The beach was littered with dead sappers.
Rifle fire echoed along the sand dunes from the base camp as the commandos found and eliminated small pockets of fanatical sappers.
“Jay! Cooper! . . . are you guys all right?”
“I’m fine . . . but Cooper’s hit!”
The gate guard walked over to Paul. “VC . . . all dead . . .”
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Paul wiped the sweat rolling down his forehead with the back of his blood-covered hand, creating a Crow Indian’s war mask on his face: half red and half sun-tanned brown.
“Jay! Where are you?”
“Over here!”
Lieutenant Bourne helped Jay stop the blood flowing from Cooper’s wounds. Paul used the commando’s jacket for a temporary bandage to stem the flow of life force that was leaving his team mate.
Cooper opened his eyes. “Am I hit bad . . . Lieutenant?”
“Not too bad . . . You’ve got a round through your leg and a couple of creases . . . you’ll live . . . but all that whiskey you’ve drank tonight is leaking out.”
Cooper smiled. “You might not know this but you’re good luck, Lieutenant . . . A man can’t die working for you . . .”
Cooper passed out.
Paul grinned and raised his eyes from the sergeant, and saw five Americans walking carefully through the sea gate.
“Over here! We need a medic!”
The five men ran over to Paul’s location.
“Cooper’s hit and needs help!” Paul’s voice rose as he talked.
“We got him, Lieutenant! . . . The colonel’s coming behind us . . .”
Lieutenant Bourne stood as Lieutenant Colonel Clewell and a small group of Americans, mixed with commandos, spread out over the beach searching for any stray or still-living sappers.
“That one over there acted like their leader,” Paul pointed.
“I might have known it would be you!” Clewell walked up to Paul. “What in the hell brought you out here on the beach at this hour of the night?”
“Getting drunk with Loveless and Cooper . . . sir.”
“You brought your weapons to the beach with you?”
“Don’t you think it was a good idea, sir?”
Clewell wrapped his arm around Paul’s neck. “I think it was a damn good idea, Lieutenant!”
Paul felt his face turning red and stepped back from the colonel.
“How did they get in camp, sir?”
“We don’t know yet . . . but we figure they bribed the main-gate guards this afternoon and walked right in dressed like our commandos.
Shit! They even had the balls to watch the movie with our troops! Talk about big fucking balls!”
“Yeah . . . but they all got their asses greased in the process . . .” Paul half-grinned at the colonel. “How many people have we lost, sir?”
“Don’t know yet . . . they threw satchel charges into the senior NCO and officer hooches . . . killed five.”
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“I’m going over to see Cooper in the dispensary and then to my hooch . .
. unless you need me for something else, sir.”
“No . . . Bourne, you saved my camp from a total disaster . . . I appreciate that.” Clewell’s voice dropped.
“Damn, sir! It’s all in being at the wrong place at the right time . . . we had to fight or die.”
“Well . . . I’m damn glad that I got you out of Nha Trang . . . The group commander is going to hear about this one in detail!” The colonel’s look gave away that he knew what had gone on at My An and the charges that were pressed against Paul.
“Jay! Get our bottle and meet me at the doc’s!” Paul walked fast over the sand toward the center of the camp.
Jay picked up his empty magazines and the almost-empty bottle of bourbon. As he walked through the sea gate he saw an American grenade half-buried in the loose sand. He reached down before he thought and picked up the explosive, noticing that the safety handle was missing.
It was alive!
Jay nearly dropped the grenade in the sand before he caught himself. It was a dud, probably the one he had thrown earlier that had failed to explode.
He unscrewed the fuse and noticed a yellow piece of paper shoved down into the fuse well. Jay unrolled the note and read the message in neatly printed block letters:
STOP KILLING EACH OTHER! PEACE BROTHER!
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17
General Pick sat with his legs crossed and his feet hanging over the corner of his desk. A picture of his wife and children dominated the opposite corner of the well-polished wooden desktop. He concentrated as he looked out the window of his Pentagon East Headquarters, causing deep furrows to appear on his forehead. The general rolled an unlit cigar between the fingers of his left hand and read the sheet of paper that he held in his right hand for the tenth time.
The senior general looked over at the door to his office when his aide-de-camp entered carrying the personnel folder he had asked for earlier in the morning.
“The records people kept a copy of his last officer efficiency report, sir.”
The young aide laid the folder in front of the general and waited while he lit his cigar.
“Sometimes it just doesn’t figure up . . .” General Pick spoke between jets of inhaled cigar smoke. He dropped his feet to the floor and scooted his chair up to the desk. Telltale signs of anger appeared on the general’s face when he read the highlighted parts of the efficiency report that Captain Hetten had submitted on Lieutenant Bourne. “Damn! His last commander wrote him up as a coward, and this message here . . .” the general waved the paper he still held 230
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in his right hand, “. . . states that the commander at the Command and Control North site wants to present a Distinguished Service Cross and a Silver Star to the same man!”
The aide joined the general, shaking his head in the same manner.
