Flashback-Part 2

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PART 2

Chapter 5: Blowin’ in the Wind

December 1971
Vietnam

It was not a time Martin thought about often. 1971 was the year he’d become part of a force working behind the scenes, routing out an enemy trying to destroy Americans with mind games, drugs, and espionage. For him, the CIA was a perfect fit.

For the first few months, he’d been investigating accusations the CIA was complicit in drug trafficking, but so far, there was no evidence CIA officers were involved. In the meantime, he focused on stopping the drug smuggling at its source. His search for routes led him to Saigon. While introducing himself to local authorities, he met another CIA agent by the name of Jack Gretsky. 

Since his arrival, Jack had been committed to exposing corrupt Viet Nam officials willing to sell out the Americans for a price. That included allowing heroin to flow in unimpeded from Laos, and eventually, to the American troops. 

Once Jack and Martin realized they shared a common goal, they decided to work together. Over the past few weeks, they were on the trail of two drug traffickers who'd been smuggling heroin out of Thailand since the late sixties. One of them was an American by the name of Ike Atkinson and he had just been spotted on the road to Pleiku. Jack and Martin gathered their gear and set off, determined to finally catch up with him.

 

Pleiku

It promised to be hot that morning; the few trees left by the side of the road did little to block the sun’s fire. The highway itself was pock-marked with craters from exploded mortar shells and planted booby traps, a constant reminder the enemy could be anywhere. All was quiet except for the buzz of insects, but Martin was sure the bastards were out there somewhere, watching and waiting for the right moment to strike.

Jack looked over his shoulder when he heard the first crack of an automatic weapon. They ducked and rolled into a ditch, just as more gunfire exploded in the distance. 

"It's not aimed at us," Jack said in a low voice when no one appeared.

Suddenly, a loud explosion shook the earth, followed by the frantic shouts of wounded men, crying out in pain.

“Someone’s in trouble out there,” Jack said. 

“We need to check it out.” He didn’t wait for Jack to agree. 

“Right,” Jack muttered.

They followed the ditch, staying low as they ran, then slipped behind some thick brush to watch what was happening in a small clearing.

Three American soldiers lay sprawled on their backs. Two of them were motionless, while another was writhing back and forth, in terrible pain. Two NVA soldiers were standing above them, shouting excitedly in Vietnamese. Martin was familiar with the dialect and understood the two were praising each other for their marksmanship. A soldier of rank stepped into view, and the first two snapped to attention. Their superior began nudging the bodies with the toe of his boot, and when he came to the groaning American, he spat out words of anger. One of the soldiers stepped forward and put a bullet in the head of the dying man. 

Martin cursed under his breath. 

“Let’s go,” Jack whispered. “It’s over. There’s nothing we can do for them now.”

“No. Not yet.” Martin pulled his knife from its sheath. “They’re going to strip the bodies. I can’t let that happen.”

As they moved away from the clearing, they almost ran into another cluster of enemy soldiers hunkered down a few yards away.  Martin held his breath, ready to defend himself, but the three soldiers were oblivious, smoking cigarettes and blowing smoke into the sky. 

Now the two men moved with agility and speed, working together as a team. Clamping his hand over the first man’s mouth, Martin thrust his blade into the soldier’s lower back, and the body went limp.

The other two were not as easy. One spotted Jack creeping up behind him, but Martin attacked by grabbing the man in a chokehold, and twisting his head until his neck snapped. Martin glanced over at Jack and saw the last NVA soldier in a heap at his partner's feet. 

They both stood still and listened. 

A short distance away, the NVA soldiers they had first come across, were busy removing valuables and mementos from the dead GI's. 

“God damn it,” Jack growled, moving closer to the clearing. Martin put out his arm to stop him. “Not yet,” he whispered. This time, the element of surprise would not be on their side.

It was painful to watch the enemy spit on the American uniform or give a vicious kick to one of the dead. But there was nothing they could do to stop it.  Retreat seemed almost inevitable when suddenly, they heard the familiar whoop of helicopter blades beating through the air from above. The NVA soldiers glanced up, then melted into the trees.

A green Huey with US markings came into view. Gunfire erupted once again, and for one terrible moment, Martin realized the NVA could bring the aircraft down. 

"This time, we can do more than just sit here and watch."  

Jack gave him a nod. 

