War Baby

by Colin Falconer

  ‘I used to do this all the time,’ Mickey said, lighting her cigarette, ‘then I figured there was no value in it.’

  ‘Do what?’

  ‘Sleep with men I didn’t love.’

  ‘It depends what you were looking for, I suppose.’

  ‘I suppose so.’ She stubbed out her cigarette and it was dark again. He felt her standing beside his hammock. Her hand reached for his in the darkness. ‘Be nice.’

  ‘Look ... I don’t want to sound inexperienced ... but I’ve never done it in a hammock.’

  ‘It’s easier if one of us keeps their feet on the ground,’ she said.

  He swung his legs out of the hammock. She stood between his thighs. ‘All you have to do is hold on,’ she murmured.

  ‘Okay. I’ll let you be in control.’

  ‘Good. That’s what I like to hear.’

  * * *

  Her body was slick with sweat. She sat astride him, one leg resting either side of the hammock for balance. It was the most urgent, the most uncomfortable, sex she’d ever had. She could hardly wait for it to start and she couldn’t wait for it to be over. She hadn’t had sex in so long but making love in a hammock with malarial mosquitoes whining around your head was not the release she had been looking for.

  ‘I’ve been bitten all over,’ she said.

  ‘Me, too.’

  ‘It’s not like this in the movies, is it?’

  ‘Get under the blanket,’ he said. She lay down on top of him and he tried to cover her as best he could.

  ‘Christ, well that’s the first time I’ve ever tried that.’

  ‘Really? You don’t look the kind of guy who’s ever done anything for the first time.’

  ‘Yeah? What sort of guy did you think I was?’

  ‘I figured that as soon as it was over you’d immediately demand a score out of ten for your performance.’

  ‘Yeah, I was going to ask you about that. What do you reckon? Eleven?’

  ‘No offence, but you need to work on your hammock skills. That was a 2.’

  ‘I want a rematch. Next time I’d prefer it if there weren’t vampire bats in the room. They sort of put me off my stride.’

  ‘They don’t make men like they used to.’

  ‘What made you do this? I thought you hated me.’

  ‘I do. It makes it a lot easier.’

  ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘Christ they’re still biting me.’ She flicked at the blanket with her foot, slapped at something buzzing around her head. ‘It’s funny. My big sister’s the one with the looks. I was always just her gawky little kid sister. I always wanted to be the one the guys looked at, but I never was. Now she’s thirty-four, she’s got three kids and she’s fat. And I’m still here, making out with guys in uncomfortable positions. I still don’t know which one of us I’d rather be.’

  ‘Don’t stay here. Come back with us, Mickey.’

  ‘Sure. We can buy a little cottage with a white picket fence and live happily ever after.’

  ‘Did you ever talk to anyone? When you got back from Vietnam.’

  ‘Like a shrink, you mean? Oh fuck this. That was a bat that time. I can’t stay here.’ She fumbled in the darkness for her shorts, shook them out and tried to balance on the hammock as she wriggled back into them. ‘Every ink blot looks like a blood stain to me. This is the only thing that works, Ryan. Back in San Diego nothing I did meant anything.’

  ‘This is no way to live, Mickey.’

  ‘Look who’s talking.’

  ‘That’s different. This is my job.’

  ‘And this is my job, okay? It may not be as glamorous as yours, hot shot, but it’s still my choice.’

  ‘You can’t stay in this bloody jungle the rest of your life.’

  ‘I met guys in the Nam who were on their third tour of duty. I didn’t understand it back then, I thought they were crazy. Now I don’t.’ He switched on the torch so she could find the rest of her clothes. ‘Anyway, what do you care what I do? Whether I stay here or not, you’ll still be gone in the morning. Right? Thanks for the ride, Ryan.’

  Chapter 35

  Webb watched her change the dressings on the boy with the amputated limb. He had imagined her married with babies by now, nursing in some provincial hospital. He had never expected to see her again, thought he might not recognize her even if he did. He remembered how she had looked those times at Bien Hoa, holding that young man’s hands in the expectants’ room.

