Eagles Cry Blood

by Donald E. Zlotnik

  Beusenal had held the scalpel between his teeth and cut lengthwise down his wrist.

  Paul pushed himself away from the blood-soaked bed. He noticed that he had some of Beusenal’s blood on his shoulder from where he had fallen against the bed; he tried to wipe it off with his hand, but only succeeded in spreading the thick blood over his chest. Paul stumbled on weak legs, ignoring the pain, toward the door. He grabbed for the handle as he fell, with his body weight opening the door. A nurse carrying an armload of empty breakfast trays saw him and the blood and dropped her cargo. She ran toward him and dropped down to his side.

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  Paul opened his eyes and whispered a single word, “Beusenal . . .” before he passed out.

  Paul awoke in a different room. A nurse was sitting next to his bed reading from a romance novel. She was the same nurse who had talked to him the day before. He stared at her for five minutes before she looked up and smiled.

  “You’re awake.” She lay the book on her lap. “You Special Forces types seem to catch all of the bad luck.”

  “Seems that way, doesn’t it?” Paul continued staring at the nurse. Her dark brown hair was pulled back into a bun. She was beautiful sitting there in the soft light coming from the window.

  “Well, the Lord only gives a person as much as they can handle. That’s what Granny used to tell us when we were little.”

  “Maybe not . . .” Lieutenant Bourne wasn’t being sarcastic.

  “I hope you can . . . I really do.” The nurse was really trying.

  Paul smiled. “Maybe Beusenal took the best way out for himself. I’m not talking about being a triple amputee . . . I’m talking about what he was carrying around in his soul . . .” Paul smiled again to reassure the nurse that he was all right.

  She returned his smile. “I have to go and tell the hospital chaplain that you’re awake.” She gave Paul a sly grin. “We don’t want a repeat of what happened last night.” She didn’t tell Paul the terrible pain she had felt when she had seen him covered with blood lying in the hall. She had at first thought that he had been the one who had committed suicide, not Beusenal, when she had answered the distress call from the nurse’s station.

  “You don’t have to worry about me—” Paul stopped and kept the next thought to himself. He was so damn tired of seeing death and the effects it had on other people that he sometimes wished that he would take a hit and get it over with—quickly. Just over with. He turned his head to the only outside view visible to him from his hospital bed. A brightly feathered parrot sat preening itself on a limb of a shade tree at window level. A fine-linked chain was attached around one of the bird’s legs and the tree branch. Someone had intentionally placed the bird there for the patients to watch.

  “Handsome, isn’t he?” Paul had failed to hear the chaplain’s approach.

  “Some of the nurses pitched in and bought a bunch of them to liven up the inner courtyard. I think it was a good idea.”

  “Who was the nurse that was just here?”

  “Captain MacReal.” The chaplain took a seat in the chair next to Paul’s bed. “She’s been working in this hospital for three years now—it seems that they can’t force her to leave. She’s one of those really dedicated types who everyone likes.” He accented the word everyone.

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  “Yes, she seems to care.” Paul turned to look at his visitor and was mildly surprised. The chaplain’s voice did not fit his physical description. He looked like a choirboy. Paul suppressed a chuckle. “They sent you here to console me?”

  A smile crept over the black-suited man’s face that couldn’t be penetrated with harsh words. He was in his element and had total control. The chaplain’s smile was a very formidable weapon.

  “True. They sent me here to console you.” The joking tone in his voice eased the tension and brought a laugh from Paul.

  “Don’t worry yourself about me. I can handle anything.” Paul glanced out the window at the parrot cracking a sunflower seed.

  “I really believe that you can. Did you know Lieutenant Beusenal well?”

  “No, I just met him here in the hospital. He told me last night . . . before he . . . what happened to his company. It wasn’t very nice.”

