A storm was coming.
As Fletcher bowed his head and listened to the rolling thunder, he knew that just as he had lost his wife and daughter, he was on the brink of losing Jack.
He knew that if that happened, then he, too, would be lost.
Lightning, like the snap of a whip, crackled on the horizon.
Fifty
“So that’s it, then?” Rogan asked, folding his arms. “There’s nothing else we can do?”
“I’m afraid not,” Frank replied.
“This isn’t right. Have you seen Fletcher lately?”
“I tried to talk to him yesterday, but he’s ignoring me. He hasn’t spoken to me since our last meeting.”
“You know how good he was. You know how much he gave to this war. Why can’t they make a goddamn exception on this? The man is teetering on the edge. I’ve seen it enough to know.”
“I’ve sent special requests right to the top. They feel that if they let Jack come back, there would be no stopping the remaining dog handlers. They’re just not prepared to set a precedent. It’s too risky for them.”
“No one would even know.”
Frank shrugged. “What can I say? They aren’t prepared to budge.”
“This is a fucking travesty.”
“I know, but I’ve done all I can. Believe me. Even ruffled a few feathers in the process. In the end, it all comes down to money. Hell, just about everything does. You could argue that this whole war has been fought over money. About the threat communism poses to capitalism.”
Rogan paused as a helicopter swooped overhead. “Do you know that the dog saved my life?”
“I didn’t, but I’m not surprised.”
“In fact, he saved all of us. And now we’re just letting him die?”
“I’m sorry, Rogan. I really am,” Frank said, as he packed away the last of his personal effects. “Look, I’m scheduled on the next chopper out. Why don’t you join me?”
“No. I’m going to stay with Fletcher and do what I can to make this easier for him.”
Frank stood up and held out his hand. “Something that’s always impressed me about you, Rogan, is how much you care about your men. You’re a fine soldier and a great leader. I hope we get to work together again someday.”
“Sure,” Rogan sighed, reluctantly shaking his hand, “but next time I’ll sit in the office.”
* * *
Rogan stood at the entrance to the tent and watched as Fletcher brushed Jack.
“He should’ve died that day,” Fletcher said without looking up.
“I’m glad he didn’t.”
“But he should have.”
“Maybe so, but you saved him.”
“No. He survived because he was meant to live. I’m convinced of it.”
“Fletcher, don’t do this. You’ve done all that you can. You’ve risked your life for him more than once. You have the strength to get past this—I know it. I’ve seen it in you.”
Fletcher slowly looked up. His eyes were bloodshot and swollen from lack of sleep. “Without Jack, I have nothing left.”
“Look, I know you won’t be with him, but he might make it out there; he survived before—”
“Alone in this place, he’ll be dead in two weeks. Three at the most.”
Rogan thought of a reply, but could summon nothing honest. “Everyone’s gone, Fletcher. It’s just us now. The last chopper will be here any minute. I’ll give you some time to say good-bye.”
As the lieutenant turned to leave, Fletcher called out to him. “Wait. Hold on, Rogan. Stay … please.”
“If that’s what you want.”
Fletcher nodded, then lifted Jack up and held him against his chest. “They’re taking a register of everyone leaving, aren’t they?”
“Yes, why?”
“Will you help me?”
“Of course,” Rogan frowned, wondering what Fletcher meant.
Outside, like the sound of a dying heartbeat, one last Huey approached.
Fifty-one
“Fletcher Carson? We’re under orders to bring you out.”
Startled, Fletcher looked up at the two men in military police uniform. They were both armed.
“What’s going on?” Rogan asked. “Who ordered this?”
“That’s of no concern to you, lieutenant.”
“What have you been told?”
“It doesn’t concern you,” the second soldier repeated. “The bird’s waiting. Let’s go.”
Incensed, Rogan stood up. “Listen, son, you better tell me what the hell’s going on right now, or every time you swallow, you’re going to be tasting the barrel of that rifle.”