They were positioned behind the clearing and could see the NVA soldiers trying to blend in with the greenery. One of them turned his head and caught sight of Jack, but before he could reach for his sidearm, Martin struck him with the butt of his pistol. The other two froze when they saw Jack and Martin's guns pointed at them. 

Jack spit out orders in Vietnamese. “Get up, you bastards!  I want to see your faces, see the look in your eyes when you realize I’m gonna kill you!”

“It’s over,” Martin called over. “They’ve surrendered, Jack. We won.”

“Won? See those guys lying there with their bodies blown apart? That’s called losing, Martin! Losing, big time!”

Jack pressed the muzzle of his pistol against the temple of one of the captured soldiers, but Martin pulled it away just as Jack squeezed the trigger, letting the ammo burst harmlessly toward the sky.

“What the hell…” Jack sputtered, as Marty twisted the pistol out of his hand.

“Do something useful and help me tie them up!” Martin growled. 

Men from the copter began to emerge from the trees, stopping in their tracks when they saw the dead Americans on the ground. Then they became aware of Marty and Jack, with three bound NVA soldiers sitting at their feet.

“Take your prisoners into custody,” Martin ordered, his voice calm and controlled.  

 

Chapter 6:  Baptism of Fire

Jack and Martin held back their emotions as they walked side by side with the young helicopter pilot, Jordan Michaels. He asked them if they wanted to hitch a ride.

“No, thanks” Martin said. “We’re on our way to Pleiku.” He leaned against the trunk of a tree and retrieved a pack of cigarettes from his shirt pocket. Distracted, he lit one and inhaled, staring over at the dead GI’s.

“What were their orders? Who was their commanding officer?” he asked.

“There was no commanding officer. It was a convoy carrying sensitive information to Pleiku. Two Marine Security Guards were escorting the courier. A few officers joined them along the way.

Martin frowned. “Just two Marine Guards for such an important mission?” 

Michaels looked back at him. “I can’t answer for that decision, sir.”

“How large was the group.”

“I was told ten altogether. We found a few bodies scattered along the road. Including these three, that makes eight so far.”

Jack stared. “You mean there could be two more still out there? What the hell are we waiting for?”

Michaels shook his head with regret. “Don’t kid yourself. No one survived.”

“Jack and I will take a look around and make sure.”

“I’m sorry, sir, but I can’t wait. I need to evacuate some soldiers stranded a few miles from here. If I don’t take off now, I’ll have another massacre on my hands. But I have the coordinates. I’ll radio for another rescue team, and they can retrieve the last two bodies.” 

Michaels stood at attention and saluted. “Good luck with your mission, sir!” Then he took his place behind the chopper controls, and the aircraft rose into the air until it became nothing more than a black dot disappearing into the clouds.

 

Castillo still had Jack’s pistol in his waistband and wondered if the time was right to give it back. “Here,” he said, holding the weapon out in front of him. “I'm sorry I had to get rough, but you didn’t give me much choice."

There was still a hint of anger on Jack’s face, but then, his eyes softened. “Yeah. Okay, forget it.” He took the pistol and stuffed it in his shoulder holster.  “You were right. As usual.” 

They continued for a short distance when Jack pulled on Martin’s sleeve. “Hey, I think I just heard someone yelling,” 

Martin listened too, but all he heard was the wind rustling the leaves.

Jack was insistent. “I’m telling you I heard a voice. Someone was calling for help.”

Then, they both heard it; a cough and then a groan.

“Careful. It could be a trap,” Martin warned. But Jack was already running toward the sound. He didn’t have to go far. Castillo caught up to him in time to see Jack on one knee beside the body of a fallen soldier.

“How is he?”

“He’s dead, Martin.”

The guy’s mouth was open, and he was staring at the sky. Both of his legs were blown off below the knees. Disgusted, Jack turned his head away. “A booby-trap!” 

“This guy's been dead for a while,” Martin said. “We heard someone else moaning a minute ago.” 

They beat through the brush with their hands and came across another soldier on his knees, making an effort to crawl and failing at it miserably. They watched him fall over and then lay still. 

Jack got to him first.

“Hey, buddy!” He placed his fingers on the young man’s neck. “He’s got a pulse, but it’s weak.”  

Singed hair spiked around the crown of the kid’s head. He had swelling around his eyes, and his face was red and pulled tight like he'd been out in the sun too long.  Marty winced when he caught sight of the jagged cut on the soldier’s leg. He knew from experience the chances for infection were high. 

