A rumble of laughter shook Frank's body. He trembled, and a deep moan served as a laugh.
Patty giggled. "No time for jokes, buddy."
Patty scraped out a new pool of blood.
"Hey, you bastards," yelled Patty. "What's taking so long?"
"Patty, that you?" answered Camp.
"Hell, yes."
"You alright?"
"I'm with Frank. He made a booby trap and he's hurt plenty. Where the fuck are the flares."
"We can't find them," said Italy. "Somebody forgot 'em."
"Call a chopper. I'm bringing him in," said Patty.
"There's a boat on the way," yelled Holt. "Anything we can do from back here?"
"Just stay where you are. Keep talking. Sing a song or something so I can tell where you are. Make it cheerful."
"Ah, come on," said Baker.
"Lucy in the sky with diamonds," sang Camp. Italy joined in and then the rest of them
Patty sang too. He hummed it under his breath and sang the words softly. He listened to the whispered sound of his voice and was glad to be alive, to be still nervous in the dark.
Frank squeezed Patty's elbow.
"It's alright, brother," said Patty. "We're going home."
Patty slid his arm around Frank's chest and crawled forward slowly with the heavy weight. After a minute, Patty stopped. He lay still, panting. When he caught his breath again, he reached into Frank's mouth and emptied the puddle of blood. Frank gurgled, kicked his heels into the sand and pushed himself forward. Patty squeezed him, and they continued together, pushing through the darkness to the ragged refrain of 'Lucy in the sky with diamonds.' At each break, Patty cleaned blood from Frank's mouth.
As they slid closer, Patty heard Mac's voice, a lone pipe singing a different song against the chorus of other voices. "American woman, stay away from me."
"Lucy in the sky with diamonds."
Patty smiled to himself.
Patty and Frank tipped over the embankment and slid down the sand. The men gathered around, hands and babbling voices and hustling movement.
"Could you hear my song?" said Mac.
"Yeah," answered Patty.
"Good ear, man. I don't sing that white shit."
Camp crouched down. He clapped his hand on Patty's shoulder. "How is he, buddy?"
"Doc, he's been drinking blood. I been emptying his mouth out. What else can I do?"
"I'll take over," he said. "Easy, Frank, I'll take care of you."
Frank pushed Camp's hand away, reached for Patty's hand and squeezed it.
"It's okay, Frank. I understand," said Camp. "Patty, you take care of him. I'm here if you need me."
Time stretched out. Everybody grew quiet and waited. Slowly the putt, putt of a motor grew louder. The little light of the boat came closer.
Leigh spoke into his crackling radio. "You all come on over a little left."
The boat slid onto the sand and unwound. Half the squad grabbed Frank and lifted him. Patty cradled his head.
"Easy," called Patty. Frank gripped Patty's arm.
The boat cast gray shadows. Frank was caked brown, his eyes wide open but unafraid. Dark bubbles seeped from his lips and neck. The men held Frank high and stepped into the water. A chill splash soaked through Patty's pants and boots.
"Easy, men," said Holt.
They sloshed up the metal incline and on board into the harsh glare of a single white light. They lay Frank down on a stretcher. Patty knelt beside him.
Camp bent down and touched Patty's shoulder. "Go with him," he said. Patty nodded.
Everybody clanked off and disappeared into the dark. The boat wound shut and shook off the sand with a jolt.
A fat sailor called out from the front of the boat, "Welcome to the 'Maidenhead.' Don't worry about a thing, armies. We'll have you home in no time. I got a couple beers here if you need them."
"No thanks," answered Patty. "Make it snappy, will you?"
"As fast as this little boat will chug.” He popped a beer and took a swig.
The motor whined, the boat tilted back, and they shot forward.
Patty cleaned Frank's mouth. Their eyes caught and held. There was no fear in Frank.
His eyes seemed to say, "Don't cry, Patty. It's okay."
"Hey, G.I. You guys sure you couldn't use a little beer?"
"Nothing. Just get us there," snapped Patty.
"Relax. I'm just being sociable. It's a cold world when you ain't got nobody to talk to."
"You want to talk?" said Patty angrily. "Great. How's the weather?"
