. "Drop me offattheTOC."

Pete pulled up beside the deserted operations center. Shane hopped out, walked down the darkened steps, and slammed the door behind him.

The waiting Rangers gathered around Pete as he stepped out of the jeep. "How is he?"

"Is he hurt bad?"

"How's he takin' it?"

"What'd he say?"

"How're the wounded doin'?"

Pete shook his head in silence at their questions and walked toward the orderly room to pick up the letter Childs had given him a few days before. The sergeant had come into the office and looked around to see if anybody else was there. He had spoken as if embarrassed, and then had thrown the letter on the desk. "Pete, put that away in a safe place and give it to the ol' man if somethin' happens to me."

Pete had looked up as if he hadn't understood. Childs had leaned over the desk and scooted the letter closer to him. "Look, Pete, this whole operation is fucked up. Just put the damn thing away just in case. Don't ask me no questions and don't say nothing to nobody, okay?"

"Okay, Saige."

The vision of the incident faded as Pete opened the ordeiiy room door and walked toward the desk.

Shane sat staring at die silent radio. He was finally alone. His head throbbed, but the pain was just reward for ordering the damn mission-a mission that had killed nine of his men, one of them a special friend.

The TOC door opened and Pete walked in.4 'I'm sorry to bother you, sir, but I was supposed to give you this."

Shane wanted to scream, "Get out!" but clenched his teeth, restraining himself as Pete held a letter out to him. Shane grabbed the letter without looking at it and tossed it on the desk. The clerk stood in front of him without moving. Shane looked up and saw tears running down the young man's face as he fought to speak.

"Sa . . . Sir, Seigeant Childs gave the letter to me to give to you in case something . . . something ..." Pete couldn't bring himself to say anymore.

Shane stood up and put his hand on the clerk's shoulder. "I understand, son. Thank you."

Pete turned to leave, but spun back around. "Sir, we're getting him out of there aren't we? We're bringing them all back?"

Shane's eyes widened. He hadn't thought of a recovery mission. He hadn't thought of anything but his self-pity at Childs's loss. He straightened his back and patted Pete's arm. "Yeah, we're going to bring them back. Get me the liaisons, Seigeant Gino, and the radio operator. Have them report to me here in ten minutes."

Pete looked up into his major's face with determination. "I volunteer to go, sir. The whole company has volunteered."

Shane cracked a small smile, envisioning the slight, bespectacled clerk carrying a rucksack and weapon, but nodded. "Sure, son, you can go. Now get the men."

Pete ran for the steps as Shane picked up the letter and sat down. The envelope had a stained water ring on its front. Probably a beer can ring, knowing Childs, he thought. Shane closed his eyes for a moment to gain strength for what had to be done, then ripped the end of the envelope open and pulled out the folded single page of yellow tablet paper. Taking a deep breath, he began reading.

Ed, I never wrote a letter like this one and it ain't easy for me. I have drank three beers and started this damn thing four times, but fuck it, here goes. Ed, if you read this I got wasted. I'm writing this 'cause we are friends and I know you'll do something that is very very important to me. Ed, write my old lady and tell her we used to talk a lot about home. Tell her I talked about her a lot. I know we didn't but I should have and it bothers me that I didn't. My old lady is the best. I have thought about her more in the last few weeks than I ever have when I been away. Ed, she needs to know I really cared. I didn't write much and that bothers me bad. Write her, Ed. Please.

One more thing. 'Cause we was friends, I know you are feeling bad readin' this. Don't. Hell, I'm going out as a Ranger, like you know deep inside the way you wanna go. You got a company to run. Get your head up and Charlie Mike. Charlie Mike and take care of my Rangers.

Respectively Jerry Childs

P. S. Make sure Russian takes care of that dumb-ass dog.

Tears fell on the paper as Shane reread the letter. He knew that he had been wrong. His friend wouldn't be gone forever. Jerry Childs would always be with him and in the memories of every Ranger he had ever taught.

Shane felt a nudge on his leg and looked down. Bitch had walked into the TOC and sat under the desk. She lowered her head and brushed up against his leg, again wanting a pat. Shane kneeled on the floor and hugged the surprised dog. He hugged her tighdy, like he wished he had done to his friend just once.

Thumper felt the dull throbbing coming back. He'd been in the Camp Zama, Japan, hospital for eight days and knew the feeling all too well, but this time they wouldn't give him a shot of pain killer. His last shot had been given four hours before, and Miss Pisser had proclaimed there would be no more.

Thumper raised his head to see Woodpecker in the next bed. The redhead was lying on his stomach, with scattered bandages over his back and legs. Most of the fragments had been close to the surface and had been easily pulled out and closed by stitches. A few, however, had gone deep and required cutting out along with damaged tissue. The deep wounds, left open to form their own scar tissue, were the most painful.

"Hey, Woody, looks like Miss Pisser meant what she said about no more shots."

"Man, I was diggin' on the high, too. You think Pisser would bitch if we asked for aspirin?"

"Naw, I'll scream in a minute and get her attention."

Woodpecker raised up to his elbows and looked over his shoulder at Wade's bed across the aisle and five beds down. The sergeant lay on his side, facing away from them.

Woodpecker sighed and lay back down. "Matt has got to snap out of it, man. The shrink has seen him more than Miss Pisser or Doc."