Duty and Dishonor: Author's Preferred Edition

by Dale A. Dye

  “We have clearance here, Bonfire. Send in the troops.”

  The ambassador waited until the orders were passed and then spoke with the special envoy from Washington. “I’ll have to call a press conference, Paul, and you’d better make your call to the White House.”

  j

  The rotor-wash of the huge helicopter nearly blew Freddy Carver off his feet. He rolled to cover and stared up at the sky-blue belly of the aircraft. Halley was across the trail staring at the same sight. His face was flushed beet-red and he looked like he was actually considering taking a shot at the descending helicopter.

  “Jesus Christ, don’t shoot, you asshole! That’s an American helicopter.” Carver ditched his weapon by tossing it as far as he could into the surrounding bush. “It’s over, Halley. I’m getting the fuck out of here!”

  Halley screamed something that was lost in the roar of five blades and three huge engines. The aircraft was looking for a place to land. Carver sprinted in the opposite direction wanting nothing more at the moment than to reach the airstrip. He’d take his chances if he got caught. He’d think of something if he had to, but right now he just wanted to be as far as possible away from Colonel Justin Bates Halley.

  A shot slammed into a tree very close to his head, and he presumed Halley was doing the shooting, trying to eliminate witnesses. He veered left trying to get out of the line of fire and ran directly into Willy Pud staring at him over the sights of a rifle. He recognized the man immediately from St. Louis surveillance. He threw up his hands.

  “Don’t shoot, Pudarski! I quit.”

  Willy Pud uncoiled slowly and walked forward to press the muzzle of his rifle into Carver’s cheek just below the right eye. “You working for Halley?”

  “Yeah…” Carver jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “He’s back there somewhere.”

  “What’s your name?”

  “Carver…” Willy Pud remembered what the first man said. He missed. The helicopter was downed by a guy named Carver.

  “You just killed some good friends of mine, Carver. You need to pay for that.”

  Carver batted the muzzle away from his face and reached for the knife in a sheath at the small of his back. He took a vicious swipe at Willy Pud and missed as his victim backed up and shouldered his rifle. Two rounds entered Freddy Carver’s body just below his chin and blew the top of head into the surrounding jungle.

  Justin Bates Halley heard the shots and began to move in the direction of the sound, stalking as he’d been taught so many years ago before everything got complicated, when he was a simple soldier. His mind was a jumble. In fact, he believed he’d lost his mind. Thoughts would not come coherently as they always had in the past.

  One moment he was wailing with despair, the next he was boiling with anger and frustration, and then he was ticking off options, trying to concoct credible alibis. All he knew for certain was that he was on his own, and he had to get out of the jungle and back in control. No matter what he did, this stinking war in this stinking part of the stinking world was haunting him. He just had to survive and get home where he could think, plan, and act to salvage something.

  He was heading for the airstrip, still trying to plan when he ran into Pudarski kneeling over Freddy Carver’s body. He stopped and reached for the pistol in his holster. It was a singular stroke of fortune in a very unfortunate day for Justin Bates Halley. One good shot and a big block of his trouble would disappear. He steadied his right hand against a nearby tree and focused on the front sight blade. It was an easy shot and he slowly began to squeeze on the trigger.

  The shot that rang out in the jungle did not come from Justin Bates Halley. It came from his rear and hit him like a pile-driver right between the shoulder blades. He coughed once and slid down the tree to the jungle floor.

  Willy Pud dove for cover, sweeping the bush for the shooter. And then he saw Halley lying nearby with a pistol in his hand. Blood was pooling under the body. The man was dead, no question, but Willy Pud rolled him over anyway, just to look at the man who killed Spike Benjamin. He was pondering putting another round into the corpse when Cleveland Herbert Emory, Junior limped out onto the trail with Willy Pud’s pistol dangling from his hand.

  “It looks like I have killed an American,” he said and looked at the pistol as if he was just noticing it for the first time. He turned it around and handed it back to Willy Pud.

  “Not the way I look at it. He’s no fucking American by any lights. That’s the guy who works for your Dad. That’s the asshole that killed my buddy.”

  “He was trying to kill you.”

  “Yeah, he was.” Willy Pud heard the squawk of a radio and troops moving in the bush heading in their direction. “If you want to run, Emory, I won’t stop you.”

  “No…I’ve had enough of that.” Salt pointed toward the approaching sounds. “I just want this to be over.”

  “I don’t know about you, man. But it’s over for me. You ain’t gonna haunt me anymore, no matter what happens stateside.”

  Willy Pud turned to see an Anny officer wearing a beret and flanked by two camouflage-painted Thai troopers break into the clearing. The officer stopped, smiled, and pushed the troopers muzzles toward the ground.

  “Wilhelm Pudarski? Major John Starkowski, U.S. Army Special Forces. Fancy meeting another Polack out this way.”

  j

  The helicopter waddled down onto an apron at Don Muang Royal Thai Air Force Base and was immediately mobbed by reporters. A detachment of Thai Special Forces soldiers kept them at bay as the American Ambassador and his companions climbed aboard. Willy Pud sat bleeding onto the nylon seat despite the field dressing he’d received from a medic in the field. Next to him, crippled and confused, sat Cleveland Herbert Emory wearing a look of stoic resignation.

