“That arm will be sore for the next couple of days, Captain. Do you want a sling for it?” she asked.
“God, no,” Pete said. He slid off the gurney, pulled his blood-soaked flight suit back on and awkwardly zipped it with his left hand. He was trembling badly. He wanted to hold Tess and escape the unraveling horror twisting in his gut and chest. “Just help my buddies,” he pleaded to the young navy nurse.
“They’re getting the very best attention, Captain, believe me.” She hurriedly walked away through the swinging doors to the triage area that held the worst of the injured crew.
Pete stood there, torn between staying near his friends in the unit, who were being worked on by a separate group of doctors and nurses, and going to Tess. Gib had come in to visit him earlier and make sure he was all right. Pete had assured him he was fine. It was a lie, but he wasn’t about to cry in front of his commanding officer. His mouth dry, the metallic taste of blood in it, Pete hung his head and tried to get a grip on the terrible avalanche of fear now thrumming through him. He felt himself wavering.
The doors to the left swung open and then quietly whooshed closed. “Pete?”
Tess stood there uncertainly. Her voice was low and urgent. The trembling sound of it impinged upon his spinning, shocked senses. He opened his eyes and slowly turned his head. She stood three feet away from him, her hand extended to him, her face pale and her eyes huge with fear.
“Don’t come any closer,” he joked weakly, gesturing toward his flight suit. “I’m covered with ketchup. Somebody in the bird spilled ketchup all over the place….”
Wincing inwardly, Tess realized Pete was trying to cover up the horror he’d just experienced by joking about it. She gave him a wobbly smile and tried to play along. “I can see that.” The front of his flight suit was soaked with blood. Tess knew Pete was in shock.
“It’s Joe’s, my copilot. We…uh…we were delivering C-rats to the guys at an LZ when the VC started shooting. Joe and my gunner, Jerry Random, bought it.” Pete looked down at his drenched flight suit, the flies buzzing around him, the smell cloying and making him nauseous.
Girding herself, Tess saw Pete’s face go waxen, all color draining from it. She stepped forward, gripped him by his good arm and guided him over to a chair next to an empty desk. It was probably the receiving nurse’s desk, but Tess knew she’d understand. She helped Pete sit down.
“You’re going to faint,” she whispered.
“No, I’m not.”
“Don’t argue with me, Pete. Where the hell’s some water?” She looked around.
“Dunno.”
Anxiously, she saw his eyes go dull. “Put your head between your legs.”
“…What?”
He was in shock and going deeper by the moment. Angry that there was no one to care for him, Tess pushed his head down between his legs. “Stay there. The blood will come back to your head,” she muttered. Where her hand rested, blood was splattered up across his neck and matted in his hair. Swallowing hard, Tess placed tight control on her own emotional reactions. Pete needed her help, not her weakness, right now. “Just stay that way until your head starts to clear,” she croaked. “I’ll be here. I won’t leave you.”
CHAPTER SIX
Pete shut his eyes tightly. When Tess returned with a paper cup containing water, he was sitting on the chair, elbows dug deeply into his thighs, head hanging down between his legs.
Kneeling beside him, her hand on his slumped shoulder, Tess whispered, “Here, Pete, drink this.”
Her shattering words, “I won’t leave you,” spun in his aching head as he lifted his gaze. She was a woman, someone fully capable of abandoning him, just as his mother had. Barely twisting his head to the right where she knelt next to him, he studied her drawn features.
“You came back,” he rasped, his voice barely above a whisper.
“Of course I did. Here, drink this, Pete. You’re in shock.”
With a trembling, bloodied hand, he reached for the water. The paper cup slipped through his fingers. Pete watched the contents splash across the plywood floor.
Grimly, Tess stood up. She gripped his shoulder. “It’s all right. Let me go get another for you.” She would have to walk to the next tent and get it.
Shutting his eyes, Pete waited until Tess was gone. A terrible coldness was spreading through him, a door flung open from the past beneath the shock of the mission, flowing into the present. He had to get away. Staggering to his feet, Pete stumbled back on the heel of his black flight boot, then moved drunkenly toward the swinging doors of the MASH unit.
