‘There’s a chance Cody could be in an MIA camp in Cambodia,’ Hatcher lied. ‘Before we make a stink about it, I’ve got to be sure he didn’t die that day.’
‘It’s all in the reports. I told them all of it. They were always going down. It was a suicide outfit, everybody knew that.’
‘You mean Cody’s outfit?’
‘He was crazy, man. First thing I heard when I joined the SAR, “You’re Cody’s backup,” they’d say, “you’re gonna stay busy. Better keep your head down. . .
The vision began flashing in Simmons’s head. He rubbed his eyes, but it persisted, as it always did. The figure limping frantically toward the river’s edge, waving futilely at him, then the explosion, the great awning of fire spreading out over the treetops. And still the pilot kept coming, waving, a specter silhouetted against fire until the image burned out in Simmons’s head.
‘Maybe . . .‘ Simmons said.
‘Maybe what, Simmons? Maybe Cody didn’t die, that what you’re saying?’ Hatcher knew he had Simmons going, could almost feel his pain. That was part of it, knowing when they were going to break, keeping the squeeze on.
‘I never said he died,’ Simmons cried, ‘I never said that at all. He could of got outa there without me seeing him. They were shooting at us, there was a lot of fire. . .
‘Bullets come close, did they?’
‘They were chewing the Huey up three feet from my face.’
‘So it was time to split, right?’
Simmons turned away from him. Outside, the familiar whine of the chopper could be heard as the pilot cranked it up.
‘I gotta go.’
‘Then I’ll wait until you get back.’
‘Jesus, what the hell do you want me to tell you?’
‘The truth.’
Simmons slammed the heel of his hand against the doorjamb.
‘Damn it! Damn it all. Damn you.
‘Been eating at you, has it?’
Simmons didn’t answer.
‘Look at it this way, if you did see somebody running away from the plane that day, maybe we can still find him.’
Simmons moaned, ‘I still get nightmares. Nothing’s worked for me. My wife left me. . . . It all turned to pig shit.’
‘Maybe this’ll help clear up these dreams,’ Hatcher suggested, but Simmons shook his head.
‘So you came up here to forget it?’
Simmons nodded mutely.
‘And it didn’t work.’
Tears suddenly flooded Simmons’s eyes. He tried to blink them back, but they slowly drew streaks down his face.
‘I keep thinking, maybe we coulda got him outa there, but they were shooting us to pieces, so I told them “Let’s get outa here, I don’t see anybody” and God
‘So Cody got out of the plane,’ Hatcher said bluntly. Simmons was weeping softly arid he was trying not to show it. He leaned against the window, watching the chopper stir snow clouds as it warmed up. Simmons took a deep breath and sighed.
‘One of ‘em did,’ he said finally.
‘They think they found some of the gunner’s remains at the site,’ Hatcher said, ‘But they never found Cody.’
Simmons faced Hatcher, his face twisted with grief. ‘What the hell happened to him?’ he asked, his voice quivering with guilt.
Hatcher shrugged and shook his head.
‘If you ever find out —, Simmons started, and the voice from the plane yelled again, ‘Simmons, what the hell’re you doin’? We got work to do.’
‘I’ll let you know,’ Hatcher said, ‘There’s one other thing. Does Thai Horse mean anything to you?’
‘You mean heroin?’
‘That’s all it means?’
‘That’s all it means to me.’
‘Thanks. You better get going,’ Hatcher said.