The soldier stepped forward, tightening his grip on his M16. “We have orders that do not involve you. Stay out of this. If you don’t, we’ll be forced to restrain you. Now, let’s go.”
“Move,” his partner chipped in, feeling the need to assert himself.
Fletcher slowly lifted to his feet. Jack, sensing the tension, began to growl.
“Come … move out.”
As they exited the tent, Fletcher instructed Jack to walk ahead of him. The Labrador’s hackles were raised, and he was still growling, but he reluctantly followed Fletcher’s command. Outside, the midday heat was even harsher than usual. It was a kind of burning fever that, given enough time, could char a man’s flesh. As Fletcher slowed, one of the soldiers nudged him along with his weapon. “Hurry up.”
Rogan stopped and turned around. “What’s wrong with you men? Why are you doing this?”
“We were told you wouldn’t be a problem.”
“Look, we’re going to get on the damn chopper, but first this man is going to say good-bye to his dog. That’s all.”
The senior officer shook his head. “We don’t have time for that.”
Rogan’s eyes were wide with rage. “We don’t have time? Really? Just what the fuck is the big hurry? What the hell’s really going on here?”
The soldiers exchanged looks.
“We have orders to shoot the dog,” the senior officer replied.
“No … please!” Fletcher called out.
“Stand aside, Carson,” the officer instructed, raising his rifle for the first time.
Fletcher knelt down and shepherded Jack behind him. “You’ll have to shoot me first.”
“Spare me the dramatics. It’s only a goddamn dog.”
Detecting Fletcher’s resolve, the soldiers fanned out to create an angle for a shot. As Rogan stepped forward to help Fletcher, the second officer screamed at him. “Stay where you are!”
“Stop this, please,” Fletcher urged.
“Make this easier on yourself, Carson … Move aside.”
Fletcher tried to spread himself over Jack, but the officer fired a shot anyway. The bullet narrowly missed him.
“Have you lost your minds?” Rogan shouted. “You’re going to kill him!”
“Then order your man to move away from the dog now!”
The situation had spiraled out of control. Fletcher knew he had to do something drastic. With his mind racing, he grabbed a handful of sand and hurled it in the face of the senior officer.
Instinctively, the man dropped his rifle and brought his hands up to his eyes. The incident distracted his partner, and he inadvertently shifted his rifle away from Rogan for an instant. It was a minor lapse, but all the gap Rogan needed. He lunged forward and punched the soldier. The blow might’ve killed him outright had it not glanced off the side of his jaw. It was still powerful enough to send him crashing to the ground. Rogan quickly disarmed him and ran across to Fletcher, who was wrestling with the senior officer. “Let him go.”
The officer stopped resisting, and Fletcher pulled his rifle off him. He shoved the barrel under the man’s chin. “How does it feel, you piece of shit?”
Jack, with his hackles raised, was standing at Fletcher’s side, waiting for an attack command. He was barely able to restrain himself.
“Easy, Fletcher,” Rogan
said. “He isn’t worth it.”
But Fletcher was in another place. A world filled with anger and death. Where loss and despair walked arm in arm and all those he loved kept being taken away from him. “Why shouldn’t I kill you? Answer me! Answer me, you fuck!”
“Because I’ll take down your lieutenant,” a voice intruded from behind them.
It was the pilot. With the sound of the rotors disguising his movements, he had managed to sneak up behind them undetected. He was standing only five feet behind Rogan with his sidearm drawn. “Enough of this shit. Lower your weapons, both of you.”
The scene had become surreal to Fletcher. “I just want you to let my dog go.”
“Return the rifle to the officer and get on the chopper.”
“Will you let my dog live?”
“Put down your weapon and get on the fucking bird!”
Fletcher was out of options. He sensed the pilot was willing to fire if pressed. Rogan had already sacrificed enough for him; he couldn’t endanger his life any further—this wasn’t his burden to bear. He took a deep breath and turned to look at Jack. “Ruush,” he whispered, fighting back the tears. “Ruuush.”