“Soldier, can you hear me?” He reached into the boy’s shirt and pulled out his dog tags, glancing at them for a second. “Well, Jim.  It looks like we have a problem. How the hell are we going to get you to a hospital with the chopper gone and no radio contact?”  

There was the possibility the enemy could be nearby, looking for their missing soldiers. Their only choice was to make a run for it. 

 

The kid wasn’t heavy, but Martin still struggled to keep his balance on the uneven surface. After a few miles, he stopped. “We have to take a breather.” 

They lowered him to the ground and retrieving bandages and ointments from their backpacks, did what they could to treat the damage. 

“Let me up!” he cried out suddenly, pushing Jack away. 

“Easy, fella.” 

“Hey, find my buddy! He’s hurt!” The soldier touched the bandages on his face. “What is this? I… I can’t see!”

“You were in an explosion.”

“Hank! Where’s Hank?”

Jack glanced over at Martin.

“He’s dead,” Martin said. 

A sob escaped from deep inside the young soldier’s chest. “No!”

"We'd better keep moving." Jack stood. “Come on. It’s my turn to carry him.”

The march lasted late into the night. Exhausted, they decided to camp and chose a spot by a river, hidden from the main trail by overgrown foliage and hanging vines.

Martin unscrewed his canteen and put it up to the soldier’s lips. “Here, drink." Then, he put a capsule into his mouth. “Antibiotics," he explained. "I have morphine, too, if you want. Are you in pain?"

“Not enough for that crap!”

"Okay. Tell me if you change your mind. Now get some rest, and we'll leave in a few hours."

The soldier sipped more water and pushed the canteen away. Again, his hand strayed to his face, and he winced. 

“My buddy, Hank. Please don’t leave him out there.”

“There are only two of us. But I promise; when we get to the base in Pleiku, we’ll give them the coordinates. They won’t leave him behind.” 

“Man, I can’t believe he’s dead. He just found out he has a son.” His voice trailed away.

“You can rest easy,” Jack told him. “It was over pretty quick; he never felt a thing.” 

The kid was quiet. 

“Were you part of the security escort?” Martin asked.

“Yeah. Hank and I were with the Marine Security Guards stationed in Da Nang.  A courier was delivering sensitive information to the base in Pleiku. We volunteered to go along.”

Marty leaned against a tree and shut his eyes.

“We made some stops. Picked up a few officers who were going in our direction-which was a good thing. The more, the merrier, I guess. Nothing much happened at first. Some snipers along the way, but Hank took care of them. He was the sharpshooter, so it was target practice for him.  I’m okay with a rifle, but I’m more comfortable with a pistol.” 

The soldier’s laugh was soft. “Back at Da Nang, the officer in charge used to tell me I had, ah … I had a good eye.” 

Martin tried to keep the soldier's mind off his injury. “How come just two of you? Who made that decision?”

“Over the last few months, a lot of Marines were transferred out and reassigned. Between the embassy in Saigon and the one in Da Nang, the Guard was spread pretty thin. The officer in charge insisted he could only spare two of us.”

“Not the best decision, considering the cargo,” Jack muttered. 

“The Detachment Commander’s back was up against a wall. Cutting the Guard to the bone wasn’t his idea.”

“So, go on. What happened then?”

“We were attacked at sunrise this morning. There was heavy fire and nowhere to take cover, just trenches along the side of the road. One by one, they picked us off. The courier with the information was the first one hit. He took it in the head, so there wasn’t anything we could do for him. I took the packet with the information. It's in my jacket.”

“Good work. You used your head.” 

"Naw … any of the guys would have done the same. Just not sure how I'm gonna deliver it, though.” 

He shifted, trying to get more comfortable. 

“Anyway, we managed to fight them off. There were five of us left. Hank and I went ahead to scout a little, you know, check the perimeter close to the road. I was in front; he was a few yards back. There was a noise, I suppose it must’ve been a detonator, so I turned my head and watched him step toward me. Then, a blinding white fire came all around him, and a swoosh of wind lifted him into the air.” He started to breathe rapidly. "I felt the heat from the blast; then, everything went black."

Martin offered him more water. The young man took some and lay back again. "Thanks. I owe you guys plenty. And I know I'm holding you back."

“You don’t owe us a thing.”

“Listen. There's something I need to ask.  Something important to me.”

“Okay.”