  She looked up, saw him smiling at her. ‘So, you’re awake. Feeling better?’

  She put a hand on his forehead to check his temperature, took his pulse. Now the fever had gone, he felt lighter, and the colors around him seemed more vivid than they ever had before. ‘How long have I been here?’ he said.

  ‘Four days.’

  ‘Malaria?’

  ‘You should have taken your tablets.’

  ‘I forgot a dose here and there.’

  ‘It was the Negroes who invented rock music, but it was the anopheles mosquito that really showed us how to shake, rattle and roll. We should be able to start you on solids today.’

  ‘Not tortilla and beans. I’d rather be sick again.’

  ‘How is he?’ a voice said.

  Webb looked around. It was Ryan.

  ‘He must be better,’ Mickey said. ‘He’s complaining about the food.’

  ‘How you going, Spider?’

  Webb raised a feeble hand.

  ‘He’s been worried about you,’ Mickey said to him.

  Ryan made a face. ‘Bullshit. I don’t give a stuff.’

  ‘Sorry about this. You must be itching to get back.’

  ‘Not really,’ Ryan said.

  Webb saw the look that passed between Ryan and Mickey, and immediately he knew, with utter certainty, what had happened.

  Fucking Ryan. As if all the women in the world weren’t enough, he had to have Mickey as well. But what else did he expect?

  Oh, what the hell. If that was what she wanted, she was welcome to him. He didn’t give a damn.

  ‘You’ll be here another couple of days until you get your strength back. It’s a long walk back down the mountain.’

  ‘He’s making a meal out of this, isn’t he?’ Ryan said, grinning.

  ‘Can you do me a favor?’ Webb said.

  ‘Sure, mate. What is it?’

  Webb beckoned him closer. Ryan leaned in. ‘Just leave me the hell alone,’ he whispered.

  * * *

  A plume of black and orange smoke broiled up the horizon, following the white trails of phosphorous marker rockets. Sunlight flashed on the cockpit of the A-37 as it banked over the Guazapa volcano and started its run.

  Oh, Jesus Christ Almighty.

  He saw the Gatling guns winking on the wings and the heavy caliber bullets kicked up dust devils right across the compound. It was over in a moment, the jet roared overhead, the shriek of the engines echoing around the hills.

  The kids had been playing football out front of the hospital ten minutes ago. He prayed they weren’t still there.

  ‘Rogelio!’

  He was lying in the impossible broken-puppet attitude that death confers. There was blood everywhere; impossible to make out where it was all coming from.

  ‘Rogelio!’

  He bent down to pick him up, felt a jelly-like mass inside the boy’s T-shirt; something was terribly wrong. He realized with dumb horror that Rogelio was no longer just one body. He dropped him, staring at the mess on his hands.

  He looked up. Salvador was standing over him. ‘Help me with these others,’ he said. For the first time he was aware of the litter of small bodies lying around them in the dirt. One of them was crying and trying to stand. He ran over and picked him up.

  Chapter 36

  Because of the influx of new patients, they transferred Webb back to the ruined house he had been sharing with Ryan. Later that day, Salvador came to see him. ‘So, gringo, you missed the big show today. The pilot of that p
lane must be very proud. He made three kills in just one run. Four other children wounded. One is crippled.’

  He lit a cigarette and leaned against the wall. ‘They are moving against us, as d’Aubuisson promised. They have increased their patrols along the highway, and reinforced the garrison at Suchitoto. These bombings are just a way of trying to soften us up.’

  Webb knew their hopes of getting back to San Salvador the way they had come had virtually disappeared. ‘What are you going to do?’ he said.

  ‘We cannot fight a war against planes and regular army battalions. We have to protect the civilians. We will evacuate. You will have to come with us.’

  ‘Where will you go?’

  ‘Far from here,’ he said. ‘Si Dios quiere. God willing.’

  He went out. Ryan passed him in the doorway, looking strangely subdued. He looked exhausted.

  ‘You okay?’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘Did you get pictures?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Why not?’

  A shrug, and that was all.

  ‘Try and keep your mind on your job.’

