The Intruders jg-6

by Stephen Coonts

  He sat now trying to take it all in, to adjust his frame of reference. He had been here once before, on one of his cruises to Vietnam. He tried to recall some details of that visit, but the memories were vague, blurred scenes just beyond the limits of complete recall. He had sat here in this room with Morgan McPherson…at which table? He couldn’t remember. Morgan’s face, laughing, he could see that, but the room…Who else had been there?

  Oh, Morg! If you could only be here again. To sit here and share a few moments of life. We wouldn’t waste it like we did then. If only…

  So many of those guys were dead. And he had forgotten. That the moments he had spent with them were fuzzy and blurred seemed a betrayal of what they had been, what they had given. Life goes on, but still… All that any man can leave behind are the memories that his friends carry. He isn’t really gone until they are. But if the living quickly forget, it is as if the dead man never was.

  “… we oughta go buy some souvenirs,” the Real was saying. “The folks at home would really like…”

  Jake polished off the last of his drink and stood. He threw some Singapore dollars on the table, money he had acquired this morning from the money changers aboard ship. “See you guys later.”

  “Where are you going?”

  He was going back to the ship, but he didn’t want to say that. “Oh, I dunno. Gonna just walk. See you later.”

  Outside on the street he stuffed his hands into his pockets and turned toward the wharves. He walked along staring at the sidewalk in front of him, oblivious of the traffic and the sights and the human stream that parted to let him past, then immediately closed in behind him.

  * * *

  The next day Jake stood an eight-hour duty officer watch in the ready room. About two in the afternoon the Real McCoy came breezing in.

  “Today’s your lucky day, Grafton. You are blessed to have Flap and me for friends. Truly blessed.”

  “I know,” Jake told him dryly.

  “We met some Brits. What a bunch they are! How we ever kicked them out of the good ol’ U.S. of A. is a mystery I’ll never understand.”

  “A military miracle.”

  “These are good guys.”

  “I’m sure.”

  “They’ve invited us to a party at Changi this evening. A party! And they swore that some Aussie women would be there! Quantas stews. Can you beat that?” Without pausing to let Jake wrestle with that question, he steamed on. “When do you get off?”

  “Uh, two hours from now.”

  The Real consulted his watch. “I’ll wait. Flap is taking the next boat in, but I’ll wait for you. I’ve got directions. We’ll grab a cab and tootle on over to party hearty. Maybe, just maybe, we’ll get a glorious opportunity to lower the white count. Oooh boy!”

  McCoy strode up the aisle between the huge, soft chairs, past the silent 16-mm movie projector, and blasted through the door into the passageway.

  Jake sat back in his chair and opened the letter from his parents yet again. It had been two weeks since the last mail delivery, via a cargo plane out of Cubi Point, and this was the current crop, delivered this morning — one letter from his mother. She signed it “Mom and Dad,” but she wrote every word. Nothing from Callie McKenzie.

  Maybe that was for the best. It had been a hell of a romance, but now it was over. She was from one world, he was from a completely different one. Presumably she was doing her own thing there in Chicago, going to class and dating some longhaired hippie intellectual who liked French novels. What was it about French novels?

  But he desperately wished she had written. Even a Dear John letter would be preferable to this vast silence, he told himself, wanting to believe it but not quite sure that he did.

  Oh well. Like most of the things in his life, this relationship was out of his control. Have a nice life, Callie McKenzie. Have a nice life.

  * * *

  Darkness comes quickly in the tropics. Twilight is an almost instantaneous transition from daylight to darkness. Jake, Flap and the Real had just arrived at Changi by taxi and found the outdoor pavilion when the transition occurred. Whoom, and the lanterns in the pavilion were flickering bravely against the mighty darkness.

  The Brit and Aussie soldiers had indeed not forgotten their invitation of the afternoon. They led the three Americans around and introduced them, but Flap was the only surefire hit with the ladies. Soon he had all five of the women gathered around him.