"Lovely, just lovely. There's even a couple stars out now. I think the sky's going to clear. You want to come look?"
The boat bounced on the water and Frank moaned.
"Easy, buddy," said Patty.
Frank nodded and coughed blood.
The sailor jabbered. "You ever think what a strange coincidence it is that here we are, three strangers together on a boat in the middle of the ocean, kind of peaceful in the middle of a war."
Patty's neck throbbed to the movement of the boat. He lost the thread of the sailor's words and felt that he was floating up in a spotlight with Frank hanging from him. He worked mechanically, emptying Frank's mouth without seeing him or hearing his labored breathing. The motor slowed and jarred Patty back.
"We're home, boys," said the sailor. "I'm just parking her. The medics are waiting, and they'll take good care of you."
The boat bumped softly against its mooring. The bulk of a huge barracks ship towered above in silhouette like some giant monster asleep in the night, peaceful for the moment, with little lights winking and stars overhead. They came to a stop and the motor shut down.
Four men jumped aboard.
"Easy, soldier, you're home now," said one of them.
They picked up the stretcher and slid it over the edge of the boat and onto Dock. One man turned. His uniform was shiny and neat. "Hey, you. You his friend? If you want to come, come on."
Patty stepped over the rail and followed them.
They walked up flights of clanking gray steps, polished clean in the night. As they walked up the stairs, the stretcher bounced and tilted at precarious angles. A barked word and the stretcher straightened for a few steps, then tilted again until the next bark.
The fat sailor ran up the stairs after them. He tapped Patty on the shoulder. Patty turned.
"Your rifles," he panted. "You'll get in trouble if you leave them behind."
"Thanks," Patty took them and trudged after the stretcher.
They pushed through a double door and walked down a long hallway and into a large, brightly lit room.
Two white frocked men spoke loudly, their backs to the stretcher. "My wife had twins yesterday. It's a good thing I didn't celebrate like I wanted to."
"Oh, I don't know. It's a pretty quiet night. I could have handled this by myself."
They turned around. The medics slid Frank onto a table covered with gray paper. The room smelled of ether and disinfectant.
Doctors walked up to the table and looked Frank over. One turned to Patty. "Don't worry, son. We'll take care of him now. Why don't you go get cleaned up."
"Wait," said the other Doctor. "We need him. His friend needs a tracheotomy, so we can't put him under. You. What's your name?” He didn't look up.
"Patsin, sir."
"We're going to put a tube in your friend's throat to help him breathe. Squeeze his hand and tell him to breathe deep when I tell you. Don't let him fall asleep."
Doctor rubbed Frank's shoulder. "Soldier, just relax. You're going to be fine. Breathing through your neck is a little different, but it'll seem like nothing after your first breath. After we get you fixed up, we'll put you back to normal. This won't hurt much."
Blood dripped slowly from the top of Frank's neck. Little pieces of shrapnel stuck out from the ooze. His breath was a shallow groan. Patty took his hand, and they gripped each other. Frank's eyes were closed; his mouth half open, gurgling.
>
Doctors slid clean plastic gloves over their hands. The younger one went over to a cabinet. He came back with a foot long plastic tube. The older one picked up a long silver knife. They stationed themselves facing each other across Frank's chest.
"Okay. Hold him, Jerry," said the older man.
Jerry pressed Frank's shoulders. Patty gripped his hand. Frank squeezed back.
The doctor pressed the knife into the base of Frank's throat. "You got tough skin."
The knife slid through. It was stained red when he pulled it out.
Beads of sweat dripped down Frank's face.
They slid the tube in and taped it in place, a little pipe sticking out of Frank's throat.
"Okay, son, breathe."
Nothing came.
"Come on. You can do it," said Doc. "It's just different."
Frank's body rattled on the table. He turned blue. His chest rose from the table in a shudder, and he breathed, a heavy gasp that filled the tube with mucous. He breathed heavily twice and then normally. The tube cleared. The vise grip on Patty's hand relaxed. Frank opened his eyes and gazed at Patty.
"You can go now," said the older doctor.
