Finding Jack

by Gareth Crocker

  “Lieutenant…”

  “Please, Fletcher, it’s Rogan. The war’s over.”

  “Mitch … Will…”

  Will smiled and Mitchell winked. “We thought you might want to see this flea bag.”

  Fletcher was unable to speak.

  “We don’t know how he does it, but he seems determined to hang around.”

  As they lowered the stretcher, Fletcher could no longer hold back his tears. “Jack,” he whispered, gritting his teeth. “It’s over. We made it.”

  The Labrador opened his eyes and, as he saw Fletcher, barked softly.

  Fletcher pulled himself to the edge of his mattress and threw his arms around his friend. “How?” he asked, looking up. “How did you know where to find us?”

  “Later,” Rogan suggested, his own face bearing signs of emotion. “There’s a hundred things we want to ask you, but right now you still need to rest. We’ll talk through everything tomorrow.”

  Seventy-six

  Early the following morning and despite not fully trusting his legs, Fletcher staggered out onto the wooden deck that surrounded the hut. All three men were sitting on rickety cane chairs, waiting for him.

  “Morning, sunshine,” Rogan said. “Pull up a chair.”

  “Thanks, but I think I’ll stand. Test my legs for a while.”

  “Some coffee?” Will offered, handing Fletcher a mug.

  “Shit yes,” he answered. “Thank you.”

  The mug felt awkward and heavy in his hand, but its contents tasted heavenly. After a few quick sips, he looked up and noticed they were in a small clearing in the middle of a jungle. Large trees draped in thick vines surrounded them in a natural amphitheater. The vegetation, although similar to that of Vietnam, was somehow different. It conveyed a more even, tranquil atmosphere.

  “I didn’t dream the last few months, did I? There was a war in Vietnam?” Fletcher asked quietly.

  “I’ve heard of it,” Mitchell confirmed.

  “And we took part in it?”

  “Against our better judgment.”

  “All right, that’s a start,” he replied, bringing the mug back up to his lips. “So Jack and I really did hike out?”

  “Close to three hundred and eighty miles, we’ve worked out,” Will said. “You guys made it to a small village called Moyan in the southeast of Thailand, almost thirty miles inside the border. Quite a stroll, I think it’s fair to say.”

  “Where’re we now?”

  “Officially?” Rogan asked. “Nowhere. Lost. Missing in action, presumed dead.”

  A smirk skimmed across Will’s face. “We’re twenty-five miles north of Moyan. How much of your ordeal do you remember?”

  “Flashes mostly, pieces of a puzzle that don’t quite fit together. Much of what I recall is a blur, and the little that remains intact, I don’t really trust.”

  “Well, then, let’s at least tell you what we know,” Rogan stated, pulling out a chair. “You really may as well get comfortable. This might take a while.”

  For the next hour, Fletcher listened intently as the story unfolded. Some of it sparked his own memories, but most of it was new to him. He learned that after the incident on the Strip, Rogan had been arrested and imprisoned, but after pressure from various quarters, and given his exemplary service record, he was soon released. Using his contacts, he found out about an American soldier being captured in Laos and his subsequent escape. Suspecting it was Fletcher, Rogan managed to get hold of an out-of-service Huey that he had repaired and set up for flight. When Mitchell and Will caught wind of what he was planning, they returned to join Rogan and insisted on being involved in the rescue attempt. And so it began.

  Without authorization, they started brief flights between Thailand and Laos. Initially, they dipped into the country for only minutes at a time, but their desperation soon inspired more bold incursions. Their search area, however, remained confined to a forty-mile radius around Laos’s western border. Rogan was convinced that Fletcher would head for Thailand. It was the only logical move. Despite being shot at numerous times, they continued undaunted. After ten days, their breakthrough finally arrived.

  “It was little more than blind luck in the end. We were on our way back from a sweep when Mitchell saw you, carrying Jack, running toward the village. By the time we turned the chopper around, two soldiers already had their rifles trained on you, but we managed to distract them before they could do any damage,” Will explained.