“I’ve got a girl… waiting for me back home. We, ah, we were going to get married. She’ll be worried when she doesn’t hear from me. So, if I don’t get back, would you tell her that you were with me at the end?”

“Hey, show a little faith in us. We’ll get you back.”

He tried to smile. “I know. Just in case.”

“Yeah, okay. Just in case.” Martin bit his lip. “What town are you from?” 

“Miami. Best town in the whole US of A. Hope I get to see it again someday.”

Martin and Jack exchanged looks. 

“I come from Miami, too," Martin told him. “It’s been a while since I’ve been there, but when my family left Cuba, it became my American hometown.”

“Oh, yeah? No kidding!  What part?"

“Little Havana.”

“So, you know what I’m talking’ about.”

"Yeah, I guess I do," Castillo said. "Tell me about your girl."

“Her picture’s in my inside pocket; her name and address are on the back. And she’s the second one listed as my 'next of kin,' after my brother."

Castillo took the small photo out and stared at a pretty blonde, posing on a football field in a cheerleader outfit. She had a million-dollar smile. 

“She’s pretty.”

The injured soldier’s head listed to the side. “I was home for a while after my first tour. But I decided to re-enlist.” He chuckled. “She wasn’t too happy about it, but she never made me choose. Told me she knew I wouldn’t be satisfied until I won the war single-handedly.” 

Martin smiled. He knew the feeling. 

“Tell her I loved her, okay. And tell her I said I’m sorry.”

“Sure. If it comes to that, I will. Now, it’s late. Stop your jabbering, and let’s get some sleep.”

“Yeah. Thanks. That eases my mind. She'll have questions, and she deserves answers from someone who was here and can explain it to her.” 

His voice had gotten softer, and as Martin watched, the young man’s body relaxed, and within seconds, he was out.

“Come here!” Jack whispered, signaling for Martin to join him a short distance away. “Listen to me,” he began.

“We’re sitting ducks carrying him around like this. We’ve got to get moving.” 

“No sense is stumbling around in the dark. We can march at first light."

“Martin. Let’s face facts. He's not going to make it. And either are we, at this pace.”
“I don’t care about facts. We leave at sunup.”

“Okay, I’m not happy with the way this is turning out either, but it’s crazy to think we’ll get help for him in time. Besides, the longer we wander around out here, the easier it’ll be for the NVA to track us. Then, all three of us will be dead.”

“We’re getting him back.”

“Martin, you know I’d follow you to the ends of the earth. But this time, buddy, I hope you know what you’re doing.”

 

 

Chapter 7: The Bandana

Martin had finally fallen asleep when he heard the frantic cries. He shot up and saw the young soldier thrashing. 

“Wait! Over here, guys!” he was shouting. "Hank, Lou… get down, now! Charlie coming! Watch out, damn it! Get down!"

Jack clamped a hand over the kid’s mouth. “We’ll have the whole North Vietnamese Army around our necks if he keeps that up!” He skimmed the back of his hand along the soldier’s forehead. “He’s pretty hot.”

“It’s gotta be the leg,” Martin said. “It was bound to happen.”

“Yeah.”

They settled him back down and took turns keeping vigil. 

“I’m telling you, he’s not gonna make it,” Jack muttered.

"Like hell, he won't!"

“Marty, we did our best.”

“We gave him our word.” Martin stared over at Jack. “Look, we’ll catch up to Atkinson eventually.  In the meantime, we’re going to get this soldier to a chopper or a hospital.”

"I can't believe you're sticking to this half-assed idea!” Jack moved away to a nearby tree.   

Soaking his bandana with water from his canteen, Martin pressed it against the soldier’s forehead and neck. 

“Thanks,” he heard the soldier say.

“You’re awake.”

“Yeah. I heard your buddy. He’s not happy.”

Martin glanced over at Jack. “He’ll get over it.”

"Maybe, But he's right. I’m holding you back. And I’ve put your lives in danger.”

“You heard?”

“Sometimes I was out, but I heard you guys talk about my leg and the fever and all. Without medical attention, I’ll be dead in a day, maybe two at the most.”

Castillo didn’t say anything. It was hard to argue with the truth.

“Listen, sir …”

“The name’s Martin.”

“Okay. Martin. I want you to hear me out. You can leave me. It’s okay. Just deliver the packet to the base at Pleiku. At least then, Hank and I didn’t die for nothing.”

“We’re not leaving you.” 

“You have no choice.”