  Bypassing Emory with barely a glance, the ambassador offered Willy Pud his hand and made the introductions. “My apologies for the circus outside, Mr. Pudarski. Obviously, this is a major news story.”

  “How did you find out?”

  “Your Dad is quite a guy, Mr. Pudarski. He managed to get through to the White House. Spoke to the President personally, I’m told. He sent a picture and all the information on your mission over here.

  “My old man?”

  “Yes, he’s waiting for you at the embassy with Mr. Eddie Miller, the policeman from St. Louis. Now, if you want to talk to the press later, we’ll arrange it. Meanwhile, we need to get you to a doctor.”

  Willy Pud turned to look at Emory who had turned to stare out a window at the press gaggle clamoring for access. “What happens to him?”

  “Like any other American, he gets his day in court.” The ambassador motioned to the Special Forces major who took Salt by the elbow and lifted him to his feet. Salt stuck out his withered right hand, but the major ignored it and led him toward the rear ramp of the helicopter. Just before he walked down the ramp into daylight, he turned and nodded at Willy Pud. “There’s a lot to account for, Pudarski. Maybe I made up for some of it out there. I hope so.”

  “I’ll tell ’em what happened.” Willy Pud said and watched Salt escorted off the helicopter and into the hands of the law he’d rejected so many years ago.

  WASHINGTON, D.C.

  Willy Pud found Fowler’s name on the black wall and touched it gently with his fingertips. He felt a spark as though this tiny part of the great granite monolith was charged with static electricity.

  “Sorry, man. I am really sorry.” He whispered to the memory, staring at his own reflection in the polished stone. Stosh Pudarski put a hand on his son’s shoulder and squeezed. “Ain’t nothing to be sorry for, Vilhelm. Not then and not now.”

  “I wouldn’t let him go on laundry duty, Pop. He was short, but I took him with me up on that hill.”

  “You had a duty, son. He knows that. If he was your buddy, he knows that...and he don’t blame you.”

  “Emory won’t ever see this, you know. I really wish he could h
ave.”

  “He wasn’t no casualty of war, Vilhelm. Emory killed himself…took all them pills and died in prison before he could face trial. That’s a coward’s way out.”

  “I don’t think he was a coward, Pop.”

  “Well, he got what he deserved if you ask me, son. Probably a lot of good men on this wall are resting a little easier now.”

  Willy Pud put his arm around his father and led him up out of the shadow of the monument and into the cold, clear sunlight of another day.

  About the Author

  Dale Dye is a Marine officer who rose through the ranks to retire as a Captain after 21 years of service in war and peace. He is a distinguished graduate of Missouri Military Academy who enlisted in the United States Marine Corps shortly after graduation. Sent to war in Southeast Asia, he served in Vietnam in 1965 and 1967 through 1970 surviving 31 major combat operations.

  Appointed a Warrant Officer in 1976, he later converted his commission and was a Captain when he deployed to Beirut, Lebanon with the Multinational Force in 1982-83. He served in a variety of assignments around the world and along the way attained a degree in English Literature from the University of Maryland. Following retirement from active duty in 1984, he spent time in Central America, reporting and training troops for guerrilla warfare in El Salvador, Honduras and Costa Rica.

  Upset with Hollywood’s treatment of the American military, he went to Hollywood and established Warriors Inc., the preeminent military training and advisory service to the entertainment industry. He has worked on more than 50 movies and TV shows including several Academy Award and Emmy winning productions. He is a novelist, actor, director and show business innovator, who wanders between Los Angeles and Lockhart, Texas.

  Gunner Shake Davis, U.S. Marine Corps, might be out of the active ranks, but he's anything but retired. Catch all his adventures by bestselling author Dale Dye in the Shake Davis series of scintillating novels.

  Laos File: Searching for American POWs listed as Missing In Action in Southeast Asia, Shake Davis uncovers a conspiracy and some very painful memories from his days as a combat infantryman in Vietnam.

  Peleliu File: When anti-Western power-players plan to unleash biological warfare, Shake uses his contacts, historical acumen, and military skills to help in a breathtaking chase through infamous World War II battle sites.

  Chosin File: While attempting to rescue his buddy lost on a covert mission to North Korea, Shake revisits the infamous Chosin Reservoir and discovers a plan to hit the worldwide power grid with a devastating EMP generator.

  Beirut File: When his wife disappears on an intelligence mission, Shake is desperate to find her. His quest leads him through the tragic Boston Marathon bombing and back to Beirut where Shake had served on active duty.

  Contra File: As they investigate gang-bangers running drugs by land and sea, Shake and Mike slog through the jungle, operate at sea against dopers, and discover human-trafficking running rampant in Central America.

  Havana File: Shake investigates Guantanamo Bay during normalization talks in Havana, revealing that an American is being held hostage. Shake, Mike and a team of Marine Raiders stage a daring rescue from the sea.

  Aztec File: When Shake hears tales of terrorists training south of the U.S. border, he is more than a little interested. Shake and his team head south across the Rio Grande where they discover a deadly connection between Middle Eastern terrorists and Mexican drug smugglers.

  For these and other quality military fiction and nonfiction, visit

  www.warriorspublishing.com