The world tilted crazily around him as he moved in a daze away from the tent. He had to get clean. The smell of the blood was making him gag, and more than once on his way to his tent, he stopped, vomited and moved on.
As he staggered into his tent, empty since Joe Keegan, his roommate, was still in surgery, Pete jerked at the zipper of his flight suit. He had to get the suit off! He had to get away from the smell of blood. At the shower stalls at the end of the row of tents, he leaned against the wall and fumbled with the laces on his flight boots. His right arm had taken a piece of shrapnel, and his fingers weren’t obeying him as well as they should. Making a frustrated sound, Pete tore wildly at the black laces.
Finally, the boots came off, and then so did the flight suit. Both ended up in a gory pile on the sand outside the entrance to the shower, and Pete staggered into the stall. He turned on the shower, feeling the tepid water. It didn’t matter what temperature the shower was. He stood, shaking, as the streams of water washed across his head, face and shoulders, rinsing the foul-smelling blood from his hair and skin. Goose pimples rose on his flesh as he hunched over, hands pressed against his face. As badly as the emotions wanted to tear loose from him, nothing would come out. His mouth, dripping with water, stretched into a twisted shape, a fist of rising emotion lodged in his chest. The sound refused to escape his throat and be born into a primal scream of rage, grief and frustration.
How long Pete stood there, his feet spread apart on the glistening plywood floor to steady his shaking body, he didn’t know. Just the sound of all that cleansing water gradually cleared his mind. Like a robot, he sought and found a bar of Ivory soap. Looking at the clean white object, Pete remembered the commercials on television about how the bar of soap would float. His fingers curved around it.
First, his hair. It hurt like hell to raise his right arm, and the dressing was now soaked with water, but he did it anyway. The smell of the soap filled the air around him as he scrubbed. He vaguely remembered shrapnel exploding into the cockpit, pieces of it flying around like scattershot. His helmet had taken a direct hit, nearly jerked off his head but for the strap beneath his chin.
Almost an hour later, Pete emerged from the shower and, naked and dazed, walked back to his tent. He left the bloody flight suit and boots exactly where he’d dropped them, not even looking back. Two single cots and metal lockers furnished his small rectangular tent. Pete sat down heavily on his cot before his knees gave out. Shivering, he reached over and found an olive green towel at the foot of the bed. He began to dry himself with shaky, convulsive movements. Somehow, he had to get himself together. Part of his functioning mind knew that his copilot and gunner were in surgery. He didn’t know anything more about their condition and probably wouldn’t for some time. He’d have to wait.
When he’d dried off, Pete went to his locker, found a clean flight suit and put it on. He had to get rid of the blips of the explosion, of the screams in the cockpit. Locating his second pair of flight boots, Pete grabbed a pair of socks and struggled several minutes before he was able to put them on. He left his boot laces untied. The officers club was where he wanted to go. There, he could drown out the horrible pictures flashing in his head. He could drink enough alcohol to anesthetize himself.
*
Gib looked up from his desk in squadron headquarters. After he’d spent two hours tensely waiting at the MASH unit, the head nurse had gentl
y suggested that he go back to work. Surgery on the crewmen was going to take a long time. Gib reluctantly left, his heart and mind still back at the MASH unit with his men. His sister, Tess, came in, looking worried.
“I thought you were with Pete,” Gib said as he laid his pen aside on a stack of papers that desperately needed his attention.
Tess shook her head. All around Gib, the heart of the helicopter squadron continued to throb—men at various desks doing the necessary paper-chase jobs to keep it functioning. It was two hours after Pete’s near crash, and everything appeared to be back to normal. But Tess could tell by the looks on the faces of Gib’s men that it wasn’t really so. Everyone was affected by the crash. As she halted at Gib’s desk, she lowered her voice.
“I’m trying to find Pete. When I went to get him a cup of water, he disappeared on me.”
Grimly, Gib nodded and gently pushed back his squeaky wooden chair. “I’m not surprised.”
“Why? I was there for him, Gib. I was someone who cared, who would listen if he wanted to talk. Why did he take off?”
