the Last Run (1987) Page 9

  "Talk to me. Who are you? Talk to me." He patted her face again, but this time harder. "Talk to me! Say something, damn you!" Her eyes locked onto him and tried to focus.

  "Come on, talk to me. Talk to me, lady!"

  Her lips quivered, then puckered, "Wa . . . Walter?"

  "No, I'm not Walter, but keep talking, lady. Come on, keep talking."

  Her eyes had a bewildered look but didn't leave him.

  "Where . . . where is Walter?"

  Wade lifted her very slowly to a sitting position and began rubbing her shoulders and neck. Her head rolled forward, then slowly lifted.

  "Where's Walter?" she said again almost pleading for an answer.

  Wade raised her chin and looked into her cloudy eyes. They were large and sad, like a beaten puppy's, and they broke his heart. He hugged her tightly.

  'He's dead. . . . He's dead, but you're alive.'' He moved back from her but held her shoulders firmly. You're alive, lady. There's nothing we can do for Walter. We gotta get the hell outta here, or we're gonna die, too."

  Her tearful eyes turned away.

  Look at me, damn it! You gotta snap out of it. You're a survivor. You made it. Now, keep survivin', and be strong. Fight to live. Fight, lady, 'cause it's all we got."

  Her eyes narrowed and she sniffed back her tears. 4'Are the rest dead?"

  "Yeah, but there's you and me and we're gettin' the hell outta here." He released her to see if she could sit up alone. She fell back but threw out a hand to brace herself.

  Wade stood, satisfied she was out of shock. "I gotta find a way down. Zip yourself up and don't move from here. Don't look in the chopper. I'll be talking to you so I'll know you're all right. You talk back. You got it?"

  She nodded.

  "No, I said talk!"

  The woman looked up, glaring. "Yes, I've got it!"

  Matt grabbed the jabbed limb and lowered himself into the cabin.

  "Where you from?"

  "New York," she said softly as she zipped up her jumpsuit.

  "What?"

  "New York!"

  Wade grabbed the agent's head. "Where in New York? Tell me about it."

  The woman began talking as Wade pulled Walter's head free and let him fall.

  "What was that?" she asked worriedly, interrupting her own pratde.

  "Just clearing out equipment. Keep talking."

  Wade could now see the disfigured crew chief who was dangling down held only by his seat belt. It could have been me if the bird had fallen on the other side, Matt thought as he unstrapped a litter from the fire wall and placed it sideways in the door. He could now stand in the compartment and hold onto the limb. He was about to release the crew chiefs belt when he saw the black cord attached to the man's helmet. The cord ran to the top interior of the aircraft, where it was stored in a coil. That's it! There had to be at least ten feet. With this cord and the other from the medic's side, he knew he had his way down.

  "And from Queens I moved up to Brooklyn and began singing in Greenwich Village, then ..."

  Wade climbed out of the cabin five minutes later holding a seat belt with the black cord tied to its back.

  The woman had her back to him. She was looking up toward the treetops and talking about a club in New York in which she'd sang.

  Wade tossed the belt down beside her and massaged his left arm.

  She started and turned to him. "Are we going down now?"

  "Yeah, I think this will work. I'm gonna lower you down first and . . ."

  "Think?" she cried out. "I'm not going just on a thinkV'

  Wade shook his head tiredly. "Okay, I know it's gonna work. Just come here and put your hands up."

  She got up reluctandy and raised her arms.

  Wade placed the belt under her arms and tightened it snugly.

  "It's simple. We're going to climb down into the cabin and then I'm going to lower you. All ya gotta do is put your feet on the tree and walk down. Hold your hands on the cord, but whatever you do, don't raise your arms above your head or you'll slide out. Now, watch how I climb down into the cabin and follow me.

  "Is Walter in there?" she asked, glancing toward the cabin.

  "No, he's on the ground with some others. Don't look at the ground or Walter. Just watch me."

  Wade sat on the edge of the compartment and lowered himself to the stretcher. The woman followed behind him and sat down as he had instructed. She had begun to look down when he snapped, "What's your real name?"

  She tossed her head up, staring at him as if he'd just read her personal diary.

  "Well? What is it?"

  Her face hardened. "Virginia. Virginia Wolinski."

  "Well, Ginny, you keep your eyes on me or I'll kick your skinny butt out right now.'' *

  She glared at him, looking as if she wanted to claw the tinny hillbilly drawl out of his throat.

  Wade had tied the cord end to a D-ring on the chopper floor and cut pieces of canvas from the seats to protect his hands. He placed the cord around his back in a belay position, as he was taught at the Fort Benning Ranger School.

  "Okay, Miss, whatever you name is. Go."

  She hesitated only an instant then pushed herself out. Wade took her weight across his shoulders and lowered her slowly.

  The small woman went down easily, landing on the crew chiefs back. She shuddered and quickly stepped off the corpse, sobbing in horror.

  Wade spoke to her calmly. "Look up at me and release your belt. . . . Good. Now back up and keep your eyes on me."

