the Last Run (1987)

by Leonard B Scott

  The four VC in the depression were still stunned by the blast. Two tried raising up to fire, but bullets plowed the ground in front of them. The other two ran but were shot in the back and legs.

  Rose reached the depression first and fired point blank into the two cowering men. One screamed out, clutching his stomach, and cried pathetically. Rose pointed the barrel of his smoking M-16 at the man's face and pulled the trigger. The weapon was empty. Preacher ran up and fell to his knees beside the wounded soldier as Rose ejected the spent magazine and inserted a new one. Preacher looked up with a pleading expression as Rose lowered the barrel with a cruel grin. "Get back. He's gonna splatter."

  Preacher leaned over the soldier in front of the gun barrel and began inspecting the wound.

  Rose lowered his weapon slowly. One of the men who had tried to run was moaning. Rose bent over the writhing soldier and pulled a first aid bandage from his harness. He looked at Preacher and winked.

  Wade and the rest of the men spread out and began moving toward the hootches. Sergeant Zubeck had been in the first hut and was thrown through the door when the radio shack had exploded. He lay on his back, stunned, as Thumper approached and lifted him to his feet. The sergeant fought to keep his balance and shook his head. "Where's the L-tee?" he asked groggily. Thumper motioned to the smoldering debris. "He didn't make it out."

  Zubeck fell to his knees. "God, no."

  Lieutenant Foley received a report from the Cav pilot that two of the huts had disintegrated in an explosion and that one of their birds had taken several hits but was flyable. Foley tried calling Zubeck's radio operator, but he wasn't monitoring. It had been three minutes since the teams went in and he should have reported by now. The helmet earphones suddenly popped and an excited voice spoke rapidly. "Camp secured, have one WIA and one KIA. Got fifteen enemy KIA and three WIA. Radio destroyed by dinks, captured bucoo documents, need Demo to blow PZ, need medevac ASAP. Over."

  Foley had a list of the men's names with a number beside each. He took a breath before pushing the transmit button. "Eagle Assault, what line number of KIA and WIA? Over."

  There was a five-second pause before the answer came back. "Sierra-three, line number zero-one, KIA; line number zero- four, WIA."

  Foley didn't need to look at the list to determine the name of the dead soldier. Avant was the leader and was listed first.

  J. D. Gibson sat back in the seat of his bird dog circling two miles away monitoring the operation. He dropped his head at the news of his friend's death. His eyes clouded, and he stared at his left hand-it had patted Avant's leg only thirty minutes before.

  The image of Avant's silly grin filled his mind as he leaned his head back on the seat and fought back tears. He clenched his fist, wanting to smash something to release his anger and frustration. The death of a friend was always a possibility that lingered in the back of his mind, but the reality of its happening still brought shock. He had prepared for it in his own way, but the incredible empty feeling of loss and the overwhelming feeling of frustration could never be anticipated. Damn, was there a clue or sign of its coming that he should have seen? The answer came back, making him feel small and useless: Dying in war couldn't be avoided. Death could strike anyone at anytime, anyplace. It was always there waiting . . . waiting like a black widow in her web. And everyone in this sad land was caught in a struggle that might make him her victim.

  Gibson raised his head, letting his tears fall freely. He cared, damn it! He'd cared and to hell with not showing emotion. His friend at least deserved his tears. God, Brad, he thought, I'm so sorry.

  The Huey set down gently in the pick-up zone. General Larose hopped to the ground along with his operations officer and Major Shane. The bird lifted up and a medevac came in behind it.

  Larose bent over the wounded Ranger and patted his shoulder. "Thanks, son."

  Private First Class Brasseaux smiled through his pain and held up his hand. "We kicked ass, sir."

  Larose took his hand, squeezing it tightly. "You sure did. I'll visit you in the hospital and pin on your Purple Heart."

  The young soldier's face broke into a grimace of pain as the medic tried to take off his shirt. Brasseaux looked up at the general and clenched his teeth. "I'll be back."

  The general released his hand, stood up, and cast a disgusted look at the three wounded Vietnamese lying beside the soldier. Two were hurt badly. He stepped over them and joined Major Shane and Sergeants Zubeck and Wade.. Beside them were the rejnains of Lieutenant Avant, covered with a blood-soaked hammock.

  Wade explained what had happened in the assault as he escorted the general through the camp.

  The general shook his head after the tour and surveyed the scene one last time.

  "Major Shane, your men performed superbly. I'll put all of them in for awards. It's too bad about the radio and codes, but the setback to their operation is more than enough compensation. It'll never replace your lieutenant, but. . . but he died heroically in the service of his country. I'm proud of him, and I'm proud of your men. If there's anything I can do for you or them, call me."

  Shane looked at his assembling men, then back at Avant's body.

  He nodded in silence and knelt down by his dead officer. "Goodbye, Brad."

  Gibson ran his hand through his short gray hair and sat down tiredly in the operations briefing room. He'd landed an hour before at the airfield and had driven out to Mustang.

  Childs was posting the situation map and looked over his shoulder at the young officer.

  "Don't get down, L-tee. Lieutenant Avant is gone. There's nothin' we can do about it but drive on."