Gib’s mouth stretched into a sad smile. “Baby sis, this is the side of my business I hoped you’d never get tangled up in.”
“It’s a little late for that. You’re in it.”
Gib hesitated, then nodded. “Being part of the service means taking the good with the bad, the peacetime with the wartime, Tess.”
“Being squadron commander means twice as much responsibility, too,” Tess griped, her emotions frayed.
“Every flight is potentially dangerous, Tess.” Gib kept his voice low so only his sister could hear him. “Look, things are heating up out in the bush. I’ve been trying to tell you that for the last month, but you wouldn’t believe me.” He gave her a pleading look. “Please come in every night from the villages. Pete was out on a milk run, a flight that was supposed to be routine and boring as hell. According to the company commander, just as his helo was lifting off, the VC opened up with a rocket attack, Tess. A rocket went off right in front of him. It shredded the aircraft like a sieve.” Gib grimaced, his voice dropping even lower. “The copilot, Joe Keegan, just died in surgery.”
“Oh, no!”
“And from what Lieutenant Commander Simmons, the head of OR just told me, it doesn’t look good for Random, the gunner, either. He’s critical and unstable.”
“Then,” she whispered, “Pete was lucky.”
“Yeah, according to Lieutenant Purser, he has a couple of scratches. She dug shrapnel out of his right arm and his neck at the base of his skull, plus some Plexiglas splinters from his left leg. He’s the one who will remember this.”
Anguish soared through Tess. “I’ve got to find him, Gib. He needs someone.”
“Don’t we all,” Gib said softly. “Pete might be over at the O club, Tess. That’s where we go after a bad mission—to drown the pain in alcohol. And don’t go giving me that look. I do it, too.”
“I hate this damned war, Gib! We’re pawns of two governments who both think they know what’s best for Vietnam. Why don’t they ask the people?”
“Take it easy, baby sis,” Gib soothed, getting up. He came around the desk and placed his arm around her, then led her toward the door. “Look, this has been a shock to you, too. Why don’t you go back to Da Nang? Take a nice, long shower and try to forget what happened here. You’re looking pretty frayed.”
Tess leaned wearily against her older brother. Gib had always been the strong one for the entire Ramsey clan. She allowed him to lead her out of the tent and into the darkness. He closed the door behind them, and they were alone. When he offered her the solace of his embrace, she stepped into the circle of his arms.
“I’m so scared, Gib,” she moaned, burying her face in the folds of his damp flight suit. “I’m scared for all of us…but especially for Pete.”
He squeezed her gently. “Does this guy mean something special to you?”
Tess nodded. “You know how long he’s been chasing me and how long I’ve been telling him no. He just won’t take no for an answer, Gib. I—I guess this crash showed me my real feelings.”
Gib pressed a kiss to her hair. “Be careful, baby sis. Mallory’s got some serious problems.” He gazed down at her shadowed face and huge, pain-filled eyes. “I’ve seen him break too many women’s hearts already. I don’t want that to happen to you.”
Sniffing, Tess forced back her tears for Pete. “You’re right. But it isn’t like he hasn’t warned me, Gib.”
With a sigh, Gib released her and gave her a worried look. “Every time a woman gets serious about him, he abandons her.”
Tess stood there, her brother’s strength a bulwark for her. “Just like his mother abandoned him.”
“What?”
“…Nothing. Just something Pete told me. It might be a key to why he is that way, that’s all.”
“You’re looking tired, Tess. It’s been one hell of a day on everyone.”
Tess nodded. She reached up and placed a kiss on Gib’s scratchy cheek. “How are you and Dany Villard coming along?”
It was his turn to shrug. “I don’t know. I know where I want it to go, but she’s frightened, and she’s got other issues staring her in the face.” He smiled tiredly. “Nobody said loving someone was easy, did they?”
Tess knew all too well what Gib meant. What she felt for Pete deep within her heart was much more than friendship. But was it love? Did she dare call it that? Or was it the war overdramatizing her and everyone else’s fragmented emotions, extruding them to some invisible breaking point where the only option was to reach out to another human being for support and stability? To reach out for sanity’s sake? “No,” Tess finally said, “love is never easy.”