  Wade tested his weight and then began sliding down the cord. His left arm and shoulder screamed out in pain as he tried to slow his descent, but the pain was too much. He released his grip, falling the last eight feet. He hit heavily and rolled to his stomach.

  Virginia ran to him and tried to turn him over.

  Wade brushed away her hands. "I'm okay." He got to his knees and let out a deep breath. He felt relieved but totally fatigued. His adrenalin had run out. He wanted only to fall over and rest to regain his strength.

  Virginia leaned over apprehensively. "What are we going to do?"

  Wade took in another deep breath, then stood. "We're going to collect whatever we can from the others, then move."

  She looked over her shoulder at the bodies and began sobbing again. "I. . .1 can't touch them."

  Matt didn't say anything as he walked toward the first body.

  Chapter 6

  Nha Trang Corps Headquarters

  Major Shane and Sergeant Childs had flown in to Nha Trang that morning. They now sat in Colonel Ellis's office as he explained that they wouldn't be briefing the general as planned. Ellis had already resolved their replacement problem. But he took the opportunity to advise them they would be involved in a secret operation in four weeks and to be prepared.

  Childs didn't like secrets and protested. "Sir, we appreciate your helping us, but we need to know what you have planned. It could influence our training program, if it's something special."

  "No, the operation will be nothing you don't normally do, but for security reasons I can't tell you any more yet. I'll come to An Khe in two weeks and brief you."

  Shane leaned forward, worried. "Sir, we'll have a chance to provide input to your plan, won't we?"

  The G-2 understood the major's fears. He had been a commander himself in '68 and knew how top brass could muddle an operation by not asking for a commander's advice and input.

  "Yes, Ed, you and I will go over the whole operation before we firm it up."

  Satisfied with the answer, Shane exchanged glances with Childs to see if he had any more questions.

  Childs shook his head.

  When the colonel saw they were both contented, he leaned back in his chair. "What else can I help you with?"

  Shane had one more request. "Sir, we're short of experienced officers. Could you see if any are available?"

  The colonel immediately reached for the telephone and dialed.

  "Colonel Rite please. . . . Hel
lo Charles, this is Bob. . . . fine, thank you. I have Major Shane of the Ranger company in my office and he needs some experienced officers. As you know, the general has a personal interest in the company and would appreciate your assistance. . . . Yes, I know they're hard to get, but I'm sure you'll be able to help us. . . . Yes, I understand. Thank you."

  Ellis put down the receiver. "He's such an ass! I don't know if I helped you or not, Ed. I've been pulling his chain pretty hard to get your replacements. He's diggin' in his heels on this one."

  Shane nodded in understanding. "Thank you for trying. We can get by."

  Ellis stood. "When do you start your training program?"

  Shane smiled at Childs. "You'll have to ask my expert, sir."

  Childs collected his map case and got to his feet. "Sir, we're starting tomorrow when the replacements get in. We'll probably be siftin' through a bunch of them and kickin' out some of our own."

  "I thought I recognized you, Sergeant Childs," Ellis said with a sidelong glance. "You were a Ranger instructor at Fort Benning, weren't you?"

  "Yes, sir, I was in charge of Camp Darby."

  "How well I remember," said Ellis with a chuckle. "You don't remember me, but you tried your damnedest to get rid of me.

  Childs eyed the colonel's gold and black Ranger tab on his left shoulder.

  "You got the tab, sir, so you musta been okay in my book."

  Ellis laughed aloud. "Come on, I want to take you both to lunch and hear how you're going to train them. It'll bring back lots of memories, I'm sure."

  The three men walked for the door. Ellis slapped Childs's back. "You still call 'em 'ragbags'?"

  "Hell, sir, they are 'ragbags.' "

  Lieutenant J. D. Gibson was fed up. He was tired of clean sheets, running water, and cold beer. He wanted out now.

  The lieutenant paced back and forth in his office deciding to do something about it. He'd go over right now and talk to the G-l and ask to be transferred to a field assignment.

  His earlier call to the 173rd the day before had been a disaster. The brigade S-l had told him the general himself had selected him and he'd have to stay as the liaison. The only way he could be released was to have Corps assign him a new job, but he certainly couldn't return to the 173rd.

  Gibson pushed open the screen door and walked toward the Corps Headquarters. Even if he couldn't go back to his Airborne unit, he'd at least try for another field assignment.

  Gibson felt self-conscious in his uniform. When he'd arrived the night before, he was told he had to have all new fatigues on which all skill badges and insignia had to be embroidered. The sergeant was going to order the fatigues for him. In the meantime, he had borrowed a set from a lieutenant named Fielding, an Air Defense Artillery officer who was the Fourth Division's liaison. The fatigues were much too big for Gibson, but at least they were new. To hell with the way I look, Gibson said to himself. He had to try. He marched into the large downstairs office, where two pretty Vietnamese secretaries and a captain sat.