  Gibson nodded and lifted his head. "I wanna go out on a team. I need to get back in the field and hold a weapon again."

  Childs faced the lieutenant, looking into his pale blue eyes.

  "Revenge is a killer. You'll forget the rules and take too many chances. Just forget it and keep flying."

  Gibson forced a smile. "I don't wanna go for revenge. I just wanna get back in the bush and feel like I'm doing something useful. Team One-three has a sick man, so I'll take his place."

  Childs knew exacdy what the L-tee was feeling. He had felt the same way many times. "I'll talk to the major when he gets back this evening. In the meantime, pack your shit. I'll tell Sergeant Selando he's gonna be an assistant team leader and you'll lead the team for training purposes."

  J. D. began to offer his thanks when Childs's voice turned cold. "L-tee, don't fuck it up. Selando and his team are good people. Don't be trying to even the score out there or you'll get one of them greased."

  J. D. 's eyes narrowed as his jaw tightened. "You know Childs, you really are an asshole."

  The sergeant snickered and turned back to the map. "Yeah, L-tee, I am . . . but I'm right and you damn well know it. Lead that team right or I'll personally kick your ass."

  Gibson stared at the sergeant's back, knowing he had wanted to even the score. The crotchety sergeant had seen through him and, in his typical direct way, let it be known he was wrong.

  The lieutenant stood and walked for the entrance. He stopped at the first step and looked over his shoulder. "Thanks."

  Childs kept posting the map and only nodded in acceptance.

  Chapter 15

  24 September

  Gibson raised his hand and halted the team. He looked back at the five camouflaged faces and motioned them down for a break.

  Team 1-3 had walked out of Mustang the day before and were en route to a mountain trail. Gibson checked his map. The trail was only a few hundred meters away. The team had not liked the idea of his taking over and only reluctandy accepted his leadership. He knew he was being judged, as his platoon in the 173rd had judged him when he first took command. The looks on the faces were the same. "Does he know what he's doing?" their questioning stares wanted to know. Only with time would their questions be answered.

  Gibson took a long drink from his two-quart plastic canteen and motioned his men up. He pointed to Watk
ins, a baby-faced Kentuckian, and whispered, "Take point. The trail is a couple hundred meters straight ahead. Take it slow."

  The soldier glanced at Sergeant Selando, who nodded for him to follow the order.

  Gibson noted the gesture and stared at the stocky sergeant, who returned the glare with a surly smirk. Gibson waited for Watkins to pass by him and then stepped close to the olive-skinned sergeant, whispering harshly, "Don't ever do that again! I don't need your approval on anything."

  Selando still held a condescending smirk. "Yes, sir."

  Feeling the heat of the sergeant's eyes on his back, Gibson stepped in front of the sergeant and began to follow the point man. Selando was experienced, but so was he. There was no room for two team leaders. Selando hadn't accepted that fact yet and would be watching his every move.

  Gibson shook the thought from his mind and concentrated on looking ahead. It don't mean nothing, he said to himself, and stalked forward cautiously.

  Woodpecker, lying back on his poncho liner, looked up at the sun and snapped his fingers to the beat of Rose's radio.

  <4Fm going to tan up this bod and find me a woman tonight."

  Rose pushed sand up into a mound and gazed out at the breaking waves. "Man, this R and R shit is what's happenin'. If I'd knowed they was gonna do this for rappelin' outta a chopper and killin' dinks, I'da volunteered."

  "You did volunteer," said Preacher blandly.

  "Man, you crazy? They told us we gonna do it. I didn't raise my hand."

  "Yes, but you volunteered for the Rangers, so it's the same thing."

  "Preacherman, you thinkin' like a preacher again. Just cause you say one thing one time don't mean it means it all the time. Why, I told a hundred women I dug 'em. And at the time, I did. But that don't mean I really dug 'em, you know what I mean?"

  The Indian smiled. "Yes, I understand. And one day I hope you do."

  As if confused, Rose looked at Preacher and shook his head. "Preacher, you're a heavy trip, man. Hey, Thump, where is Matt?"

  The heavily muscled soldier opened his eyes. "He's still trying to call that singer in Saigon."

  "Man, he's been gone all morning. The dude is wastin' rays. Look at my tan. I'm ready for to-night"

  Russian, the only one of them fully-clothed, shot Rose a warning glare.

  "The sergeant say nothing of going to the city tonight."

  Rose shoved his sand mound over. "Man, they gave us a three- day I and I. That means intoxication and intercoursin', and the Rose is in for some intercoursin'!"

  "The sergeant say nothing of. . ."

  Sergeant Zubeck, holding a football, ran up to the lounging men. "Come on Three-one, I got this from the recreation guys. How about a litde game?"

  Thumper sat up and winked at Rose. "I don't know, Zee. Your team is kinda outta our league. Your guys being wimps and all, it wouldn't be fair."

  Zubeck threw the ball at Thumper. "Come on stud, you just pissed off the mighty Two-one. We gonna beat you by two TDs or it's a case of Bud.''

  Thumper tossed the ball to Woodpecker and looked at the others. "Well, we going to play or not?"