  “I remember hearing Rogan’s voice through the helicopter’s speakers, but that was it. What happened afterwards?”

  “We picked you up and brought you back here. The lady you met yesterday is Shayna Sykes. She’s part of the Red Cross movement here in Thailand. She also happens to be a doctor. She operated on Jack, using a combination of Western medicine, voodoo, and God knows what else to fight the infection in his leg. She had us fetching roots and sand and all sorts of shit. But it seems to have worked. The infection is beginning to clear—” Will paused, reluctant to break the bad news. “—but, Fletch, she doesn’t believe he’ll ever be able to walk properly again. We’ll just have to wait and see how he recovers.”

  “I guess I can live with that.” Fletcher nodded, just grateful that Jack was still alive. “How’d you find out about Shayna? Why’d she agree to help?”

  “You wouldn’t believe us if we told you,” Mitchell said. “Let’s just say our commander had a hand in things. He apparently spent some time in Thailand several years ago.”

  “Wilson helped us? He knows about all this?”

  “Officially, no. The government would shit themselves if they found out what we’ve been doing. We’re an international incident just waiting to happen.”

  “Wilson had something of an attack of conscience when he heard about what you did,” Rogan explained. “So he made a few calls to some people he knows, and Shayna is the result of that.”

  “Unbelievable,” Fletcher remarked, lifting to his feet and shuffling to the edge of the deck. He rested his hands on the damp wooden railing. “I have a memory of a helicopter doing sweeps over the Laos jungle. It seemed to always be there, floating, lurking in the back of my mind. I spent hours hiding from it. Maybe even days.”

  “You realize that was us?” Will said.

  Fletcher nodded. “If only I had known it then.”

  “Don’t beat yourself up. Everything worked out in the end.”

  Fletcher turned around and folded his arms. “Why’d you guys do it?”

  “Well, I personally couldn’t get enough of Vietnam,” Rogan explained.

  “Weather’s great this time of year,” Mitchell added.

  Rogan stood up and walked over to Fletcher. “What you did for Jack might be the most remarkable thing I’ve ever witnessed. How could we turn our backs on that?”

  “I’ll never be able to properly thank you.”

  Rogan shook his head. “You don’t have to. At some stage, we’ve all played a part in keeping each other alive. The point is it’s all over now. I’ve made arrangements to fly us back home—Jack included. Three days from now, this will all be a memory.”

  Fletcher turned away and gazed out into the jungle. “I’m sorry.”

  “For what?” Rogan asked.

  “For what I’m about to say.”

  “What’s that?”

  Fletcher hesitated. “I can’t leave yet. There’s something I still have to do.”

  Seventy-seven

  “What the hell are you talking about?” Rogan demanded, grabbing the back of Fletcher’s arm.

  “Look, I’m sorry, but I made a promise to someone.”

  “What promise? What could possibly keep you here?”

  “When I was captured in Laos, a man helped me escape. I would’ve died were it not for him.”

  “So? What’s that got to do with you staying here?”

  “I’m going back for him.”

  The group was quiet for a moment, as each of the men digested Fletcher�
��s statement. “I gave him my word that I would return for him and bring him to America.”

  “Are you out of your fucking mind? You can’t be serious?” Rogan said. “After everything we’ve been through?”

  “I’m sorry, but I have to do this.”

  “We didn’t risk our goddamn lives so you could just throw yours away based on some ridiculous pact you made with one of your captors!”

  “Who is this man?” Mitchell intervened.

  “His name is Lee Tao. He was forcibly recruited from that small village we helped defend about five months ago. That’s actually why he helped me in the first place: He recognized my face.”

  “Fletcher, when you’re a POW, you’ll sell your soul for a cup of warm piss. No one expects you to honor your word under those circumstances.”

  “He gave me a blade, which I used to escape. At great risk to himself. Without it, I would’ve died. How can I turn my back on that?”

  “This is a joke, isn’t it?”