  “Yes, I know. We kept a great deal from him. He was the sole survivor from his company. A hundred and ten men died.” The chaplain’s eyes were locked on Paul, trying to detect any sign that the story had had a demoraliz-ing effect beyond the normal shock of hearing that an American unit had been wiped out.

  Paul turned his head. “All of them?”

  “Yes. When we brought Beusenal here we didn’t think that he would make it. I was called in for his last rites. He talked constantly while he was under sedation. I agree with you—it wasn’t very nice what happened.

  Especially when the North Vietnamese were policing the battlefield and Beusenal could hear them executing the young Americans they found hiding in the bamboo thickets. One young paratrooper in particular stuck in Beusenal’s mind. He was a young man who had run out of ammunition, and when the NVA had located the position where he had crawled to, they called out for him to surrender. He told them to get fucked. They bayoneted him.

  Lieutenant Beusenal kept repeating that part of the story.” The chaplain kept watching Paul to see if he was going too far. “Between you and I, maybe what Beusenal had done was the best thing for him. I don’t condone suicide, but that boy was carrying a great burden that he couldn’t deal with at all. The Catholic Church and the Lord will forgive him, I think, for what he has done to himself.”

  “Maybe, Chaplain . . . maybe . . .” Paul closed his eyes to signal that he wanted to be left alone.

  “Lieutenant Bourne?” The chaplain stood to leave. “You’ll be going to Japan in a few days and then back to the States. Hang in there, OK?”

  “No sweat. Chaplain” Paul had other ideas. “I’m going to stay right here in Vietnam. I can heal just as fast here as anywhere.”

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  The sun was warm against Paul’s cheek as he lay stretched out and comfortable on the deck chair. He had been transferred to a hospital located on the South China Sea in order to recuperate from his wounds after he had refused to be taken to Japan. That had been a long hassle, but he had finally convinced his doctors that he could heal just fine in Vietnam. The hospital at Da Nang was a compromise. Three weeks of lying in the healing sun next to the sea was the very best medicine Paul could have gotten. The scars covering his body had turned a dark purple and had completely healed. He was building his muscle tone back slowly, and figured that he would be ready to go back to work in a week or so.

  “I hope that you’re not planning on spending the rest of your life in this resort hospital!”

  Paul looked up over his shoulder to locate the voice talking to him and recognized his Special Forces group commander. He tried getting up and was pushed back down by the colonel. “Stay sitting.”

  Paul relaxed again on his lounge chair.

  “How are you doing, young man?” The colonel took up a seat across from Paul.

  “Fine, Colonel, just fine. I should be out of here in a week. Maybe less.”

  Paul flexed his muscles. “I’m looking forward to humping those hills again in the highlands.”

  “I don’t plan on sending you back there.” The colonel paused in order to gauge Paul’s reaction to his comment. “We’ve replaced your whole team at Duc Co.

  “There are no hard feelings against the way that you handled things there, but part of the bargain with the LLDB called for both teams—American and Vietnamese Special Forces—being replaced.”

  “Sounds fair. At least it’ll give the camp a new start.” Paul looked straight at the old colonel. “What are your plans f
or me?”

  “Well, you were supposed to have gone back to the States. Pellam has been sent to an American unit where he won’t have trouble working with the troops. His life wouldn’t be worth a monkey’s fart if he stayed in SF. I plan on moving you to my operations shop in Nha Trang.” The colonel immediately saw the hurt that was reflected in Paul’s eyes and added, “But we might be able to work out something in the future, depending on how well your wounds heal.”

  “I’ve heard, sir, that they’re going to be building a new A-Camp in the Delta region next spring after the monsoons are over.” Paul was trying to get out of the rear-area assignment before the colonel had firmly set his mind on it. “I sure would like a chance at the executive officer’s slot—if it’s still open.”

  Paul already knew that the slot hadn’t been filled yet.

  “Damn it! If a new camp was going to be built, it would still be in secret planning stages. I know better than to ask you how you found out about it.”