  “The Aussies aren’t used to black men wearing pants,” the Real whispered to Jake. “Those stews will get over the novelty in a while and we’ll get a chance to cut a couple out.”

  Jake wasn’t so sure. The soldiers seemed to be eyeing the crowd around Flap with a faint trace of dismay. Nothing obvious, of course, but Jake thought he could see it.

  “Hey, mate. How about a beer?” The Australian who asked held out a couple of cold bottles of Fosters.

  “Thanks. Real hard duty you guys got here.”

  “Beats the outback. Beats that scummy little war you Yanks gave in the Nam, too. Saigon was a bit of all right but the rest of it wasn’t so cheery. This is mighty sweet after that busman’s holiday, I can tell you.”

  “It was the only war we had,” the Real explained, then poured beer down his throat. Jake Grafton did the same.

  Two beers later Jake Grafton was sitting at a table in the corner listening to Vietnam War stories from a couple of the Aussies when one of the stews came over to join them. “Mind if I join you chaps?”

  “Not at all, not at all. Brighten up the party. How long are you in for this time, Nell?”

  “Off to Brisbane and Sydney tomorrow. Then back here via Tokyo the following day.” Nell winked at Jake. “Girl has to keep herself busy now, doesn’t she?”

  Grafton nodded and grinned. Nell returned it. She was a little above medium height, with fair hair and a dynamite tan. Several gold bracelets encircled each of her wrists and made tiny tinkly noises when she moved her arms.

  “My name’s Jake,” he told her.

  “Nell Douglas,” she said and stuck out her hand. Jake shook it. Cool and firm. And then he looked around and realized the Aussies had drifted and he and Nell were alone.

  “So what do you do for the Yanks?”

  “I’m a pilot.”

  “Oh, God! Not another one. I’ve sworn off pilots for at least three months.” She smiled again. He liked the way her eyes smiled when she did.

  “Better tell me about it. Nothing like a sympathetic listener to ease a broken heart.”

  “You don’t look like the sympathetic type.”

  “Don’t be fooled by appearances. I’m sensitive, sympathetic, charming, warm, witty, wonderful.” He shrugged. “Well, part of that’s true, anyway. I’m warm.”

  Now her whole face lit up. Her bracelets tinkled.

  “How long have you been flying with Quantas?”

  “Five years. My father has a station in Queensland. One day I said to myself, Nell old girl, if you stay here very much longer one of these jackeroos will drag you to the altar and you’ll never see any more of the world than you’ve seen already, which wasn’t very much, I can tell you. So I applied to Quantas. And here I am, flying around the globe with my little stew bag and makeup kit, serving whiskey to Japanese businessmen, slapping pilots, giving lonely soldiers the hots, and wondering if I’m ever going back to Queensland.”

  “What’s a jackeroo?”

  “You Yanks call them cowboys.”

  This could be something nice, Jake thought, looking at the marvelous, open, tanned female face and feeling himself warmed by her glow. There are a lot of pebbles on the beach and some of them are nuggets, like this one.

  “So a station’s a ranch?”

  “Yes. Sheep and cattle.”

  “I was raised on a farm myself. Dad ran a few steers, but mainly he raised corn.”

  “Ever going back?” Nell asked.

  “I dunno. Never say never. I might.”

  She told him abo
ut the station in Queensland, about living so far from anything that the world outside seemed a fantasy, a shimmering legend amid the heat and dust and thunderstorms. As she talked he glanced past the lanterns into the darkness beyond, at that place where the mown grass and the velvet blackness met. The night was out there as usual, but here, at least, there was light.

  An hour or so later someone turned on the radio and several of the women wanted to dance. To Jake’s surprise Flap “Go Ugly Early” Le Beau proved good at dancing, slow or fast, so good that he did only what his partner could do. You had to watch him with three or four of the sheilas before you realized that he sensed their skill level almost instantaneously and asked of them only what they had to give. Nell pointed that out to Jake, who saw it then. She danced a fast number with Flap — she was very good — as the Aussies and Brits watched appreciatively. They applauded when the number ended.