  Fletcher shook his head.

  Rogan punched a hole in the back of his chair. “Christ! This is insane.”

  “I don’t expect you to be happy about it, but I really don’t have a choice. I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t at least try to help him.” Fletcher looked down at his hands and shrugged. “I gave him my word. That’s all I have for you.”

  Rogan paced across the deck, his fists clenched at his sides. “How far into Laos is this camp?”

  “Fifty-five, maybe sixty miles.”

  “How the hell are you planning on getting there?”

  “Haven’t thought that far yet.”

  “What’s the protection like?”

  “Pretty lightweight. No perimeter fencing, just three guard towers from what I could see.”

  “Soldiers?” Mitchell inquired.

  “Maybe forty, but there could be more. Why?”

  “Well, you better be sure. We’ll need to know before we go.”

  “Before we go?”

  “Gentlemen,” Rogan sighed, looking to Mitchell and Will, “how do you feel about one last dance in our little slice of hell?”

  Will thought for a moment. “I’ll fly you wherever you need to go.”

  “One final twirl on the dance floor? Thought you’d never ask,” Mitchell responded, bowing.

  “No, forget it. I won’t endanger—”

  “The decision’s made, Fletcher. We’re playing this thing out together one way or the other. Besides, when the story of this crazy bullshit is told one day, I sure as hell don’t want to be remembered as the asshole who walked away. I want to be there in the end, riding a fucking white horse.”

  “I don’t know what to say.”

  “There’s nothing to say. But before we take this any further, is there anything else we should know? Is there maybe a children’s village in Saigon that you’d like us to rescue?”

  Fletcher looked up at the sky. “Actually, there is something. Lee still has a wife in Vietnam. In that same village we helped protect. Don’t know if she’s still alive, but if she is, we need to get her out as well. What do you think of that, Rogan?”

  “Fucking wonderful,” he yelled, “and it’s lieutenant again, Carson. Christ to hell!”

  Seventy-eight

  The remainder of the week was spent planning the rescue.

  Mitchell managed to get his hands on an aerial shot of the camp, which, as Fletcher had suggested, showed only three watchtowers defending it and seemingly nothing else. Apart from a river, which guarded its western perimeter, its remaining boundaries appeared exposed.

  Rogan picked at the rough skin on his lip. “It’s too easy. There’s something wrong here. What kind of camp doesn’t raise a proper perimeter?”

  “I passed another camp when Jack and I first reached Laos. It was pretty much the same story.”

  “There must be mines … has to be. How’d you get out?”

  “I crossed the river. Jack was waiting for me under the trees on the other side.”

  “Then that’s how we’ll go in. No one leaves their front door open like that … even if the war’s over.”

  Shayna Sykes stepped out onto the deck and tossed a dishcloth over her shoulder. “Would you boys like something to eat?”

  “We’ll infiltrate at around two in the morning; that should give us enough time to make it back.”

  “That’ll be fine—most of the soldiers seemed to turn in hours before that.”

  “Don’t mind me. I’m just the cook,” Shayna sighed, retreating back into the hut.

  Fletcher stroked the side of Jack’s head. The canine was now sleeping peacefully on the stretcher alongside them. He was concerned that the Labrador hadn’t yet stood up, or even tried to. The prospect of Jack never being able to walk again filled Fletcher with dread. It was a reality he might soon have to face up to, but just not right now. There was still an outside chance of him regaining some form of mobility. Besides, Jack had faced and overcome worse. Time would tell with him; it always did.

  “How close can you drop us?”

  “Probably about three or four miles out,” Will calculated.

  “Let’s keep it at five to be safe,” Rogan said, still studying the photograph. “Fortunately, from our initial searches we know most of the terrain fairly well. I’m confident we can fly in undetected.”

  “My job’s the easy part. The rest is up to you guys. Are you not concerned about having to deal with traps at night?”

  Fletcher gently massaged his bare feet, which were still bruised and tender. “I didn’t encounter any after my escape—at least none that I saw. That doesn’t mean there aren’t any, but I think it’s a damn sight safer than Vietnam.”