It was the command for Jack to run.
It had taken them a long time to teach it to him, as he never felt comfortable leaving them. It simply went against his nature.
Jack looked back at him as if he’d been given the wrong command.
“Ruush, Jack, now. Please.”
The emotion in Fletcher’s voice only served to add to Jack’s confusion. He took two steps back, then stopped. “Jack!” Fletcher lifted the rifle away from the officer’s neck and fired a shot next to the Labrador.
Jack’s eyes darted between the rifle and where the bullet had skipped off the ground.
Fletcher felt like his heart was being pulled out of his chest.
“Run, Jacky … run … please … They’re going to kill you,” he cried, firing more rounds into the ground. “Ruush!”
Reluctantly, Jack turned and fled.
“Let my dog run,” Fletcher screamed, pressing the rifle into the back of the officer’s head, “or I will take the life from this man. Do not fucking test me!”
As Jack disappeared from view, Fletcher waited a moment before discarding the rifle and stepping back. The senior officer, angered and embarrassed to have lost control of the situation, quickly retrieved his weapon and swung it at Fletcher. Blood exploded from his forehead.
“Leave him alone, you bastard!”
“Shut up!” the young officer screamed, reclaiming his own weapon.
The pilot turned away and headed back to the helicopter. “Get them on board and put restraints on them. Think you two can handle that?”
The senior officer yanked Fletcher to his feet. “Just give me a reason to kill you. In the chopper, now!”
As they moved, Rogan turned to Fletcher. “You all right?”
Blood was streaming down his face, soaking the front of his white shirt. “This wasn’t supposed to happen. This wasn’t the plan…”
“What plan? What’re you talking about?”
But Fletcher didn’t respond. Something in his mind had finally let go.
They were pushed on board and forced to lie down on their stomachs with their arms held behind them. While the officers searched for handcuffs, the pilot fired up the chopper.
As they lay together, facing each other, Rogan spoke again. “What do you mean ‘this wasn’t part of the plan’?”
Fletcher could only shake his head.
“Fletcher! What plan are you talking about?” Rogan insisted as the helicopter lifted off.
“You said you would help me,” Fletcher uttered. “Please … help me.” He lifted his head and stared intensely at Rogan. “I can’t leave him behind.”
Rogan looked at him blankly for a moment, and then suddenly understood what he wanted. “But you’ll die.”
Fletcher shook his head. “I’ll die anyway.”
Reluctantly, Rogan nodded. He held Fletcher’s gaze for a moment before turning over and, in one fluid movement, tackling the two soldiers into the back of the pilot’s seat.
Fletcher pulled himself to the edge of the cabin. The chopper was rising steeply. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw movement.
It was Jack.
He was running after the helicopter.
Just as Fletcher had stepped off a ledge to end his life months before, he again plunged into another abyss. Except this time, he was falling to save himself. As he plummeted to the ground, he felt himself turning over. He landed on his back with his leg buckled underneath him. A sudden jolt of pain drove through his spine. He struggled onto his haunches just as Jack reached him. The Labrador launched himself into his arms.
He held him close, and Jack licked the side of his face. “I was never going to leave you. I never planned to get on that chopper. Never … never…”
The helicopter hovered above them, and Fletcher watched as the two officers battled to subdue Rogan. Before they overpowered him, he managed to get hold of a gun and push it out of the cabin.
Then, just as Fletcher had suspected, instead of landing and trying to reapprehend him, the helicopter continued to rise. For them, the war was over. One more lost soldier with a suicide wish meant nothing in their lives. As he watched the helicopter disappear, Rogan, who was still being kicked and punched, managed to stretch his arm out the cabin. He pressed his thumb into the palm of his hand and extended two fingers. It was one of the many dog commands they had taught Jack.