“There’s more! . . . Bourne will be receiving the DSC with a first oak-leaf cluster! This is the boy’s second award,” General Pick stood and slapped the top of his desk with his open palm. “Someone is trying to bullshit me!”
The aide nodded his head in full agreement, but did not speak.
“Send a message to Clewell . . . Tell him that I’ll fly in to his camp tomorrow and present the awards myself at his ceremony . . . also set up a private meeting between me and Lieutenant Bourne . . . but don’t make it too obvious!” The general slid the folder back to the waiting aide and resumed his former thinking position with his legs crossed on his desk—but this time he was taking long puffs from his cigar.
Lieutenant Bourne woke early, just as daylight was breaking over the water on the sea, and left the CCN compound for the hospital in one of the recon company’s black jeeps. It was the first day that they were going to allow visitors in to see Sergeant Cooper. Mist hung low over the rice paddies that bordered the narrow two-lane asphalt road that had been repaved by the Navy Seabees. Paul drove the five miles to the hospital holding the gas pedal down against the floorboard of the jeep. He was deep in thought that covered his first two weeks assigned to CCN. He was tired of killing and seeing his friends killed and maimed for life. Paul stopped the jeep at the main bridge on the outskirts of the city and waited for the military policeman on duty to wave him across. There were two American soldiers sitting on small stacks of green plastic sandbags on top of a huge fighting bunker, smoking pipes. Paul could smell the sweet acid odor of hashish. It was six o’clock in the morning and those two soldiers were well on their way to getting stoned. Paul’s mind filled with disgust over the guards’ conduct and the acceptance of the military policeman to the situation. Paul wondered wha
t in the hell the American army was coming to! Racial and drug problems were totally out of control, with most commanders ignoring the situation—and if they did try to stop it, they would end up getting fragged by their own troops. The noncommis-sioned officers saw nothing and did nothing.
Paul yelled over to the pair of guards when his jeep passed the bunker,
“Suck on those pipes, you worthless cocksuckers!”
One of the guards tried standing up to see who had insulted him, but fell down sideways against his buddy.
The gate guard at the hospital waved Paul through with a bored arm movement. Bourne parked his jeep in the first empty slot he could find next to the “F”
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wing of the single-story building and entered through the nurses’ private entrance.
He saw Cooper occupying the bed nearest to the on-duty nurse station.
“Hey, Leg! How you doing?” Paul approached Cooper’s bed.
The sergeant opened his eyes and smiled. “Hi, Lieutenant! Hell . . . I’ll be out of here in a week. The doctor said that my wounds were clean. I just lost a lot of blood . . . no broken bones.”
The nurse sitting at the desk turned around to see who Cooper was talking to and growled, “Lieutenant! How did you get in here?”
“Why I walked in through the door, my lovely dove.” Paul pointed to the screened nurses’ entrance.
“Don’t give me that kind of crap, young man! I’m a Lieutenant Colonel and expect to be treated like one!”
“Excuse me! . . . Ma’ammmm!”
“Don’t get on her bad side or Christ, she’ll give me another one of those shots with her horse needle!” Cooper laughed.
“Hey! Did you hear that General Pick is coming out to CCN today? He’s going to present some awards to our guys for the attack on our base camp.”
Paul patted Cooper’s bed and continued talking, “You’re going to get a Silver Star for our mission with the prisoner and a second Silver Star for the home-camp fight . . . How about that shit! You’re a fucking hero!” Paul watched as Cooper’s face lit up.
“Really? Man . . . is Dad going to be proud!” Cooper said. His face quickly turned red.
Paul quickly covered his friend’s embarrassment and added, “And a Purple Heart, too, for those little scratches you’ve got!”
Cooper nodded his head and made an exaggerated grimace as if he were still in great pain. “Scratches, my ass!”
“Well . . . have the nurse put a clean bib on you, because the general will probably come here to pin your medals on himself . . .” Paul took a seat on his team mate’s bed. “Thanks for what you did for me during the fire-fight . . .
those gooks would have greased my ass!”
“Cut the bullshit, Lieutenant! Hell . . . I didn’t even see you! I jumped up because a crab ran into my shorts!”
Paul smiled. Cooper smiled.
“I have to shag my ass back to camp. The general is due in at 0830 hours.
Do you need anything?”
“No . . . maybe a couple of good fuck books . . .” Cooper rested his head back on his pillow.
“He doesn’t need any of those kinds of books . . .” The old nurse had been listening to their conversation, “. . . we have a library in the hospital that’s full of wholesome literature!”
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Cooper started laughing so hard over the woman’s exaggerated expression that he ended up moaning from the pain the movement gave him.
“Gotta go, Coop.” Paul stood to leave and looked over at the nurse.
“Bye . . . Sweetie!”
“You get out of here!” The old girl left the protection of her duty station and headed for Paul waving a metal clipboard.
“See you later,” Paul waved at the nurse and ran out of the back door.
The nurse went over to Cooper’s bed and tucked in the sheets around him. She watched Paul leave the ward with a small smile on her face. “Who is that lieutenant? He’s a cute little thing, isn’t he?”