Patty walked out and down the stairs until he saw a john. He laid his gear, the rifles, canteens and knapsacks in a pile on the floor. Patty walked over to the mirror. His face was streaked with dirt, his hair slotted with dried blood. His hands were filthy, stretched with old fingers. The long, gray, face in the mirror was a stranger's. He closed his eyes, and darkness blotted him away. His old friend darkness blotted him away.
A metallic voice echoed on the P.A. "Patsin, report to the deck. Repeat. Private Patsin, report to the deck. A boat is waiting to take you home."
Patsin didn't hear a word.
CHAPTER 8: DEAD WEIGHT
In the last light of day, Patty walked up the long, low hill on the west side of the base. He wanted to watch the sunset and be alone, to be healed by the stillness. As he walked, he watched his shoes and the little bits of yellow dust that settled on them with each step. When he looked up, he saw a man on the top of the hill, his straight back silhouetted against the sun, his uniform as neat as a figure on a parade ground. Patty wished he could press a button and make the man disappear, but as he walked closer, the man grew until Patty recognized Captain Madison.
Patty reached the top of the hill and stopped a few feet from Madison. He hoped he wouldn't have to talk. The sun hung on the edge of the land, a large yellow disc with long, thin veins of pink and gold. As Patty looked, he felt cold and isolated. A sense of loss settled on him as the sun slipped inch by inch below the horizon, and the light tilted down.
The captain's presence disturbed the stillness and left Patty uneasy. As the sun disappeared, a breath of air like a last pant from the sun, rippled Patty's shirt.
The captain still gazed out into the empty place where the sun had been. "Pretty," he said, without turning. "Like that, Patsin?"
"It was okay."
"You come here often?” He turned to Patty.
"Often enough.” Patty looked away.
"I like it," said Madison. "I don't have time to come here often, but I like it. It's pretty and peaceful. God made a beautiful world."
"Yeah. It's okay," said Patty.
"You going down," said the captain.
"Not yet," said Patty.
The captain hesitated. "I guess you heard. Frank's okay."
"Yeah, I heard," said Patty.
"He'll be back with the unit next week, thanks to you. I heard about how you went out and got him. You've got guts, and I like that."
"It was just an accident, sir."
"Relax, son. I'm not an officer right now. Remember how you wanted to be a conscientious objector? You're a fighter and that's okay."
Patty looked at his boots.
"You know, you're lucky," said Madison. "All my life I've wanted a chance like that, to test myself and find out what I've got.” He shook his head. “They offered me a desk in Saigon, but I chose combat here, and I'm not sorry. This is the great test. Every man needs to know for sure that he can muster it, to get rid of that little taste of self-doubt. You agree?"
"I don't know, sir."
"See you later, Patsin.” The captain started down the hill.
"Sir.” Patsin called after him. "My dad used to say macho trips are for boys."
The captain stopped for a second and looked back. "If you say so.” He turned and walked quickly away.
In the open field, bullet fire echoed like late afternoon thunder. Camp and Patty lay side by side, their heads low against a dike.
Sweat beaded Camp's upper lip. He licked his lip and looked at Patty. "This stinks.” He leaned over and yelled in Patty's ear. "It's just not the same without Frank. I'm scared."
"Who isn't," Patty yelled back above the din of rifle fire. "Frank will be out on the next mission."
"That won't do us any good today."
"No lie," said Patty. "But we got things under control now."
Holt crawled up behind them. "Isn't this a picnic?" he yelled.
"Just keep your head down," said Patty. "When are the baby Hueys coming to take care of them?"
"Madison already called in two gunships, but we got a problem. The second squad got trapped in the woods. Madison wants us to go back in and show them the way out."
Patty looked back at Holt. "What is he, nuts? We just got out of there."
"He doesn't want the whole unit, just some volunteers," said Holt.
"Don't look at me," said Patty. "I'm not that stupid."
Holt put his hand on Patty's back. "He sort of volunteered you, me and him."
"Well, let him un-volunteer me," said Patty.
"He said you'd want to go," said Holt.
"The man is crazy," said Patty.
"The second squad is trapped. The Huey's are coming, and we can't raise them on the radio. I'm going with him. Frank would do it."
Patty turned around. "Jesus H. Christ."