Gib snorted softly and placed his hands on his narrow hips as he studied the star-studded sky above them. “I remember Pete telling me one time that falling in love was like a shadow on the sky.”
“What an odd thing to say,” Tess murmured. “What did he mean by that, Gib?”
“I dunno. He muttered something about love being like a shadow in his life, blotting out the sun. I guess he sees love like a bad stain.” He smiled slightly. “Pete’s a man who lives, eats and breathes flying, Tess. So he sees everything in terms of the sky, I guess. It’s where he feels safest, feels strong.” With a shake of his head, Gib put his hand on the doorknob. “I’ve heard of love being a lot of things, but never a shadow on the sky.”
Once again Tess felt anguish. “I understand what he meant,” she said, her voice roughened with unshed tears. “And it makes sense.”
Gib gave her a pat on the shoulder. “Glad it does to you, because frankly, love to me is the sunshine, not the shadow. Get some sleep, Tess. I’ll see you tomorrow night?”
“Yes…I’ll come in tomorrow night,” she promised, and melted into the darkness. Pete’s analogy of love spun in Tess’s mind. Right now, she knew he needed someone to talk to, to share the horror of what had happened today. Grimly she headed toward the officers club in the distance. Maybe she’d find Pete there, and they could talk. Maybe.
*
With a groan, Pete opened his eyes. It was morning, and the sunlight was pouring through his tent flaps. His head felt like it was about to split open, and he was sweating freely in the humidity. He turned over and discovered he was still in his flight suit and boots. Rubbing his face, he slowly made it to a sitting position, squinting in the bright light. Over the next half hour, bits and pieces came floating back to his groggy senses. A couple of his buddies had helped carry him back to the tent long after he’d drowned himself in Johnnie Walker Red. He’d blacked out on the cot, and that was the last thing he remembered.
Yesterday his stomach had been clenched like a painful fist, but Pete felt nothing there now. There was a sense of safety in feeling nothing at all, and he closed his eyes, a sigh escaping from his lips. What day was it? He looked at the Playboy calendar taped to his locker. Well, they sure as hell wouldn’t schedule him to fly a day after
the crash. Good, he wouldn’t fly today. And then the scenes of the rocket attack slowly encroached upon his spongy mind.
Joe…how was Joe, his copilot? The kid was just out of marine OCS and navy flight school, and he loved to fly as much as Pete did. Had he made it through surgery?
And Jerry? What about his gunner? God, Random had been assigned to him a year before he’d shipped over with the squadron to Marble Mountain. The lance corporal was a good marine who was gung ho and fiercely loyal. Before he’d shipped to Nam, Jerry had become engaged to be married to Maria back in New York. How many times had Random showed him a picture of that good-looking Italian chick he was going to tie the knot with?
“Damn it,” Pete rasped, rubbing his face. He had to get over to the MASH unit and find out how his crew was doing after surgery. Guilt shredded through him as he slowly got to his feet. He should have checked on them last night. The pain in his head increased tenfold. No matter how rotten he felt, he had to make it over to the MASH unit. His crew needed to know he cared. Men stuck together in times of crisis. They didn’t abandon one another.
Fumbling for and finding his utility cap, Pete settled it on his aching head. Putting on his aviator glasses to protect his sensitive eyes from the brutal sunlight, he staggered out the tent door. His crew needed to know he was there for them. Men stuck together.
*
“I’m sorry,” the nurse at the entrance desk said, “neither of your crew made it out of surgery, Captain Mallory.”
Pete stood thunderstruck. He stared at her, open-mouthed. “But—”
“They’re dead,” she said as gently as possible. “The body bags are already over at—”
“No!” The cry lurched from his constricted throat. Dazed, Pete turned and ran out of the tent. Back out in the sunlight, he stumbled to a halt. His chest hurt, his eyes burned and he felt a scream clawing up through him, one that demanded to be released. He wavered, both hands pressed against his chest as he tried to absorb the nurse’s words, absorb the reality of war. Joe and Jerry were dead. And he was still alive to remember what had happened, how they’d lost their young lives.
One Man's War Page 8