Sergeant Cooper rolled his eyes in confusion over the woman’s change of heart toward Paul.
The large steel-plank helipad at the CCN headquarters held the American troops and the commando contingent comfortably along the northern side of the large square. The men stood relaxed in formation with their CAR-15s slung over their right shoulders, waiting for the general’s arrival by helicopter. The adjutant ran over to Lieutenant Bourne before he could park the jeep in front of the headquarters and spoke with a tinge of panic in his voice. “Bourne! Where in the hell have you been? The general is due to arrive any minute now!”
“I was visiting Cooper at the hospital,” Paul took his CAR-15 from the passenger seat and adjusted his pistol belt.
“Oh . . . well, let’s get our asses in gear . . . Your position is over there behind the colonel . . . hustle it!”
Lieutenant Bourne had been notified earlier that he would be receiving an award. The other medal winners were already waiting in line behind the colonel.
Lieutenant Colonel Clewell nodded and spoke to Paul in a low voice.
“Where have you been?”
“Went over to see Cooper, sir.” Paul assumed a parade-rest position at the end of the line. He could hear the faint drone of a helicopter coming from his front, but the view was blocked by the steep cliffs of Marble Mountain.
The colonel turned and faced his troops. “Bring your units to attention!”
Paul waited for the colonel to face about and then came to the military position of attention with the rest of the awardees. A helicopter appeared and dropped down to a hover a hundred feet in front of them. There were four white stars painted on a red background attached to the sliding door of the chopper. Paul thought that it wasn’t a very good idea to advertise the cargo the aircraft was carrying, but, then again, a little show of guts added to the general’s leadership image.
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General Pick stepped from the chopper and adjusted his uniform before reaching out to shake hands with his escort officer. The general and his aide walked over to where Clewell stood at attention and returned the colonel’s salute.
The CCN adjutant took up a position to the right side of the general, carrying a dark-blue felt pillow with a number of valor awards pinned on the cloth. Paul caught the blue, red, and narrow white stripes of a Distinguished Service Cross.
Music began playing over the camp’s speaker system, sending a shiver along Paul’s spine that ended up as a pleasant tingling sensation at the base of his neck.
General Pick approached the microphone just as the music stopped playing.
“Men of Command and Control North . . . it is always a pleasure when I come here to visit your ranks . . . You are a collection of the finest fighting men under my command! . . . Today I would like to show you the appreciation of a grateful Nation and that of a very proud Commander-in-Chief . . . for the blood and personal sacrifices you have given for this unit’s mission and your fellow soldiers . . .”
The general’s address took an additional five minutes. Paul’s mind wandered from the general’s speech to My An and the disgrace he had suffered under Captain Hetten. Paul readjusted his vision when the CCN commander turned and called the units back to attention. General Pick and the colonel started walking in Paul’s direction with the adjutant following slightly to their rear, carrying the blue pillow in both of his hands.
General Pick stopped directly in front on Paul and smiled before he spoke, “Lieutenant Bourne . . . It’s a pleasure seeing you again . . . My An?
Wasn’t it?”
“Yes, sir.” Paul was amazed that the general actually remembered who he was and where they had met before.
The adjutant held the pillow forward and the general unhook
ed the Distinguished Service Cross with a bronze oak leaf attached in the center of the ribbon.
A voice came over the loudspeaker as the general pinned the medal of Paul’s fatigue pocket.
“The Distinguished Service Cross . . . first oak-leaf cluster . . . is awarded to Lieutenant Paul Bourne for extraordinary valor . . .”
Paul’s mind reeled while the award was being pinned on him. After the short ceremony he couldn’t remember any of the small details. The general worked his way along the line of recipients, handing out well-earned medals to the Special Forces soldiers.
“. . . Lieutenant J. B. Loveless . . . The Silver Star is awarded for gallantry in action during . . .” The voice droned on over the public-address system.
The command party returned to the center of the massed troops.
Lieutenant Colonel Clewell saluted the general and spoke. “Sir, that concludes the ceremony.”
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General Pick glanced down at his wristwatch. “I have a few minutes to spare, Colonel. Would you mind showing me your operation center?”
Clewell was caught by surprise. The general’s aide-de-camp had informed him the day before that the General would stay only for the brief ceremony and then leave for corps headquarters.
“Sir, I don’t have any jeeps standing by, but if you will follow me, we can walk over to the TOC.”
“That’s fine with me, Colonel. I could use a little exercise after riding up here in that helicopter.” General Pick placed his hand on Clewell’s shoulder and looked over at his aide-de-camp, nodding his head toward Lieutenant Bourne.
The aide understood the general’s request and nodded back in the affirmative while he walked over to where Paul was standing. “Lieutenant, please come with us.”
Paul followed the aide until they were out of hearing range of the staff officers. “What’s going on, sir?”
“General Pick wants to talk to you in private. Is there a place nearby where you can meet with him?”
“Me? He wants to talk with me?”
“Yes.”
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