  Nell rejoined Jake and led him out onto the floor for the next slow number. “I don’t dance very well,” he told her.

  “That’s not the point,” she said, and settled in against him to the beat of the languid music.

  It was then that Jake Grafton realized he was in over his head. The supple body of the woman against his chest, the caress of her hair on his cheek, the faint scent of a cologne he didn’t recognize, the touch of her hands against his — all this was having a profound effect and he wasn’t ready.

  “Relax,” she whispered.

  He couldn’t.

  The memory of his morning in bed with Callie four months ago came flooding back. He could see the sun coming through the windows, feel the clean sheets and the sensuous touch of her skin…

  “You’re stiff as a board.”

  “Not quite.”

  “Oops. Didn’t mean it quite that way, love.”

  “I’m not a very good dancer.”

  She moved away a foot or so and looked searchingly into his face. “You’re not a very good liar either.”

  “I’m working on it.”

  She led him by the hand through the crowd and out of the pavilion into the darkness. “Why is it all the good ones come with complications?”

  “At our age virgins are hard to find,” Jake told her.

  “I quit looking for virgins years and years ago. I just want a man who isn’t too scarred up.”

  She led him to a wall and hopped up on it. “Okay, love. Tell Ol’ Nell all about it.”

  Jake Grafton grinned. “How is it that a fine woman like you isn’t married?”

  “You want the truth?”

  “If you feel like it.”

  “Well, the truth is that I didn’t want the ones who proposed and the ones I wanted didn’t propose. Propose marriage, that is. They had a lot of things in mind but a trek to the altar wasn’t on the list.”

  “That’s sounds like truth.”

  “It is that, Ducky.”

  The music floating across the lawn was muted but clearly audible. And she was right there, sitting on the wall. Instinctively he moved closer and she put an arm around his shoulder. Their heads came together.

  Before very long they were kissing. She had good, firm lips, a lot like Callie’s. Of course Callie was…

  His heart was thudding like a drum when they finally parted for air. After a few deep breaths, he said, “There’s another woman.”

  “Amazing.”

  “I’m not married or anything like that. And I haven’t asked her to marry me, but I wanted to.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “I think she gave up on me. Hasn’t written in a couple months.”

  “You like your women dumb, then?” she asked softly, and put her lips back on his.

  Somehow she was off the wall and they were entwined in each other’s arms, their bodies pressed together. When their lips parted this time, a ragged breath escaped her. “Whew and double whew. You Yanks! Sex-starved maniacs, that’s what you are.”

  She eased away from him. “Well, that was my good deed for today. I’ve given another rejected, love-starved pilot hope for a brighter future. Now I think it’s time for this sheila to trek off to her lonely little bed. Must fly tomorrow, you know.”

  “Going to be back in Singapore day after tomorrow?”

  “Yes.”

  “What hotel? Maybe I can stop by and take you to dinner.”

  “The Intercontinental.”

  “I’ll walk inside with you.”

  “No, just stay where you are, mate. I’ve had quite enough tonight. One more good look at you in the light and I might drag you off to my lonely little bed for a night of sport. Can’t have that, can we, not with you pining your heart out for that other silly girl.”

  With that she was gone. Across the lawn and into the crowd.

  Jake Grafton leaned on the wall and lit a cigarette. His hands were trembling slightly.

  He didn’t know quite what to think, so he didn’t think anything. Just inhaled the cut-grass smell and looked into the darkness and let his heart rate subside to its normal plodding pace.

  * * *

  At least half an hour passed before Jake went back into the pavilion. Three half-potted Aussies were huddled around the piano watching Flap dance with the three stews who were still there. Le Beau had them in a line and was teaching them new steps to the wailing of a Japanese music machine. Everyone else had left, including the Real McCoy. Tomorrow was a working day for most of them.

  Jake decided one more beer for the road wouldn’t hurt, so he picked a bottle out of the icy water of the tub and joined the piano crowd.

