Wade looked back at the ceiling. "It doesn't make any difference anyway. She's on tour and I wouldn't know how to get in touch. It just makes me feel better knowing there's girls out there like her, you know?"
Thumper lowered his head, thinking of the Red Cross girl he'd loved.
"Yeah, I know."
They both sat in silence for a moment, then Thumper stood and walked for the door. "Matt, we're gonna meet some others like them when this is over. We know how it can be, and we'll make it happen again."
Wade looked up at his close friend and smiled faintly. "Yeah, one day, Thumper. Thanks."
Wade lay his head back, feeling very tired, and closed his eyes. He hoped it really would happen. For now, he only had a picture. A picture that slowly faded as sleep finally overcame him.
Virginia Wolinski rolled over in bed, unable to sleep. Her thoughts were on the man who had held her for two nights, protected and secure against the jungle. The heat of his kiss still burned her lips and made her think about how he'd looked at her when he stepped away and stared into her eyes. From that look she had realized at once that he didn't want to leave her, and that had made her feel content.
Very soon, now, she would be seeing him again. She hadn't dreamed it possible when he'd left, but she'd just walked out the terminal door when an Aviation commander drove up. He wanted to see her about filling out some "special" paperwork. The paperwork gave her an idea that turned into her ticket to see Matt Wade once more. She closed her eyes and a brief smile played across her lips as she thought of his kiss once more.
Chapter 9
11 September An Khe
Beads of sweat trickled down Thumper's camouflaged face as he stopped in mid-step and slowly turned to his sergeant. He pointed ahead, balled his hand into a loose fist, and grinned. Wade returned a single nod and ran a finger across his throat.
Thumper winked in acknowledgment and raised his weapon to the ready position. Slowly turning, he crouched and began to creep forwaid again.
Wade followed carefully a few paces behind. He still had not seen the enemy, but he knew his friend's skills were unquestionable.
The big Ranger stopped again and rose up slowly. "Bang! Shitbirds-you're dead! Everybody freeze in your positions. Don't touch your weapons and don't move a muscle until we inspect you."
Six surprised and upset students lay hidden in ambush position just off a trail. Thumper and Wade had sneaked up on them from behind and caught them all facing the trail with no rear security.
Thumper shook his head and walked toward the trail to check their Claymore dispositions as Wade inspected their equipment and individual positions.
Wade had been back three days and was fully rested. He'd become deeply involved in the training program in an effort to forget about the woman. With his busy schedule, he'd been successful.
Wade inspected the first two men, then picked up the third soldier's M-16 and sighed as he pointed the barrel at the man's face. "Tell me what your weapon selector switch is on."
The wide-eyed student stammered, "I ... I don't know, Ranger Sergeant.''
Wade pressed the barrel into the cringing man's forehead. "In that case this weapon has a mind of its own. And right now it wants to blow your brains out for being stupid. A weapon kills dinks and it can kill you or your friends unless you control it." Wade tossed the weapon down at the soldier's side. "Did you just learn something?"
"Yes, Ranger Sergeant, keep my weapon on safe until I've got a target."
Minutes later, the six students sat on the trail as Thumper critiqued their ambush. "You did a good job of setting up the Claymores and hiding yourselves but you failed to designate a rear security team. Based on terrain, sometimes you don't need to, but in this case you had a trail forty meters behind you. I smelled you first. Which one of you uses "Old Spice" aftershave?"
One of the students frowned and raised his hand. Thumper motioned his hand down. "Rule! You never wear after-shave or freshly washed fatigues, and you never smoke, take a shit, or eat C rations in ambush position. Dinks have been in the bush a long time, and the slightest trace of a different smell tells 'em you're there."
Wade sat behind the students, listening. There was no one better than Thumper for teaching them. He was a natural-born Ranger. He had a gift, a sixth sense for feeling when something or someone was there.
Wade knew he was lucky. He had that sense, too, and so did Russian and Rose. It was one of the reasons that together they made the best team and were all still alive.
When Thumper finished his critique, he looked over at Wade. "You want to add anything, Matt?"
Wade got to his feet, "Yeah. You-all didn't do too bad. You were found by the best tracker in the company, Specialist Meeks, here. Don't feel bad about it; learn by it. If you got questions, ask. Tonight you've got some training that is super-important. Don't let your brain vapor-lock just because you can't see in the dark. Remember what we've been teaching you."
Lieutenants Gibson and Avant were leaning up against a tree at the mouth of the thickly vegetated valley by the Mini Ranger School. They were waiting their turn to walk "Death Valley." The Ranger cadre, hidden in the valley, was waiting to ambush them as they walked down a designated trail. The training was designed to teach point-man skills and to tune their senses. If they saw the cadre first, they wouldn't be killed. Tventy men had entered so far and by the sound of the blank ammunition popping, none had fared too well.