  “We’ll have to take our chances.”

  Fletcher agreed. “When do you think Mitchell will be back?”

  “I don’t know, but if the woman’s alive, Lord will find her. I have no doubt.”

  They had woken up two days earlier to discover that Mitchell had disappeared. He left a cursory note behind offering only four words as an explanation: Gone for the wife. He made no indication of what his plan was or when he expected to be back.

  “I hope he’s all right,” Fletcher said.

  “Lord’s a lot like Jack, here. He can walk through a river of shit and come out clean the other side. He’ll make it out.”

  Will clapped his hands and rubbed them together. “All right, then, everything’s set. When do we dance?”

  “Tomorrow night,” Rogan answered, clearing his throat. “Let’s finish this.”

  Seventy-nine

  The water was surprisingly cold, considering the ambient temperature. Fletcher and Rogan waded halfway across the river and waited alongside a dense patch of reeds. The camp was quiet—almost unnaturally so. A lone soldier was sitting on top of the guard tower closest to them, but he appeared to be sleeping. His rifle, like his head, was casually propped up against one of the tower’s support struts. In fifteen minutes, they hadn’t seen any signs of a ground patrol; the area separating the various bungalows appeared deserted.

  “You ready?” Rogan asked, scanning the camp with his binoculars.

  “Let me go alone. There’s no point in both of us going.”

  Rogan huffed and pushed forward. “Fuck off, Carson.”

  “Just once I wish you’d listen to me.”

  Together they crawled up the embankment and ran across to a large tree less than twenty yards away from the first bungalow. There were still no signs of activity anywhere. “What makes you think he’s in this bungalow?”

  “I saw him come in here at least twice a day.”

  “That doesn’t mean it’s where he sleeps, but I suppose we’ve got to start somewhere.”

  Pressing the butt of his rifle into his shoulder, Rogan turned and ran toward the front of the bungalow. Fletcher shadowed behind him. They stepped quietly up onto the raised wooden deck and listened for movement. Only the sound of water, dripping into pools at their
feet, detracted from the silence.

  “The door,” Rogan whispered.

  Fletcher stepped forward and quietly turned the handle.

  The door opened with a slight creak, and the soft glow of the stars spilled inside.

  Rogan moved purposefully through the doorway, swinging his M16 in a wide arc. As his eyes adapted to the darkness, he was able to make out two rows of about sixteen soldiers all sleeping soundly on the floor.

  Fletcher immediately began to look for Lee. Some of the men were lying on their sides and stomachs, which made it difficult to see their faces. Using a torch that he had taped up with black cloth to diffuse the light, he quickly searched the first row and was halfway through the second when he found him.

  Lee was still alive. The trip back had not been for nothing.

  Rogan knelt down beside him. “On three.”

  Fletcher raised his thumb. “One … two … three.”

  They both threw themselves on top of Lee. Fletcher cupped his hand tightly over the soldier’s mouth while Rogan held down his legs.

  Lee immediately tried to struggle free.

  “Lee … Lee,” Fletcher urged, trying to calm him down. “It’s me. Look.”

  Lee’s eyes, like the cusps of winter moons, locked on to Fletcher. The fight immediately drained out of him.

  Fletcher removed his hand.

  “Mr. Fletcher … how … what you doing here?”

  “We’ve come for you.”

  “For me? I don’t understand.”

  “To get you out of here,” Fletcher explained, and then smiled. “I told you I’d come back for you.”

  Lee sat up and threw his arms around Fletcher as if they were old friends.

  “All right, you two,” Rogan interjected. “Let’s go.”

  They quickly stood up and moved toward the door. They were about to step outside when Lee stopped.

  “Wait.” He turned around and went back to the area where he was sleeping. He quietly picked up a bag and placed it at the feet of the soldier next to him.

  “What was that about?” Fletcher asked as he returned.

  “He my friend. I want him to have my food and books.”