"You guys want to split a chocolate bar?" said Camp. He broke off two pieces and handed them over.
Patty took a bite. "Okay, Holt. Let's find the captain."
"Good luck," said Camp.
They crawled over to Madison, who lay on his back, giving orders on the radio. He signed off and looked at Patsin. A slow smile spread his face. "Glad to see you, Patsin."
"Sir, they'll get through on their own if they're coming."
"I knew you wouldn't let me down, Patty. You're a good soldier. Let's go before the gunships get here. They're going to blast the woods as soon as they arrive."
"How long we got?" said Holt.
"Twenty minutes," said Madison, “Follow me.” He crawled toward a creek that led into the woods.
Cheap thrills, thought Patty, as he crawled after him.
They quickly reached the bank. Holt nodded to Patty and the three of them slid over the edge into the red cracked mud and puddles of green stagnant water at the bottom of the almost dry creek.
"God, I hate mud," said Patty.
Holt smirked. "Wait 'til we're on the boat."
"Don't laugh, buddy," said Patty.
Holt shook his head. "There you are, worried about being dirty, and the gun ships will be on us in fifteen minutes."
Patty smiled. "Anyway, I like the shade."
"Keep it down," hissed Madison.
"Sir, don't take it too serious," said Patty. "They can't hear us over the gun fire."
They scrambled forward, keeping their backs low until they reached the woods. The captain slowed down as the twilight of the forest descended over them, and Patty stepped past him into the lead. The underbrush grew heavily along the banks. Parrots squawked above the rifle fire and crisscrossed the stream like tracers. Ashes and smoke from the battle hung in the air. The trickling water smelled acrid. Mosquitoes buzzed above it.
Patty moved quickly until Holt tapped him on the shoulder and pointed to the flattened muddy bushes on the right. A cou
ple hours ago, that had been an exit. Now it was a trail and an entrance.
Holt jumped over a puddle and pressed flat against the bushes. He stood up and peered into the woods. He nodded and pulled himself on to the bank. Patty and Madison followed him up. Holt was already walking ten yards down the trail by the time they were up. They caught up to him, and Holt pointed out the scenery as they went, a patch of large pink and white flowers just off the trail, a dead Charlie hanging by one foot in a tree, a long vine that might have been a trip wire, and a clumsily made bamboo trap.
They branched off the trail where the second squad was last seen. Holt heard a crackle and hit the dirt. He crawled forward, stopped and listened for the low crackle, and crawled forward again. He stopped. The second squad leered at him. They lay in a still row. The radio man had a death grip on the hand phone, and static crackled from the box.
Patty crawled up and clicked the radio off. "We found them," he whispered to Holt.
Holt nodded.
"Eight men," muttered Patty.
"Let's go," said Holt. He got up and started to leave, but Madison stood still.
Patty grabbed him by the arm. "Come on," he whispered. "You've seen dead men before."
"I have to say a prayer."
"The choppers aren't going to wait for Easter," said Patty.
"You go on. I'll catch up. 'Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil . . .'"
Patty dropped Madison's arm, and he and Holt walked quickly back the way they'd come.
"That guy should have been a priest," Patty whispered to Holt.
Holt nodded and put his finger to his lips for silence. His face was intent but gray with a haunted feeling about the eyes. Patty recognized the look. He slowed down and let Holt get a couple yards in front of him. Holt walked with his right hand gripping his ammo belt to keep it from jiggling. He moved quickly, but his shoulders were hunched and cautious.
Suddenly, he dived to the ground. Patty instinctively hit the dirt behind him. Holt looked back, held up two fingers, and pointed into the woods.
Two V.C. on the prowl, thought Patty. He knew one shot would bring twenty more. He lay flat on the ground, crossed his fingers, and waited. A little breeze rustling the trees peopled the woods with an army. Leaves crackled not ten yards from where Patty lay. He listened for steps. He could taste their sweat on his tongue, feel the weight of their bodies in his rifle. They moved past, and the sound of their steps faded. Patty wasn't sure whether they were real or imagined. He looked up the trail at Holt. His shirt was dark with sweat. Holt made the sign of the cross. Patty looked back, but Madison hadn't arrived.
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