Gibson picked a stalk of grass and put it in his mouth. "You know, Brad, I thought I was pretty good in the field, but this training has really been good for me. I thought since I'd been to Ranger School this would have been a snap, but it isn't. This morning we set up a perfect ambush and I'll be damn if Specialist Meeks didn't make us. Said he heard one of us moving around."
Avant stretched his legs out. "Don't feel bad, cousin. OF Brad got his ambush all set up and one of my guys farted so loud the whole base camp knew where we was at."
Gibson spit out the grass stalk in laughter. "Really?"
Avant raised up and stared at his companion. "Well, I'll be damned. You can laugh. After all this time you finally did it. This training must be gettin' to ya, boy."
Gibson smiled. "No, the training hasn't, but you have."
Avant leaned back against the tree. "J. D., I know you told me you wanted to be a career officer and all, but why you doin' all this? The liaison job would have been good for your career."
"I like a challenge, Brad. That job wouldn't have been."
"Yeah, and it wouldn't have got you killed, either. This Ranger shit will put your ass in a body bag back to Texas. What really drives your train?"
Gibson was silent for a moment, trying to put feelings into words. "I guess it's trying to be the best. I gotta know I'm one of the good ones. We've seen the shitty officers that issue orders by a book instead of experience. I want to be a leader men can have confidence in."
"So there was never any doubt that you wanted to be an officer?"
"No. I knew when I was just a kid and saw my Dad marching his company down a road singing cadences, all in perfect step. It sent chills up my back. I remember I wanted so bad to be with them. There was never a doubt after that. I knew what I wanted. . . . How 'bout you, Brad? Did you always wanna be one?"
Avant lowered his head. "Cousin, you're lookin' at who I thought was gonna be the next Clarence Darrow. I went to North Georgia because my daddy thought I needed the discipline. I got a reserve commission when I graduated because it'd look good in my profession. I was gonna be a big lawyer like my daddy and one day run for office."
Gibson sat up. "What happened?"
Avant smiled reflectively. "I fell in love with a wonderful giii who happened to be my daddy's secretary. I went to her place one night to surprise her. I surprised her alright, her and my old man. It was a pretty ugly scene. Come to find out ol' daddy was payin' for the apartment, car, and her. I couldn't look at mom anymore, knowing what it'd do to her if she found out
, so I did the decent thing and left. The Army seemed a nice place to work things out for awhile. I'll go back to law school someplace else after I get out. Like Childs says, it ain't over till the fat lady sings."
"You went to Ranger School and Airborne school-you didn't have to do that just to work things out in your head."
Avant resumed his silly grin. "Cousin, I gotta be the best, too. Damn, boy, I couldn't let some nasty Texas career officer be the only leader in the Army. Ol' Brad has gotta be numero uno. And he gonna prove it in Death Valley."
Gibson put out his hand with a sly grin. "Five bucks says I make it through and you don't. I think you lawyers say 'put up or shut up.' "
Avant took his hand. "Boy, John Wayne will be proud of me today."
An hour later Gibson sat at the other end of the valley in sweat- soaked fatigues. He'd completed the walk, having been "killed" twice. He saw Avant emerge from the vegetation wearing a grin, and knew he'd lost.
The officer walked up and put out his hand. "Pay up, cousin."
Gibson was about to reach into his pocket but suddenly looked up. "Wait a minute. How'd ya know I was killed?"
"Sergeant Zubeck told me."
"Zubeck wouldn't have talked to you unless he killed you."
"He zapped my ass good. So did Selando. But you still owe me, cousin."
"No way! The bet was ... "
"The bet was, you'd make it through, and I wouldn't. Well, cousin, I didn't make it through, but that's irrelevant. The bet was if you made it through, and you didn't. Case closed. Pay the lawyer."
Gibson got up slowly, looking as if he was going for his pocket, but instead he jumped out, grabbed Avant's head, and wresded him to the ground. The two tired and sweat-soaked men fought for only seconds before both started laughing.
At dusk, Seigeant First Class Childs gathered the company around him and had the men sit down. "Shitbirds, you just completed your classes on smells. You now know the enemy ain't superman or any better than you. He eats different than we do, so he smells different. His shit smells different and the food he cooks smells different. When he's in the bush, he don't know you're there so he acts slack. You can usually smell him first or see his tracks or signs. So far, you've been using sight and smell to find him. Tonight you're going to learn to hear him."
Childs paced back and forth with his hands on his hips, looking into the young faces staring back at him. He pointed toward the valley. "Tonight's class is called the 'the night of horror.' In a litde while, you'll see why. I'm going to break you down in small groups, and you'll spread out. You'll have one cadre Ranger with each group, and he'll explain what you're hearing. You'll be out all night, then road-march fifteen miles tomorrow. Everybody must make the march or you're out. You haven't eaten today and tonight you won't sleep. Tomorrow we find out who is a Ranger and who isn't. Does anybody want to quit now and go to the mess hall and eat? I understand they're having steak and French fries."
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."
the Last Run (1987) Page 17