"Keep concentrating on getting back to that girl of yours, cause when you get home, I plan on toasting you both at that wedding.”

 

After a few miles, Martin began to struggle again under the weight of the soldier’s body. Whenever he heard the boy groan, he slowed down a little, and the delays were infuriating Jack. 

“Now what?” he growled, looking over his shoulder after Castillo had stopped for the third time in an hour.

“Water break.” 

He had just lowered the soldier to the ground when the sound of rifle fire shattered the silence. A sniper’s bullet whistled past his ear. Another one followed, and Jack shouted out in pain. Martin watched him drop to the ground and cradle his arm. 

Jack pointed. "In the trees, there."

Martin lined up his rifle and fired off two rounds. Tree branches cracked, and a body landed with a thud on the soft earth. He rushed to his friend’s side. 

“It’s just a scratch,” Jack insisted. “But now they know we’re here. There’ll be others.”

“Then go on ahead, Jack. I’ll stay here with him. You can send help.”

“No way! We’re not splitting up!”

“You’re both going.” 

The two men looked down at the injured soldier. He had pushed the bandage away and was aiming a pistol in their direction.

“You heard me. You’re both going." He chuckled when he saw the shock on their faces. “Guess my sight’s back. Remember, I’m pretty good with a pistol.”

“Forget it!” Castillo spat out.

The gun bucked, and the bullet smacked into a tree branch close to Castillo’s ear. They knew the kid was bluffing, but he’d made his point. He was giving his permission to leave him behind.

In war, men are often forced to make terrible, God-like decisions, and Martin realized this was going to be one of those times. “We’ll send a chopper back for you,” he said.

The soldier grinned. “Yeah. Right. So, got any candy, sir?”

“Something better,” Jack answered. He handed him a metal flask. “This should help keep the bad dreams away.”

“Thanks.”

Martin knelt beside him. “Give me the packet, Jim. And the name of your contact.” 

The kid smiled. “Thank you, sir. That’s another one I owe you.”

Together, Jack and Martin dragged the soldier toward a grove of trees and pulled fallen branches over him. Jack handed him a pistol and his rifle. Martin filled the soldier’s canteen with water then showed him the container of antibiotics and a pre-filled syringe of morphine.

“Think you can see well enough to use this?”

“No narcotics. I need to stay alert."

“Okay, soldier. Hunker down then, and we’ll see you in a few hours.” 

“I won’t hold you to it. Just deliver the packet. And don't forget about my girl."

Martin nodded.

“We need to mark the spot somehow," Jack was saying. Martin took the red bandana from around his neck and shimmied up a tree, tying it to one of the low-hanging branches. 

The soldier took a mouthful of bourbon. “Ahh! Much better!”  he sighed. He held up the flask. “Give the brass my best!” 

“We will.”

“And… and be careful.” His voice was softer now, more tremulous.

“You too, soldier.”

Jack was tugging him toward the path, but Martin yanked his arm away. He was furious.

“You’re not gonna pin this disaster on me, Martin! Believe it or not, I’m not wild about leaving him behind either.”
“After we’ve delivered this information to the base, I’m helping the rescue team find him!”

“And I’ll be there, too. That’s a promise I need to make.”

 

An hour passed since they’d left the Marine, and the afternoon sun showed  no mercy as they marched single file on the road to Pleiku. Martin felt the sweat on his neck, but when he reached for his bandana, he remembered where he’d left it.

Damn!  

All they’d have to find him were simple coordinates and a red piece of cloth. 

God help us … and God help him!

He tried not to think of the kid sitting there, waiting in fear. It would be a terrible way to die, alone, and helpless. If the NVA didn’t find him, the animals and insects certainly would. Then, the end would be slow and painful. Martin almost hoped the enemy did find the kid soon and end his misery with a bullet.

“He’s got the booze, Martin,” Jack reminded him. “And the pistol.”

“Yeah. The pistol.”

It was true. Putting the gun to his head and pulling the trigger was always an option.

Martin quickened his steps.

 

 

Chapter 8: Promises to Keep

They reached Camp Holloway early that evening. A tired GI approached them at the gate and gave them a halfhearted salute. 

“We’re not officers, soldier. But we have some important information to deliver. We’re looking for a Marine stationed here. His name is Daniel Allred.” 

The GI seemed puzzled at first, and then his eyes lit up. “Oh, you mean the decoder guy.”

“Yes, I guess you could call him that.”