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

  ‘You work it out.’

  ‘Hell with you.’ Ryan went back to the hospital. Mickey was sitting on the steps, her head between her knees. From inside he heard a soft mewing sound, like a wounded animal, or a baby.

  ‘Mickey.’

  She did not look up.

  ‘Mickey ...’

  He realised she couldn’t hear him. She had her hands over her ears. He touched her arm and she started, uttering a small sob of surprise.

  ‘Ryan.’

  ‘You okay?’

  She shook her head. ‘Can’t you hear that?’

  He made a face. ‘What is it?’

  ‘We have no morphine,’ she said. ‘We took both that boy’s legs off and we have no morphine to give him.’ He sat down on the step and put his arm around her. She moved closer. ‘You’re right,’ she whispered.

  ‘About what?’

  ‘About me. I’ve had enough.’

  ‘Maybe I have too,’ he said.

  ‘For you, it’ll pass,’ she said.

  ‘No, I mean it, Mickey. I’ve been in every bloody war going in the last ten years; Vietnam, Cambodia, Angola, now here. I’ve lost some good mates, and Christ knows how many times I thought I was going to get it. I’ve had enough. I don’t want to do this shit anymore.’ The child was still crying. It grated on his nerves. ‘I don’t want to hear that anymore. It’s time I gave this away for good.’

  * * *

  By now the guinda - the evacuation of the village - was routine. When the soldiers came the companeros and the guerrillas would retreat together, then come back and rebuild what was left of the village when the soldiers had withdrawn. Like a boxer pitted against a taller, stronger opponent, they were always shuffling back, leaving the chuchos punching air.

  The next morning the old men and the children drove the few remaining cows and goats out of the village and into the hills to fend for themselves. They knew that any livestock the soldiers found in the village would be shot. Meanwhile the women buried the seed stocks and any items of value in underground caches called buzones, hidden outside the village, safe from the looting soldiers. Webb saw one woman bury a turn-of-the-century sewing machine wrapped in heavy cloth.

  That afternoon they heard the crackle of small-arms fire in the distance and the first hollow thump of a landmine. As in Vietnam, the guerrillas had sown the jungle trails with landmines and trampas - booby traps. The compas would harass the soldiers as they advanced, laying ambushes, then retreating.

  Webb and Ryan were summoned to Salvador’s command post. He and his bodyguard were gathered around a radio. They were monitoring the radio traffic with a US-made Bearcat scanner. They heard an American calling out coded orders. Although he spoke in Spanish, the downhome Texan drawl was unmistakable.

  Salvador looked up at them, accusingly. ‘You must write in your story how the Americans are helping to kill innocent civilians,’ he said.

  ‘What’s going on?’ Ryan asked him.

  Salvador squatted on the floor and drew a few strokes in the dirt with a finger. ‘The soldiers are from the Ramon Belloso battalion. They are fresh from training in your Fort Bragg. They have been trucked here from the capital and are sweeping west through the hills from the highway. To fight a whole battalion we have just three hundred muchachos.' He drew a circle in the dirt, then a cross. ‘The lake is behind us, on two sides, an army garrison is here on the other side of the volcano. The chuchos are squeezing us in a vice. We can escape across the lake but we do not have enough boats. We can take out only the hammock cases, those too sick to walk. Miguelito will lead this group.’ Miguelito was the name the compas had given to Mickey. ‘But it will be dangerous for them, they must arrive in San Lorenzo before morning or the jets will find them.’

  ‘And the others?’

  ‘We cannot drive the soldiers back, there are too many and they are too well armed. But we can slow them and dictate the way they must come.’ He made a snaking motion with his hand to show how the enemy vanguard could be deflected right and left by attacks from the flanks. ‘Then tonight we will walk out, straight past them.’

  Webb stared at him in disbelief.

  ‘How will you do that?’ Ryan said.

  ‘At night the chuchos make camp, form a perimeter, entrap themselves. Up here in the mountains, the night is ours. We do what we want.’

  Webb nodded; another echo of that other faraway war.

  ‘You must go with Miguelito,’ he said.

