charm, Jan reached up behind her head and untied the yellow cotton bandana that was holding her hair back. Carefully folding the bandana on her right hand, she began to mop the beads of perspiration on her forehead and cheeks, finishing with wide sweeps along the sides of her neck. Turning to Ted and Joe Bob, she called out to see if they were finished. Ted, who had his back to her, merely lifted his right hand and waved. Joe Bob, who was facing Ted, looked over Ted's shoulder at Jan and yelled, 'Hey, Jan, Ted wants to know if there's something really important you need to do or if it's just one of those woman things.'
Putting her hands on her hips, with her chin stuck out, Jan shot back,
'Okay, you guys. How 'bout moving your male bonding back to the hotel pool. I hear water spots is all the rage now with the guys.'
Joe Bob just smiled a big toothy grin as he continued to hold a white panel Ted was using for judging light conditions. 'God, Jan, you're really sweet when you're angry.'
Ted, who had had his head bent over reading a light meter, looked up into Joe Bob's eyes. 'Cute, really fucking cute. Now how about holding the bloody panel still so we can all get out of here.'
Looking from Jan to Ted, Joe Bob's expression changed to mock surprise. 'Oh, what do we have here? Sympathetic PMS syndrome?'
Without looking up at Joe Bob, Ted continued to fiddle with his light meter. 'Joe Bob, if you don't hold that panel still and shut up, I'll stick this meter up your backside and see just how true it is that the sun never shines there.'
Sighing, Joe Bob lamented to himself, but loud enough so Ted could hear, 'Jeez, I really hate it when this time of month comes around.'
Unable to hear what Ted and Joe Bob were saying, Jan turned her attention to the story that they were to shoot tomorrow. It was already decided that the opening shot would be here, on the bridge that separated Mexico from the United States. Preliminary surveys showed that this was the best place in Brownsville for getting, in a single shot, a picture of Texas National Guardsmen and Mexican Army soldiers, each on their own side of the border, facing off.
She would start the piece by referring to the speech President Ronald Reagan had given in the early eighties in which he warned the people of America that unless they did something to stop the spread of communism in Central America, Brownsville, Texas, would become the front line.
Jan had learned from Scott to use historic quotes that appeared to be applicable. It gave people, he said, the impression that you had done some research and, therefore, knew what you were talking about. His comment was only half in jest. Though Jan loved to spend as much time as possible on research, there just wasn't time to learn everything about a story that was really necessary. Time, and the pressing demands of the network, simply did not permit a correspondent the luxury of becoming an expert on every subject she covered. So Jan, like most of the people in her field, did the best she couldwith the time and resources available, and winged the rest.
Pulling out a small pad and pen from her pocket, Jan jotted down a few quick notes. On the bridge, they would talk to the soldiers on duty and get their impressions and comments. From there, they would go to the headquarters of the 1st Brigade, 36th Infantry Division, and interview the brigade commander. After that, downtown to city hall for an interview with the mayor, then out onto the street in the shopping district for some opinions from the people of Brownsville. Jan was hoping to get comments from both the Hispanic citizens and the Anglos, or what Joe Bob referred to as 'real Americans.'
Scanning the shooting schedule before putting it back in her pocket, Jan noticed that the sweat running down her arm and hand had left a damp thumbprint on the page of the pad, smearing the ink. Looking up at Joe Bob and Ted, she called but, 'Will you two stop playing grab-ass in public and get a move on.'
Joe Bob smiled and waved, whispering to Ted as he did so, 'Better hurry there, friend. Her highness is overheating. Whatever it is you need, buddy, you can get tomorrow. There'll be plenty of time.'
13
A Snider squibbed in the jungle,
Somebody laughed and fled,
And the men of the First Shikaris
Picked up their Subaltern dead,
With a big blue mark in his forehead
And the back blown out of his head.
Unable to focus his eyes any longer on the Louis L'Amour novel he was reading, First Lieutenant Ken Stolte, the executive officer of a 155mm howitzer battery, swung his feet off the table and onto the ground and put the book down on the table. As he stood, his calves pushed back the old folding chair he had been sitting on. As it moved, the chair, painted several times too often, folded and collapsed, creating a clattering that surprised the nodding duty NCO seated at the TAC fire set in the M-577 armored command post carrier. Noting the puzzled look on his sergeant's face as he held his hands over his head, leaned back and stretched, Stolte smiled. 'What's the matter, Buck, losing it?'
Sergeant Buck Wecas saw the lieutenant stretching and the chair folded behind him on the ground. Putting two and two together, he relaxed and smiled. 'No, no. Nothin' like that. I just thought we had gooks in the wire.'
'Gooks in the wire? Where'd you hear that, in a war movie?'
Standing up, Wecas came out of the command post carrier, stepped down off the carrier's rear ramp, and headed over for the coffeepot. 'Ya know, Ken, not everyone was born yesterday. There's still a few old farts from Nam around.'
Closing his eyes and rotating his neck as he continued to stretch, Stolte sighed. 'Yeah, you're right on both counts.' Dropping his arms, he turned toward Wecas, who was pouring himself a cup of coffee. 'You're old and a fart.'
Wecas was about to remind Stolte that his silver bars protected him only up to a point, when the radio blared:
'Mike one Victor three two, Mike one Victor three two, this is Charlie four Charlie eight eight Bravo, over.'
Stolte looked at Wecas. 'Who the hell is Charlie four Charlie eight eight?'
Shrugging, Wecas took a sip of coffee and walked over to the carrier, reaching in and pulling out a small chart that listed all the radio call signs and frequencies in use that day. 'According to this, Charlie four Charlie eight eight is the scout platoon of. 1st of the 141st. Bravo must be one of the scout sections.'
As Stolte and Wecas considered that for a moment, the voice on the radio repeated the call. 'Mike one Victor three two, Mike one Victor three two, this is Charlie four Charlie eight eight Bravo, over.'
'Find out what he wants, otherwise he'll keep callin' and callin.' '
Putting the board down, Wecas climbed into the track, mumbling so that Stolte could hear, 'Yeah, we'd hate to have someone call and disturb your reading with business.'
Picking up the hand mike, Wecas keyed the radio. 'Charlie four Charlie eight eight Bravo, this is Mike one Victor three two, do you have traffic for this station, over?'
'Yeah, roger, Victor three two. I am unable to contact my higher, Tango seven Kilo six nine, and submit my sitreps. Can you relay for me, over?'.
Looking over to his chart, Wecas saw that Tango seven Kilo six nine was the call sign for the command post of 1st Battalion, 141st Infantry.
'Charlie eight eight Bravo, this is Victor three two. I'll try. If I do contact them, is there something you need to report, over?'