  Woodpecker stood up, flexing his small arm muscles. "I always did like Budweiser."

  Preacher shook his head. "I don't drink beer."

  Russian got to his feet and patted the small soldier's back. "I know nothing of your football, but we beat them anyway, yes?"

  Preacher smiled and jumped to his feet. "What are we waiting for?"

  Virginia put down the phone and wiped away her tears. He called ... he finally called, and wanted to see her.

  At first he'd hemmed and hawed with small talk, but then he'd asked if she could come to China Beach R and R Center in Da Nang to be with him. She couldn't say "yes" fast enough.

  Virginia sat down on her bed, trying to remember his every word. His team and another had been given an in-country R and R for doing a good job-three days at Da Nang. They'd just arrived that morning and checked into the recreation camp. He'd been trying to call for three hours . . . three hours, my God . . . Now what was it she had said? She'd have to sing tonight but then she could claim she was sick and needed to rest for a few days. She would catch a flight tomorrow morning and be there by noon. That would give them one-and-a-half days and one entire night.

  She started to pack.

  Wade walked over the sand dune feeling light. Ginny was coming. He wanted to hold her so bad he didn't think he could stand waiting another day.

  Someone hollering broke his trance and he looked up the beach.

  Sergeant Zubeck tackled Woodpecker just as he received a snap from Russian. Team 2-1's men hooted and jumped up and down, patting their sergeant's back.

  Woodpecker threw the ball down and stalked back, mumbling to the huddle.

  Thumper knelt down and pointed to Russian. "Once you snap the ball you have to block Sergeant Zee. He's killin' us."

  Russian shrugged his shoulders. "He does not stay in one place for me to stand in front of him."

  Rose cried out, "You don't stand in front of him! You knock his fuckin' head off!"

  Russian smiled cruelly. "Now I understand."

  Thumper whispered his play and broke the huddle with "Three- one!"

  Russian lined up over the ball and eyed Zubeck before bending over. Thumper and Preacher lined up on the right side, with Rose on the left. Woodpecker barked out, "Down! . . . Set! . . . Hut one! Hut two! Hut two! Russian, give me the damn ball!"

  The bullish soldier tossed the ball between his legs and charged out. Zubeck easily sidestepped him and began to run for the fading quarterback when suddenly a huge hairy arm stuck out, clothes-lining him in the neck and almost taking off his head.

  Woodpecker faked a pump to Rose and threw the ball to Thumper, who was cutting across the middle. Two tacklers closed on Thumper for the easy stop when Thumper lateraled behind him to Preacher, who cut in the afterburner and streaked toward the goal. A thin soldier chased hopelessly after him, but the Indian was a blur.

  Zubeck staggered to his feet and shook his head in defeat. The score was final: his team, one touchdown, and Wade's team, two.

  Rose put his arm around Preacher's shoulder. "Man, does the U. S. of A. Olympic team take Indians?"

  Zubeck and his men gathered around Thumper. "You get the beer but we get a can apiece 'cause you cheated."

  "Cheated?"

  "Yeah, Russian is a foreigner. Foreigners ain't supposed to play like that, plus that Indian has got a jet in his ass!"

  Thumper laughed. "Okay, you get a few hot beers."

  Zubeck turned to his men. "You hear that? He said 'hot.' What'd you say we cool off this big ape?"

  Thumper began running halfheartedly and was soon caught and dragged toward the South China Sea.

  Rose tapped Preacher and ran for the struggling man. "They gonna pay for that!''

  Wade quickly took off his shirt and boots as the team members roughhoused each other over in the waves, and he ran down the sand dune screaming, "Reinforcements coming for Three-one!"

  Lieutenant Gibson rose to his knees and snapped his fingers at the men to his left, then to those on his right, and signaled them to pick up the Claymores they'd set up along their ambush trail. They'd been waiting all day. The sun was beginning to sink and it was time to pull back and laager for the night. It was dangerous to stay in an ambush at night. The procedure was to pull back a couple hundred meters and sleep during the darkness, then return at dawn to set up again. Gibson stood and walked to the left flank of the ambush to get in an overwatch position. Watkins would do the same on the right flank. They would keep an eye on the trail while the other team members moved forward and picked up their Claymore mines and rewrapped the firing wire.

  Gibson leaned up against a tree and glanced down at his CAR-15. He looked back up and saw a hadess Vietnamese soldier casually walking down the trail toward him. His AK-47 assault rifle was slung over his shoulder, and he acted as though he was out for an evening stroll.


  Gibson brought the CAR-15 up and fired in a single motion. The bullet tore a gaping hole through his neck and he crumbled to the ground as if he had fallen asleep. The careless soldier never saw his killer.

  Sergeant Selando had just picked up his Claymore when the single shot rang out. He spun around, fell to die ground, then noticed the lieutenant, standing ten feet away, looking at his weapon and shaking his head. Selando cursed, got to his feet, and stomped over to the officer.

  "Your accidental shot just compromised the whole mission! God damn it, keep your weapon on safe!'' the Seigeant whispered angrily.

  Gibson kept his eyes on the trail and spoke evenly. "I'll secure the trail. You check the body."