“Okay. Come with me, sir.” 

The three trudged along, passing barracks and several dusty concrete buildings until they finally came to a shack-like structure set back from the main path. 

“Right this way.” the GI said as he ushered them through the screen door. 

 

“Who the hell are you?” Danny Allred asked them with a frown. 

“We came across the remains of a convoy on the highway to Pleiku. We understand the courier had information for you.”

“I’ve been waiting for that. My God! What happened?”

“They were ambushed.”

"Ambushed?” Allred sat down hard. “How bad? 

“One survivor, but he’s hurt." 

A shadow passed over Allred's face. "My buddy was on that convoy." His voice was soft and full of pain. "Fucking war," he muttered.

“The injured Marine gave us the courier’s packet.” Martin handed it over to him. 

With trembling fingers, Allred ripped it open, and after glancing over a few pages, shot out of his seat. “This is it!” he shouted. The chair he’d been sitting in fell back against the wall. "This is gold, gentlemen! Pure gold!” 

He picked up the phone and began to twirl the dial. 

"Yes, sir. It just arrived. I have it on my desk right now. Yes, sir." He looked up at Jack. “Your names?” he asked. 

“Jack Gretsky and Martin Castillo.”

“Are you Marines? Cavalry?”

“We’re not military. Martin here is working with the South Vietnam police. I'm a consultant." Jack gave as little information about them as he could. He didn't mention the CIA. 

Allred’s eyebrows arched. “I see,” he said. “Ah sir,” he continued into the phone. “Two Americans advisors rescued the packet and brought it here. Yeah, I know. Yeah, I’ll tell them.”

Martin put his hand on Allred’s sleeve. “Tell him he needs to organize a rescue mission for that injured Marine we left behind. He won’t last too much longer.” 

Again, Allred’s eyebrows went up. “You heard what he said, sir?” he shouted. “Yeah. I’ll tell him. Thank you, sir.” 

He hung up the phone. “He’s on his way over.” Then, he sat down hard. “So, a wounded Marine, huh. Got a name?”

“I wrote his dog tag info on the back of the packet envelope. You can see for yourself."

Allred turned the envelope over and focused on Castillo’s notes. Then, he closed his eyes and smiled.  “I’ll be damned,” he whispered. 

After a minute, he jumped up and whipped his chair around in front of Martin, motioning for him to sit. Then he pulled out a folding chair from a closet behind him for Jack. 

“Make yourselves comfortable. How about a drink?” He opened a drawer and dragged out a bottle of whiskey and some paper cups. “Let me pour you guys a stiff one. When the base commander gets here, we’ll pour him one too, and he can give you guys the toast you deserve! Maybe even give you a goddamn medal!” 

Allred sloshed a generous amount of alcohol into two paper cups and pushed them toward Marty and Jack.

“Here’s a starter before he gets here! Consider this one a big 'thank you' from me!” He raised his cup in salute. “Unbelievable! You both just saved America’s ass! At least for now…”

Martin shook his head. “We were just a small part of it. The guy we left back on the road was the real hero. He’s the one who deserves the medal.” 

"I'll bet he does!” He raised the cup again. “So, here’s to Jim.”

Marty raised his cup in a return salute, then tipped his head back, letting the warm liquid trickle down his throat and sooth away the dry lump that had been choking him for hours. 

 

Commander Wilkins insisted on waiting until first light before sending a chopper into the air. Somehow, Jack and Martin convinced him they were qualified to assist with the rescue, and preoccupied with other matters, Wilkins grunted his approval. 

They didn’t have any real confidence they’d find the injured soldier with the overcast sky, but at least two men on the ground were better than a single pilot searching from the air. The big glass bird whistled in the wind, silver blades slicing through thick gray clouds. All of a sudden, it started to rain. 

“There,” Jack pointed to the ground below. 

The pilot inspected the terrain.  “Okay. I see a spot. Keep in mind this is a hot area, sir. You’ll have to move fast.”

Castillo checked his watch. “How much time can you give us?”

“It depends on whether we get any visitors or not, but no more than an hour.” He handed Martin a flashlight.

“Once you find the guy, bring him to the edge of the clearing. Flick it on and off twice. I’ll be hovering up there.” He pointed skyward. 