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  The colonel’s fake anger hadn’t ruffled Paul’s composure. “We’ll see about it, Lieutenant. You had better get off your ass and start doing some push-ups if you want to try for that job.” The colonel turned to the captain who had accompanied him but hadn’t entered the conversation. “Do you have the lieutenant’s awards?”

  “Yes, sir.” The tall captain handed two blue leather boxes to the colonel.

  “Lieutenant Bourne. I’ve heard that you saved your team members lives up at Duc Co and turned what could have been a very nasty defeat into a victory . . .” The colonel popped open one of the boxes and removed a Silver Star medal and pinned it on Paul’s striped hospital pajamas. He added a Purple Heart medal next to the red, white, and blue ribbon before Paul could speak.

  Lieutenant Bourne thought about Beusenal and looked up at the colonel from his awards. “Sir, I can’t accept these. I didn’t earn them. We were fighting with our allies, not the enemy.” Paul’s eyes pleaded with the colonel.

  “You’re wrong, Lieutenant. I’m not supposed to let this information get out, but we found out during our investigation that Captain Tong’s recon platoon were all Vietcong who had been infiltrating Duc Co for years. They are the ones who pushed Tong into attacking you and destroying the camp. They damn near made it!” The colonel patted Paul’s shoulder. “So you did fight the enemy. Quiet! We don’t want that leaking out into the wrong circles. You can imagine what that would do to the morale of all the other A-Camps? Hell, I wouldn’t be able to get ten volunteers in the whole country to man them.”

  “Thanks, sir,” Paul touched the Silver Star, “but I still don’t feel like I’ve earned this.”

  “Believe me, boy! You’ve earned it.” The colonel shook hands with Paul as he stood up to depart. “I’ll remember your request and will see what I can do about it.” He winked at Paul.

  The colonel waited until he was out of hearing range from Paul before he spoke to his captain. “I couldn’t count the damn glory grabbers who would have kissed my ass for those awards.”

  The captain looked down at the cement walkway and nodded his head in agreement.

  Paul unpinned the decorations and placed them back in their boxes on the tan velour lining. He still felt very guilty. There was no way that he could compare his Purple Heart with Lieutenant Beusenal’s. Both awards had been given for exactly the same reasons, receiving wounds in combat, yet Beusenal had forfeited parts of his body and had been recognized with exactly the same medal. Paul thought about different levels of the Purple Heart for soldiers as he sat looking out over the dark blue, angry-colored water.

  “A penny for your thoughts?”

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  Paul knew he had heard the voice somewhere before and turned his head against the back of the wicker chair. His face came within inches of Captain MacReal’s. She had approached quietly behind him while he was lost in thought.

  “Hi!” Paul was genuinely glad to see her again. He needed to be with someone who wasn’t going to talk about war. I’m glad to see you. When did you arrive up here in Da Nang? Are you just visiting or have you been transferred?” Paul blushed. He was asking too many questions.

  “One of my best friends works here in intensive care.”

  Paul’s smile dropped slightly at the curled corners, but enough to be caught by the nurse. “She and I went through nursing school together, oh, a million years ago . . .”

  Paul’s smile instantly regained its joyful curve and they both laughed.

  “Well, I’m glad she is working here; in fact, I was just thinking about you this morning.” Paul placed the blue boxes that he was still holding on a small wicker table next to him. “Pull up a seat and stay for a while. How long do you have to spend here?”

  “I planned on leaving the day after tomorrow, but it probably will be sooner because Sue is being sent up to a Marine forward hospital for a few weeks. It seems there’s a big battle raging next to the DMZ and they need more doctors and nurses to help out.” She glanced down at Paul’s partially exposed chest. “I see you’re healing very well.”

  “Yes, ocean air seems to be my best medicine.” Both of them looked out over the rolling water and watched the Vietnamese fishermen maneuver their bull boats against the currents. A sense of peacefulness passed between the two of them.

  “Where are you from, back in the States?”