  Captain Holden glanced up at the lieutenant's approach. One look told the captain much that he wanted to know: here was a first lieutenant in the Air Defense Artillery, obviously new in- country, and fitted with jungle fatigues which were too large. He'd learned long ago to read the man's rank and branch of service before looking at his face. It saved time. He waited until the officer stopped in front of his desk before speaking.

  "What can I do for you, Lieutenant?"

  "Sir, I want to talk to Colonel Rite about transferring to a field unit."

  The captain put down the pictures of the awards ceremony of the day before and stared at the lieutenant standing before him.

  The lieutenant was five-eight or five-nine, tanned, and had unusual gray hair. He wasn't wearing parachute wings or any other patches except the Corps patch on his shoulder.

  "Why do you want a transfer?"

  "Sir, I want to be in a line unit. I feel I could contribute more in a field assignment and ..."

  The captain held up his hand, interrupting him. "Don't say anymore." He turned for his officer assignment book. He was not one to stop an officer who wanted to go to the field. The lieutenant would be easy to place, and finding a replacement liaison would be no problem. No sense bothering the colonel with something he could do himself. He found the book and turned to the air defense vacancies. "No sweat, Lieutenant. Consider it done. We aim to please around here."

  The door to the colonel's office opened, and Colonel Rite walked out holding his coffee cup. "Mey, get me some coffee, will you?"

  The closest Vietnamese girl rose with a smile. Her white tunic clung tightly to her delicately proportioned body. With a slight bow, she took the cup from the overweight colonel and shuffled to a table nearby.

  The colonel walked to the captain's desk and quickly scanned the pictures lying there, then glanced up at the lieutenant's odd gray hair.

  The captain gestured toward the young officer. "Sir, he wants a field assignment, so I knew you wouldn't mind my taking care of it."

  The colonel nodded, took the cup of coffee from the petite secretary, and walked back into his office. He sat down and took a sip of the hot coffee, then suddenly lifted his head with a grin. "Ellis, you son of a bitch, you wanted an officer . . . well. . ." He yelled toward the door: "Steve!"

  The captain opened the door in seconds. "Yes, sir?"

  "Send that lieutenant to Sierra Rangers."

  The captain stepped the rest of the way into the office, thinking he had't heard the colonel correcdy. "Sir?"

  "Send that lieutenant to Sierra Rangers," the colonel repeated.

  "But, sir, he's air defense. He's not qualified to . . ."

  "Steve, I want him in Sierra Company."

  "Yes, sir, but. . ."

  "Mm>, Steve."

  "Okay, sir." The captain walked out, shutting the door.

  The colonel smiled broadly. Ellis, this'11 teach you not to screw around with me. I can screw back. He reached for the coffee cup with a chuckle.

  The captain shook his head, perplexed, and sat down.

  "Sorry, Lieutenant," he said, "looks like you're going to a Ranger company.''

  Gibson yelped with joy. "Really, sir?"

  The surprised captain stared at the grinning lieutenant. It wasn't the reaction he'd expected. The phone rang on one of the secretaries' desks. She answered and spoke softly to the captain.

  "It is for you, sir."

  "Tell 'em to hold just a sec." He leaned forward for a pencil. He looked up at the lieutenant's name tape above his right pocket.

  "Take this note, Fielding . . ."he looked down, writing rapidly on a notepad. "To Sergeant Alcord down the hall. He'll cut your orders." He tore the paper off the pad and handed it to the young officer and picked up die telephone.

  "No, sir, I'm not Fielding. It's 'Gibson', sir. John Dalton Gibson. The fatigues are . . ."

  "But your name tag says ... aw, never mind. Sergeant Alcord is down the hall. Give him the information." He put the phone to his ear. "Captain Holden, G-l office. . . . Oh, hello, sir, sorry I had you on hold. Yes, I've got the report right here.

  Lieutenant Gibson ran down the stone steps of Corps Headquarters to the liaison office. It had taken Sergeant Alcord only a few minutes to fill out the necessary paperwork, although he had explained that the actual orders would take five days to process. Still, if the lieutenant wanted to report today, he could do so and the orders would follow.

  Gibson hurried to his desk, opened the middle drawer, and took out a photograph of the platoon he'd left only a few days before. They were his "Banshees," the death angels he cared so much for. Well, guys, I'm going to the Rangers. Hot damn!

  Gibson quickly collected his other belongings and pushed open the screen door. He would drive to the BOQ, pack his gear, and come back for the final time before leaving. "Damn! The Rangers!"

  Cam Tiem Mountains

  Matt Wade stood holding a compass trying to determine which direction was south. H
e remembered they'd crossed Highway 1 and had headed north into the mountains. He figured they couldn't be more than fifteen kilometers away and could make the road by tomorrow.

  Wade wore the crew chiefs mesh survival vest and .38 caliber pistol. The sleeveless vest was standard issue for all pilots and crew, with a pocketed front holding a first aid kit, hand flare, deflated plastic bag for water, matches, knife, compass, and pen gun with flares.