The two of them jumped from the open doorway of the aircraft, thudding onto the dirt road and breaking into a hard run. After rolling into a trench by the highway, they stopped for a moment to listen. It was deathly quiet. Jack pulled on Marty’s sleeve to get his attention, and together, they ran parallel to the highway.  Neither of them said a word, but they each had the same worrisome thought. Finding the tree with the red bandana wasn’t going to be easy. 

“I hear the river,” Jack whispered.

Again, both men stopped and held their breath, hoping for a moan or a whimper; but there was nothing.

“We’re close. I can feel it,” Martin said.

Another ten minutes went by when suddenly, they heard an automatic weapon chattering in the distance.

“Which direction?” Jack sputtered. “How close?”

“Close enough.”

Someone coughed.

“Hey, soldier!” Martin called out in a soft voice. “Jim?”

There was another cough, and then a groan. Jack was on all fours, sniffing the wind like a tracking hound. Martin played the flashlight beam on the tree branches above his head and, a small smile played at the corner of his mouth. There was the bandana, wet and dripping, but still tied to the low hanging branch.

The young soldier was on his back, the bandage gone from his head. There was no response when Jack called his name. Martin put his fingertips on the side of the soldier’s neck. 

“He has a pulse. And he’s breathing.”

“Looks like he had company …” 

Martin saw the dead NVA soldier before Jack finished his sentence. “This one’s gone,” he said. The bullet-hole in the center of the man’s forehead left little room for doubt.

“He wasn’t kidding! He’s a damn good shot!”

“Bought yourself some time, didn’t you, buddy?” Martin chuckled. 

He slung the kid over his shoulder just as a burst of machine-gun fire exploded a short distance behind them.

Without another word, they ran.

 

 

Chapter 9: I Owe Ya One

Jack and Martin looked in on the Marine later that morning, but the kid was still out of it. The doctor assured them his condition was most likely due to exhaustion and dehydration. 

While they waited, they continued with their search for the missing smuggler. They wandered around the base, asking guards about non-military visitors over the last few weeks but they came up empty-handed. After scouting around the nearby villages for the next two days, they finally gave up and returned to the base.

The first thing they did was check in on Jim. It was late when they got to the ward, and the night shift had just arrived. Nobody at the desk seemed to know where the soldier was.

"He was airlifted here on Friday!" Martin insisted. "He has blonde hair… about five nine. His face had some burns, and he had a leg wound. Don't tell me he's not here! There's no way you discharged him already!"

“Calm down, sir! Guys come in and out of here every day. You’ll have to give me more information than that!” 

The nurse’s distracted attitude infuriated him. 

“I remember him,” another nurse chimed in. “That kid was a real hell-raiser. He badgered the staff until Doctor Benson gave in and sent him on his way. We weren’t exactly sorry to see him go.”

“But his eyes! And the leg…”

“His eyes healed up fine,” a deep voice answered from somewhere behind them. 

Martin turned and recognized Dr. Gerald Benson, one of the docs made famous for his tirades and no-nonsense attitude with the troops. The older man stood there, studying them with curiosity.

“You’re the advisers I heard about who went back to get him, aren’t you?”

“Yeah.”

"Well, his leg wasn't that badly infected, you'll be happy to know, and that's amazing considering the time he was out there with that wound. If you boys hadn't bandaged him up and given him the antibiotics when you did, he’d probably be facing an amputation somewhere down the line.”

He looked them up and down, then smiled as if satisfied with what he saw. 

“You know, he never stopped talking about you two. Told me he was going to find you after the war. Find you and shake both your hands. Oh, and he mentioned something about a wedding you promised to attend?”

“He owes us each a glass of champagne.”

Benson laughed.

“Is he being shipped back to the States?” Jack asked.

“Hell, no! He was fit and willing to return to active duty. Wouldn’t hear of being sent back home. And I agreed. His wounds were superficial for the most part, and like I said,  he healed fast.” Benson shook his head and chuckled.

“The guy gets blown up, loses all his buddies, almost dies, and then, insists he wants to return to duty. Incredible. He hopped on board a transport to Da Nang this morning."

Jack looked like he was in shock. “I never thought he’d make it, much less return to his post in three days!”

“Tough as they come, that boy was. I was impressed.”

He grinned.

“And let me say, it’s been an honor to meet you two, as well. The kid told me you were on a mission. I hope you find what you’re looking for, whatever it is.”

Dr. Benson gave them both a casual salute. Then, he picked up a chart from the revolving rack and headed back toward the ward to check in on his wounded men. 

Edited December 8, 2019 by mjcmmv