  “Malibu—a little north of the actual city.” Paul looked from the water to the woman and knew that he wanted to take her to bed. He squelched a chuckle. “What’s your first name?”

  “Natasha.” She smiled as she sensed Paul’s need. “How’s that for a combination: a Russian first name and a Scottish surname.” She threw her head back and shook the loose hair free from her shoulders. The brisk breeze coming off the sea fluttered the ends, making them look like long waving fingers.

  “Say, Natasha, I’ve been given privileges to leave the hospital for a couple of hours a day. How about having dinner with me downtown. I know a real good French restaurant that’s located right on the docks. I promise you, it’s the best seafood in Asia!”

  “I’d love to, Paul.”

  He caught a look coming from deep within her that told him that she wanted to go out with him very much. She needed to escape from the broken 82

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  bodies she dealt with daily as much as Paul needed to be with someone who wasn’t going to talk about their last big fight.

  “Say, about eight?”

  “Ummmm-huh . . .” Natasha’s attention was on a school of dolphins that were passing by close to shore. “I’m staying in Sue’s quarters. Room number five; it’s upstairs in the corner.” Natasha stood and smoothed out her uniform.

  “I’ll be expecting you around eight, then. You had better get some rest. I don’t want to be back here at nine!” She flipped her hair and bounced away across the cement patio. She paused near the steps on the far side of the long deck and looked back at the watching soldier. She waved, then disappeared behind the sea wall. Paul’s heart felt as if it would explode in his chest. She had accepted his offer without any hesitation!

  Natasha felt very guilty as she walked briskly back toward Sue’s quarters. She had known that Sue wasn’t going to be in Da Nang, and had used her friend’s name as an excuse. Natasha smiled and looked out across the sea. She had loved him from the very first time that she had seen him lying broken and bleeding on the blood-soaked green canvas stretcher as they had unloaded him from the med-evac helicopter. All of her life she had heard nurse’s stories about falling in love with patients, and had always thought that the nurses didn’t have any self control. She had always believed that a good nurse did not get emotionally involved with just one of her charges. Well, it had happened to her with the force of a
sledgehammer against her heart. She loved Paul with an almost-mad passion that made her blush just thinking about what she would like to do. The first three days he had been in intensive care, she had used all of her spare time, including her breaks, to be with him. She had examined every line on his face as he had lain sleeping, and when she changed his bandages she had massaged his unworked muscles, not to help him heal better, but as an excuse to touch him. It wasn’t by accident that Natasha had appeared in Da Nang where Paul had been reassigned. She had nearly cried herself sick when Paul had left her hospital, and she had known that she would have to see him at least once more to find out just how he felt about her. Actually, she really didn’t care—she would make him love her.

  Paul rushed down the hallway to his friend’s ward. The civilian contractor was lying on his bed reading the latest issue of Playboy magazine.

  He had been in the hospital for three weeks recuperating from a bout of malaria.

  “Hey, Chuck! Can I use one of your walking suits and your CJ tonight?”

  Paul’s words rolled together.

  “Whoaaaa . . . slow down, big fella! What in the hell has gotten into you?”

  Chuck placed his open magazine down on his chest.

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  “Man! I’ve got a date with the most beautiful woman in the world!” Paul slapped his palms down on the man’s cot. “Man, I mean a dinner date!” Paul picked the magazine off Chuck’s chest and closed it.

  “Give me my damn book!”

  Paul tapped the man’s chest with the rolled up Playboy. “First! Do I get to use your jeep?”

  “Yes! Damn it! Give me my book!”

  “And one of your suits?”

  “Yes, now give it to me, Paul, I was reading a good story!”

  “Sure you were,” Paul grinned, and tossed the book back to his friend.

  “That rise under your sheet agrees with you.”

  “Fuck you!” Chuck laughed, but adjusted his sheet so the bulge wasn’t so noticeable. “Your date’s a good looker, huh?”