  Webb started to protest.

  Salvador shook his head. ‘There is no dishonour in this. You are still weak from the malaria, you will slow our pace and endanger us all. There is no choice.’ He turned to Ryan. ‘Your friend Bobby Charlton will come with us, if he wishes. Perhaps you will get your big story after all.’

  ‘Maybe I’ll bring you luck,’ he said.

  Salvador shook his head. ‘I doubt it.’

  * * *

  Webb taped his notebooks into a watertight plastic bag. He was still weak form the malaria. His hands were shaking.

  ‘You okay, mate?’ Ryan asked him.

  ‘I’m okay.’

  ‘Here, you better take this.’ Ryan held out another plastic bag. ‘Half the film. If something happens to one of us, at least we’ve got something to show.’

  Webb took it without a word.

  ‘What is it, Spider?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘You’re pissed at me for something.’

  Webb taped the first package to his chest. Even that small effort left him exhausted. How the hell am I going to get off this damn mountain in this state? he thought. He lay back on the hammock. ‘You’re like a dog I had once, Ryan. No matter how hard I kick you, you keep coming back for more. Get it through your fucking head. I don’t like you. I’ve never liked you. You’ve got the soul of a manikin. What you did to that girl in Saigon was unforgivable. The only thing you have going for you is you’re a good photographer and you’ve got guts. But I suspect even the whole courage thing is just lack of imagination. You’re too stupid and too fucking vain to ever contemplate that one day you might actually die. So, yeah, I am pissed at you. For being born.’

  A shuffling silence.

  ‘Okay, let’s stop beating around the bush, mate,’ Ryan said. ‘Now tell me how you really feel.’

  ‘That’s the other thing that really pisses me off. Your pathetic sense of humour.’

  Ryan leaned against the wall. ‘It’s Mickey, isn’t it?’

  ‘Go fuck yourself.’

  ‘I mean if it’s Mickey, just say so.’

  ‘It’s not just Mickey.’

  ‘I really like her, Spider. I mean it. It’s different this time.’

  Webb looked pointedly at his watch. ‘It’s only six o’clock. Let’s check how you’re feeling again in another hour.’

>   ‘Very funny.’

  ‘You’ve had a great week. A war, a woman, a few kids to show off to, give the caring side of Sean Ryan a bit of an airing. Just in case anyone gets the wrong idea and thinks you’re a totally selfish piece of shit.’

  ‘Careful, Spider.’

  ‘Getting close to the bone, am I?’

  ‘I’m going to try and forget you said all that.’

  ‘I don’t want you to forget. I want you to remember. I’ll write it down for you if you want.’

  ‘No, I think I got all that.’ He looked out at the tree line. It was just on sunset and the shadows were racing across the floor. The sound of small-arms fire was getting louder. Ryan took something out of his pocket and wrapped it around his neck. ‘My lucky green towel.’

  ‘You’ve been wounded seven times wearing that stupid fucking thing. How can it be lucky?’

  ‘I’m still alive, mate.’

  Webb muttered an obscenity under his breath.

  ‘I’m going to say goodbye to Mickey now,’ Ryan said. ‘I suppose I’ll see you before you move out. If not, I’ll catch you in San Lorenzo in a couple of days.’

  Webb said nothing.

  ‘Wish me luck, mate?’

  Webb didn’t say anything. Ryan walked out.

  Chapter 37

  Night closing in: there was the hum of mosquitoes, the rattle of automatic weapons, the steaming, fetid breath of the jungle. Ryan chewed a cold tortilla, watched Mickey supervise the loading of the ‘Salvadorean ambulances’ - hammocks slung between two bamboo poles. In one of them a young boy injured in that morning’s A-37 attack was barely clinging to life. There were also two heavily pregnant women and an old man. The medical supplies were loaded into boxes. Anything they could not carry would be destroyed.

  Mickey moved along the line of makeshift stretchers, whispering to each of the patients in turn, encouraging them, preparing them for the ordeal ahead. She knelt beside the small boy with the chest wound, held his hand as he moaned.