It meant find home.
PART II
Left Behind
Fifty-two
Fletcher sat holding Jack until he could no longer hear the chopper.
As his breathing eased and he checked himself to make sure nothing was broken, his mind turned to Rogan. He could barely believe what his lieutenant had done for him. His actions would have dire consequences back home. He would almost certainly face a court-martial, perhaps even jail time. His career in the army was all but over.
“Thank you, lieutenant,” Fletcher whispered, staring up into the sky. “For everything.”
Jack shifted in his arms and nuzzled his hand.
“Sorry if I scared you, buddy.”
Jack blinked at him and then rested his chin on Fletcher’s leg. He was just happy that they were together again.
“Christ. It’s just us now, Jack. Alone in hell.”
Fletcher lifted to his feet and scanned the deserted base. It was an eerie scene.
There was a dreamlike quality about it. Half a dozen of the older tents remained, as well as two permanent supply rooms and an empty munitions depot, but without the constant throng of soldiers, it felt like a foreign landscape. Like visiting an amusement park after closing time, a menacing air had settled over the place.
“Surplus military equipment,” he remarked cynically before moving toward the tent closest to them. It was a dark, depressing space that had been used predominantly for briefings and tactical sessions, and brought back bad memories for him. He walked inside and headed to the far corner of the room. He knelt down and began to dig through the soft sand.
A moment later, he pulled out a map and compass wrapped in a clear plastic bag.
“I told you I never meant to get on that chopper.”
Jack tilted his head and tried to bite the bag.
Fletcher had never intended to abandon Jack. Although a last resort, an ambitious contingency plan had been lingering in the back of his mind for some time. The arrival of the two MPs, however, almost derailed his plan. Unfolding the map, he used his finger to trace a line from their base westward, out of Vietnam, across Laos, and into Thailand—a country friendly to the United States. The route constituted some 350 miles of hostile territory.
He looked down at Jack and smiled, but there was a darkness clouding his expression. “I know what you’re thinking, but we can do this.”
They were going to hike out of Vietnam.
The Strip had been one of the last U.S. bases to pull out of the central region of Vietnam. There wasn’t another American soul for almost 150 miles. Not that it mattered anymore. Fletcher had no intention of traveling south. They were going to head west: directly through Laos and into Thailand. There he would find a way to get them home. A 350-mile walk on an open road would take upwards of ten days. Their journey was more likely to take a month, perhaps even longer.
With Jack following closely behind, Fletcher began to gather the supplies he had stowed away. After a few minutes, he sat down and assessed their stockpile. In total, there were four water canisters, two boxes of matches, two loaves of bread, sixteen soup powders, and a pile of exactly 157 dog biscuits. The water canisters were extremely important because although there were likely to be numerous water sources along their route, not all of it would be safe to drink. Coupled with the heat and the fact that they were at the end of the rainy season, dehydration would be a major concern.
Their biscuits would become their staple diet, by far their most nutritious food source. They could survive on a handful of them a day, provided they supplemented their diet with whatever else they could source from the jungle. In his initial training, Fletcher had been lectured briefly on basic survival skills, but at the time of his enlistment, the war’s demand for fresh troops superseded the need for thorough instruction. In practice, anyway, the length of their assignments had never tested their proficiency on jungle survival, and he had already forgotten much of what there was to know. He had tried to pry some information from some of the more experienced soldiers on base, but few could offer any useful advice. Most of their knowledge was limited to the obvious fruits, rice, sugarcane, and a few roots that offered some nutritional value. Mitchell would have been the ideal person to ask, but the question would have made him suspicious. Despite this, Fletcher was reasonably confident of his basic survival knowledge—provided the Laos vegetation didn’t differ too much from Vietnam. If things got desperate, he could always hunt for food using the gun Rogan had thrown out of the chopper, but at the risk of bringing unwanted attention to themselves, it would be only as a last resort.
Finding Jack Page 13