where was the sense in that?
“Yeah?” he yelled.
“It’s me,” said Christian.
“Hang on.” Zeus wrapped a towel around his waist, then went to the door, undoing the lock.
“What’s up?” he asked as Christian came in.
“Jeez, you got water?”
“A trickle.”
“Across the hall there’s nothin’.” Christian plopped down in one of the chairs. The bottom of his jeans was crusted with mud. “God, put some clothes on, would you?”
“I wasn’t expecting company.” Zeus pulled some underwear and a fresh pair of pants from the dresser. He was getting low; pretty soon he’d have to resort to his BDUs.
“So they go for it?” Christian asked.
“The general wouldn’t even see me.”
“Figures. I don’t know what it is with these guys. Inscrutable Asians. And we saved their butts. You and I.” Christian got up and went to the minifridge. “All they got here is Chinese beer.”
“That stuff costs a fortune.”
“I wouldn’t sweat it. They won’t be around to collect. Bar is crawling with reporters,” added Christian. He held out a bottle for Zeus.
“I better not. I don’t want to fall asleep.”
“Why, you got a date?”
Zeus started to grin.
“You
Zeus shrugged.
“I’ll find out if you don’t tell me. I’ll have you trailed.”
“The doctor who worked on me. A woman.”
“Yeah, no shit?” Christian took a slug of the beer. “I think I know who you’re talking about. Good choice. That’s what the flowers are for, huh?”
Zeus looked at the branch of blossoms on the dresser. He should probably put it into water.
“We went to eight different units. Eight,” said Christian, leaning back in the chair. “They’re going to get their asses kicked. I don’t think I saw one weapon less than twenty years old. You really think they have Boltoks? Or was that a pipe dream?”
“Probably a few.”
“A few won’t do it.” Christian took another slug. “Hell, those aren’t going to go through a 99 anyway. Unless you get a really good hit. The damn tank was designed to deal with that crap.”
Being outgunned didn’t necessarily mean that you would lose an engagement, let alone a battle. During World War II, the main American battle tank was well overmatched both in firepower and armor by the German Panzers. But the Americans were able to develop tactics to overcome that disadvantage.
Not easily. And generally those tactics relied on numerical supremacy, something they didn’t have here.
“But what the hell are we supposed to do, right?” continued Christian. “Tell them to give up? I wouldn’t give up.”
“You wouldn’t?” It was halfway between a question and a statement.
“No way.”
That was one thing about Christian — even when his ass was being kicked in the simulations, he kept fighting to the bitter end.
Stupidly, since it meant they’d usually missed the start of happy hour. Probably not a concern for Christian, as Rosen and Zeus had never invited him.
“I met a reporter in the elevator,” said Zeus.
“No shit.”
“He asked why I was here. I told him I was a repairman for the embassy.”
“No more trade specialist?” That had been the suggested answer.
“I don’t think he’d believe that shit.”
“And he believed you’re a repairman?”
“No. He thinks I’m a spy.”
Christian drained the rest of his beer, then went back to the minifridge. “Sure you don’t want one?”
“I’m sure.”
“The women always liked you. I can understand that.” Christian twisted off the top, took a swig, then sat back down. “It was Rosen I can’t understand. How the hell did he get women?”
Zeus shrugged.
“I mean, could there be a more obnoxious wise ass in the army? And he was nothing to look at. At least, not that I could tell. Not that I would know. But… the women. Cripes! What did he do, make some sort of deal with you to take the rejects?”
“They did go for him, didn’t they?” said Zeus. “Hard to explain.”
“You know, I have a different opinion of you over here,” confessed Christian.
“Huh?”
“You used to be an asshole. War brings out something better in you.”
“Gee, thanks,” said Zeus.
“No, I mean it. You’re a lot more humble. No more big head, no more ‘I got the solution to the world’s problems.’ You’re very focused. It’s good.”
“What time’s your date?” asked Christian.
“She gets off at midnight.”
“Midnight? Hell, you better get over there. It’s quarter of.”
Which translated into a bribe, both for the driver and anyone who happened to stop them.
Zeus was surprised that there was a line of cars waiting near the street, a product of the hotel’s sudden popularity with foreign correspondents. The driver used a variety of backstreets, wending his way around checkpoints and blocked streets. The Chinese had not bombed Hanoi so far that night. Zeus wondered if they were saving their ammunition for the assault in the north.
Despite all the detours, they managed to get to the square near the building a minute or two before midnight. Zeus practically leapt from the car.
“Wait!” yelled the driver, chasing after him. “You will call me.” He handed Zeus a card with a cell number. “I cannot stay for you.”
“All right. I’ll call when I need you.”
“You call,” said the man.
Zeus crossed the street, walking briskly toward the battered building where the hospital was located. But when he found the door he’d come out of, he discovered it locked. He pounded on it, but no one came to answer.
He took a few steps back, surveying the area, looking for another entrance. There
On the block behind the building, he realized. He must be at the back.
Zeus started running. It occurred to him that he probably shouldn’t run — a soldier seeing someone running might easily draw the wrong conclusion. But it was hard not to. He dropped to a trot, then walked, then trotted a bit.
When he reached the front of the building he managed to slow to a deliberate walk. There were people ahead, a half dozen about a third of the way down the street on the right. He picked up his pace, then slowed down, nonchalant, trying to relax. He scanned the faces, but didn’t see her. She must be inside.
Two soldiers stood near the door. One raised his hand as Zeus approached.
“I’m here to see Dr. Anway,” he told them.
