“I don’t think I can walk another mile,” said Christian, but he started walking anyway.
As the euphoria of setting off the explosion faded, Zeus thought of starting a conversation to take their minds off their fatigue and hunger. But even that seemed to take more strength than he had. Subjects occurred to him — they could talk Army football even, which was about as safe and invigorating a topic two West Point grads could ever find. But his mouth stayed closed.
Walking parallel to the fence, they reentered the jungle after about a half mile. Zeus’s knee was giving him problems; it didn’t hurt but felt as if it had swollen somehow. Yet when he touched it, it felt exactly the size as the other one.
“More woods,” grumbled Christian as they treaded into them.
“Gives us cover.”
“The only cover I want is on a bed.”
“Yeah. A blonde would be nice.”
“Blondes aren’t cover.”
There was a joke in that somewhere, but Zeus couldn’t find it.
“I think the most beautiful girl I ever saw,” said Christian after a while, “was at a Yankee game.”
“You’re a Yankee fan?”
“Hell no. But she was… I think. She had a Yankee cap on. So I guess she was a Yankee fan. But for her, I’d make an exception.”
“Good looking?”
Christian made a whirling sound. “Good looking isn’t the start of it. Blond hair. With like this little brownish streak. Not brown, just a little darker blond.”
“A highlight.”
“And she had a skirt.”
“Skirts are always good.”
“At a baseball game? They’re incredible.”
“A tight skirt, or a loose skirt?”
“Like a silky skirt. Very short.”
“She had a boyfriend, right?”
“Of course. Otherwise I’d be married right now. To her. Absolutely.”
Christian sounded a little drunk, if only on the memory. They talked like that for a while, the way friends would talk if they had no cares in the world, if they were in a distant city on a convention, enjoying an easy evening. It was a surreal moment, full of contradictions.
Zeus tried to think of a story he could tell, but came up empty.
They’d fallen silent again when they came across another dirt road, this one not much wider than a bike trail.
“This way’s south.” Zeus angled his thumb as if he were a hitchhiker.
Vegetation teased at the sides, at times swallowing the path whole. It took only a few minutes for them to reach the fence.
“Another dead end,” said Christian.
“Wait.” Zeus stared at the ground to the east of the path, then walked to the other side.
“What?”
“There. Come on.” He led Christian past a few bushes to a well-worn spot about thirty feet west of the path. There was a hole cut in the fence at the bottom; some of the metal was pushed back.
“Damn small hole,” said Christian, squeezing in behind him.
Christian started past him. Zeus grabbed him.
“Wait,” he said. “There’s a sign over there.”
The sign was posted on a poll about chest high ten or twelve yards away, just visible in the moonlight. He couldn’t see its face from where he was standing, but suspected that was immaterial — more than likely it was in Chinese.
Besides, he could guess at what it said.
“Minefield?” said Christian.
“Shit.” Zeus dropped to his haunches. He leaned out, and tentatively groped the ground.
“What the hell are you doing?”
“There’s a path. You can see how the grass is parted.”
“You’re out of your mind,” said Christian. “This is a minefield.”
“People go through here a lot,” said Zeus, pushing out a little farther. He knew he was right — it was a smuggler’s path.
“No way.”
“Any place where there aren’t mines, there are going to be guards. It’s the only way.”
“God, Zeus. What if we get all the way to the other fence and we find there’s no hole there? What then?”
“There’ll be a hole. I’m telling you. People go through here all the time.”
“Crap.”
There was a hole, though it was a little tricky to spot. The fence was bent toward the China side, and obscured by a clump of grass and a scattering of rocks. Zeus’s shirt caught as he slipped under. It ripped; the fence scraped his back. It hurt like a hot knife.
“I just want to get the hell home,” said Christian, falling in behind as Zeus found the trail into the jungle.
The sun had just begun to rise when they came to another road, this one macadam. They walked parallel to it for a few dozen yards, until they heard the sound of a truck approaching.
“Chinese?” asked Christian.
Zeus listened, trying to decide what direction it was coming from. Finally he realized it was behind them.
“It’s coming from the north,” he said, ducking down.
Christian flopped down beside him. Zeus angled himself so he could see the vehicle as it passed. Every ounce of his body began to ache. He could feel his eyelids hanging down, the eyeballs themselves sagging.
The truck rumbled closer. Zeus spotted the olive drab fender moving toward him.
An older truck. He leaned forward, trying to get a glimpse of the insignia. But he couldn’t see it.
An open truck. People standing in the back.
They were wearing peasant pajamas.
Vietnamese home guards. He spotted the star on the cab.
Zeus jumped to his feet.
“Wait!” he yelled, crashing through the brush toward the truck. “Wait!”
He reached the road a few yards after the truck had passed. He yelled loudly, waving his arms.
“Wait! Wait!”
The people at the back of the truck stared at him. They were dressed in dull green uniforms.
“Wait!” he yelled, starting after them.
He’d taken only three or four steps when he tripped, his legs simply too tired to remain coordinated. He tumbled down, barely able to get his hands out in time to break his fall.
Zeus heard the truck stop. By the time he managed to get himself upright, two of the people in the back of the vehicle had run to him.
They were women. They had AK-47s. Pointed at him.
“I need to get to General Minh Trung,” said Zeus. “You must take me to General Trung. To General Trung. Right away.”