  “Hey, mate.”

  “How you guys doing tonight?”

  “Great.”

  “Sure nice of you fellows to invite us to your wing ding. Makes a good break after forty-five days at sea.”

  “Don’t know how you blokes manage.”

  “Prayer,” Jake told them, and they laughed.

  The biggest of them was a brawny man three or four inches taller than Jake and at least forty pounds heavier. Most of his bulk was in his chest, shoulders and arms. He hadn’t said anything yet, but now he gestured to Flap. “Wish your bleedin’ nigger mate would pick his bird and let us at the other two.”

  Jake Grafton carefully set his beer on the piano. This was getting to be a habit. The last time they had sent him to the Marines.

  Wonder where they’ll send me this time?

  He stepped in front of the big Aussie, who still had one giant mitt wrapped around a bottle of beer.

  “What did you say?”

  “I said, I wish your bleedin’ nigger mate would—”

  As Jake drew back his right fist for a roundhouse punch he jabbed the Aussie in the nose with his left. This set the man momentarily off balance, so when the right arrived on his chin with all Jake’s weight behind it, it connected solidly with a meaty thunk that rocked Jake clear to the shoulder. The Aussie went backward onto the floor like he was poleaxed. And he stayed there.

  “Nice punch, mate, but you—” said the one to the left, but his words stopped when Jake’s fist arrived. The man took it solidly on the side of the head and sent a right at Jake that connected and shook him badly.

  Stars swam before Grafton’s eyes. He waded in swinging furiously. Some of his punches missed, some hit. That was the lesson he had learned as a boy on the grade school playground — keep swinging and going forward. Most boys don’t really like to fight, so when you keep swinging they will fall back, and ultimately quit. Of course, these soldiers weren’t boys and worse, they liked to fight.

  His’ attack worked for several seconds, then the third Aussie, who was now behind him, grabbed him and spun him around. Before Jake could get set he took a shot on the cheekbone that put him down.

  Dazed, he struggled to rise. When he got to his feet it was too late. All three of the Aussies were asleep on the floor and Flap Le Beau was standing there calmly scrutinizing him.

  “What was that all about?”

  Jake swayed and caught himself by grabbing
the piano.

  “They insulted Elvis.”

  Flap sighed. “I guess we’ve worn out our welcome.” He took Jake’s arm and got him started for the door. “Ladies,” he said, addressing the three stews gaping at them, “it’s been a real treat. The pleasure of your company was sweeter than you will ever know.”

  He beamed benignly at them and steered Jake out into the night.

  The base was quiet. No taxi at the main gate. They waved at the sentry and kept walking. Jake’s right hand throbbed and so did his head. The hand was the important thing, though. He rubbed it as he walked.

  “What really happened back there?” Flap asked.

  “The big stud called you a nigger.”

  “You hit him for that?”

  “Yeah. The asshole deserved it.”

  Flap Le Beau threw back his head and laughed. “Damn, Jake, you are really something else.”

  “He was peeved because you were monopolizing the women.”

  Flap thought this was hilarious. He roared with laughter.

  “Want to tell me what’s so damn funny?”

  “You are. You nitwit! All of them are bigots. Even the women. I wasn’t getting anywhere with them. Not a one of those women would have gone to bed with me, not even if I was the richest nigger in America and had a cock eighteen inches long. They’ll go back to Australia and tell all about their big adventure, talking to and dancing with an American nigger. ‘Oh, Matilda, you won’t believe this, but I even let him touch me.’ ”

  Jake didn’t know what to say, so he said nothing.

  After a bit Flap asked, “Think you broke your hand?”

  “Dunno. Don’t think so. Maybe stoved it. Man, I got that big guy with a perfect shot. Had everything behind it and drove it right through his chin.”

  “He never moved after you hit him. Bet it’s the first time anybody ever knocked him out.”

  “Thanks for coming to the rescue, Kemo Sabe.”