He shook his head sorrowfully. 'It's been a long time, Admiral.'
I'd known it, but even so, the report was a disappointment. Damn it, the U.S. had to take a stand ? had to. Let this pass and every tin-pot dictator around the world with a Stinger missile would be taking potshots at us. It was only the fear of massive, overwhelming retaliation that kept them at the bay now, and it was a threat we were ill prepared to back up at best.
'Keep me posted,' I said finally. Not that I needed to ask him to.
The Chief of Staff nodded, hesitating as he started to leave the room.
'I'd like to schedule a memorial service, sir,' he said hesitantly. 'Nothing formal yet ? just to block out the time this coming Sunday.'
'Do it.' I stared down at the desk and shook my head.
On any cruise in the last twenty-five years, it could have been me or Tombstone. Only by the grace of whatever higher power looks out for aviators had we made it this far, although we'd both lost men under our command. And now, women.
'COS ? make it a good one. They deserve it.'
COS looked relieved that I hadn't bitten his head off. That provoked a momentary shiver of chagrin.
'I will, Admiral.' He pulled the door shut on his way out, and left me alone with my thoughts.
4
I heard the Tomcat even though I couldn't see it. The faint growl, as familiar to me as my own heartbeat, was barely audible above the constant whine of insects and the heavy harsh thudding of machete against jungle foliage. I would have known the sound anywhere, even if I'd been away from the cockpit for far longer than I had been.
I paused, waving a hand at our small troupe for silence. My command of the Vietnamese language was limited to a few polite phrases, some incredibly vulgar ones, and a few field commands I'd picked up since we left the hotel. Whether it was because of my butchered rendition of their native language or the expression on my face, the Vietnamese accompanying our small party fell silent.
Two Tomcats, I could tell now. High ? ten thousand, maybe fifteen thousand feet. It was a standard tactical altitude, well out of the range of short-range surface-to-air missiles, but still low enough that they could sight significant ground landmarks and navigate by terrain alone if they had to.
But what were they doing so far inland? I listened to the sound of the aircraft fade away into the brilliant blue sky, then motioned to my guide that we could continue. I'd spent the nights at the Downtown Hilton, relaxing in that peculiar combination of American-style facilities and native workers. You could get the New York Times and the Wall Street Journal, and the copies of Sports Illustrated were current. The cashier took my American money, charged me an outrageous exchange rate to produce a handful of Vietnamese bills, and smiled politely. The first night I pleaded jet lag and got rid of Than and his entourage early on. Later, after I was sure they'd left the hotel, I ordered room service. This morning, we'd set off early, even as the sun was just making its way over the mountains. The mountains themselves were just black shadows, back-lit by the sun. Dark, mysterious, and unknowable, they cropped up around the country to separate long stretches of fertile wetlands. Than brought along about ten of his countrymen that he said would serve as security and guides. He warned me about the conditions we were headed into, as though I hadn't already researched them. It would be primitive, wet jungle, hard climbing up the mountains and wet going around the rice paddies. He looked at me doubtfully, as though uncertain that I could withstand the rigors of the cross-country hike. 'Fifteen miles, maybe more,' he warned.
'I work out.' From the puzzled expression on his face, I saw that my response hadn't been all that clear. I pantomimed lifting weights, then added, 'And run. Every day.'
Than nodded, reassured more by my tone of voice and expression than by a complete understanding of what an American means by working out.
He'd chartered us three minivans to hold all the people and gear. We piled in, and I took a seat in the front of the lead vehicle, which Than was driving. We left the city quickly, careening along the crowded highways among native drivers who seemed determined to commit suicide in their automobiles.
Three hours later, the road degenerated to a roughly paved two-lane highway wending its way up the mountainside. The drop to my right was terrifying ? five hundred, maybe a thousand feet straight down. No guardrails. For the first time, it really came home to me that I was no longer in the United States.
We circled around one mountain range, coming down on the opposite side, then cut off onto a single-lane mud road still damp from the previous night's rainfall. Clouds were filling the sky, billowing and tumbling into immense cumulous shapes. I wouldn't have flown through them, not for any price.
Finally, the road stopped. Simply dead-ended into a wall of green foliage that was already creeping over the cleared space.
Than stopped the vehicle, got out, and began supervising the unloading. The ten men quickly picked up packs, and I asked him if there was one for me. He shook his head. 'No, you and I do not carry.' He pointed at the men. 'That is what they are for.'
I nodded, vaguely disturbed at the undemocratic resolution of the issue. Hell, I was an admiral, but I still humped my own bags. When my aide would let me.
There was no particular ceremony to entering the wilderness. It was almost anticlimatic, after the quick flight into the country and the bone-jarring ride to the edge of the wilderness. We simply donned packs ? or at least the men did ? and stepped off the track and into it.
Within a few steps, I could feel the jungle clinging to me. It was alive with the small sounds that forests make, birds, something skittering in the trees overhead, the steady drip of water somewhere in the distance. The sky was replaced by a canopy of green, looped overhead with vines entangled, almost as thick in places as the undergrowth was.
Black fertile soil, so rich you could smell the deep loam of it. Things sprouted, grew, and flourished over every inch of it, only occasionally dislodged by the tramping we made.
The men didn't talk, not for a while. I had the sense that they were reorienting themselves to being in the jungle, shedding away easier, more civilized habits for those that would insure their survival in here. They moved quietly, pausing occasionally to shatter the jungle noises with their machetes, their voices low and even. The sounds barely carried at all, not against the background cacophony of the wilderness.
Than edged closer. He handed me a rifle and an extra clip. I stared at him for a moment, started to wonder what regulations governed giving weapons to a U.S. citizen in his country, then caught myself at the sheer folly of it. 'Every man must have a weapon.' Than's voice was that same low almost indistinguishable tone I'd heard the other men use. 'Just in case.'
'In case of what?'
He shook his head, and it seemed to me that he was not going to answer.
'In case of what?' I let my voice rise a little bit higher now, invoking the tone that had intimidated so many junior officers during my last twenty-five years. 'In case of what?'
Than sighed, then gave up. 'It is not only the wildlife we have to be afraid of,' he said. 'Cautious of,' he corrected himself immediately. 'Snakes, the cats…' He made a gesture that encompassed the whole vast expanse of wilderness. 'Those, of course. And you may have heard other stories from your intelligence people. The guerillas ? they still claim some parts of the jungle as their own.'
'The part we're going to?'
He nodded, his eyes for the first time filled with some dark emotion I could not peg. 'It is a matter of history as much as anything,' he began, now venturing slowly into the topic he'd avoided before. 'The history between your country ? and mine.'
'They're not still fighting the Vietnam war?'
'Not exactly that. But the camp we are going to ? the former camp ? was of course deep within their
