Shock of War (37 page)

“I want to be seen by Dr. Anway,” said Zeus, going with her. “Dr. Anway. Tell her.”

Cha
Å«
told the nurse. She shook her head as they spoke in Vietnamese.

“You have to go with her,” said Cha
Å«
. “She'll treat you.”

“I want Dr. Anway.”

“She says she's not here,” said Cha
Å«
.

“She works the night shift. Did she leave?”

Cha
Å«
spoke to the nurse again. This time she said very little, instead prodding Zeus toward the wards.

“She doesn't know. You better go with her and get treated,” said Cha
Å«
.

“Where are you going?” Zeus asked as Cha
Å«
started to turn away.

“I will look after the arrangements. Then I must go to General Trung. I will have a car for you, to wait. I will meet you back at the bunker.”

Zeus let himself be led downstairs. The nurse sat him in a small, nearly empty room right off the stairwell. A polished steel stool sat in the middle of the room. There was no other furniture, no med cart, no instruments or monitors.

She told him something in Vietnamese, then left.

The wet, muddy clothes weighed Zeus down. As he stared at the floor, a haze seemed to fall over him. He sat and stared, unable to think.

A short time later, the door opened. Two nurses, neither of whom he'd ever seen before, entered. One had a tray with a basin and cloth; the other carried what looked like a tackle box.

“Is Dr. Anway here?” he asked them. “Dr. Anway?”

The nurses glanced at each other.

“Do you speak English?” he asked. “I know I'm probably messing up the pronunciation. I'm sorry.”

The nurse with the tackle box told him something in Vietnamese and put her hand gently on his arm.

“I'm not nervous or anything,” said Zeus. He pointed at his face. “This probably looks like hell, but I'm okay. It doesn't even hurt, really.”

It stung when they cleaned it, spraying it with a liquid that the nurse had in the box. Zeus tried not to flinch.

The women discussed something in Vietnamese, then motioned that he should take off his clothes. They wanted to see if there were more wounds.

“I'm all right, really,” said Zeus.

They insisted. The one who had brought in the basin to wash him put her hands on his shirt to unbutton it.

Zeus jerked to stop her, grabbing her hand. She shrank back. He let go.

“I'm sorry,” he said. “I'm sorry. I'll do it.”

Zeus peeled off his sodden shirt. They were on their guard now, afraid of him.

There was nowhere to put the shirt. He let it drop to the floor. It made a loud
ker-plunk,
almost a splash. He peeled off his undershirt.

His arms and his chest were crisscrossed with bruises and scrapes and cuts. They were a map of his war.

Their
war. He was just a bystander, an adviser. Or at least was supposed to be.

As was Christian.

You're not the only nut.

The nurses cleaned him up gingerly. None of his cuts was fresh enough to sting as they sprayed and daubed. After his chest, they wanted to work on his legs.

Zeus, reluctant, got off the stool and pulled down his pants, leaving his sodden underwear in place. They were nurses, but he felt embarrassed before them.

“Dr. Anway?” Zeus asked as they inspected the bruises on his shins. “Is she working tonight? I'm pretty sure she is.”

Neither responded. Zeus resigned himself to finding Anna on his own.

A male attendant entered as the room with a small tape measure, and used it to take the roughest of measurements of Zeus's body—across the shoulders, legs, torso.

“I could use some underwear, too,” said Zeus as the boy started to leave.

He nodded, then went out the door. A few minutes later, he returned with a pair of surgical scrubs, handing them directly to Zeus. They were stiff and scratchy, but dry. There was no underwear. The boy said something in Vietnamese that Zeus took to be an apology.

“That's okay,” Zeus told him. “Thank you. Thanks.”

He stood up. The nurses, who were trying to bandage his right knee, backed away quickly.

“I'm going to get dressed now,” he told them. He repeated the words slowly and motioned with his hand. “I want to get dressed.”

One of the nurses said something sternly. Zeus pulled on the shirt, hoping they would get the hint and leave. When they didn't, he turned away and faced the wall.

Taking off his underpants felt as if he were pulling off a bandage. But the cool air on his skin was a relief. He balanced on one foot, then the other, pulling on the scrubs.

They were too short by about an inch. Barefoot, he turned around.

The nurses were gathering their things, facing the other way.

“Do you have any shoes?” Zeus asked. “Something for my feet? Shoes?”

As he pointed, the door opened. The boy had returned with a pair of sandals.

“It's like magic,” said Zeus. He smiled and sat on the stool. To his surprise, the sandals fit perfectly.

He took his sat phone and put it in the pocket of his shirt; it hung out precariously. He bent down to the pile of sodden clothes on the floor and folded them into a bundle as best he could.

The nurse who had wheeled in the cart began talking to him, pointing to his arms and legs, giving him directions on how he should care for his injuries. Zeus nodded solemnly; in truth, he probably paid as much attention to these incomprehensible instructions as to any medical instructions he had ever received.

“Dr. Anway?” he asked when she finished. “I want to see her.”

The nurse held out her hands, indicating she didn't know what he was saying.

Zeus trailed the women out of the room, his legs stiff and a little wobbly from sitting. The hospital was quieter than he remembered, almost serene.

He went to the ward where he had first seen Anna, then stopped. What if she had changed her mind about him?

She wouldn't.

He stepped into the room, sidestepping along the wall so he wouldn't be in the way.

The ward looked bigger than it had the other day. Zeus saw a woman's back at the far end of the room. His heart jumped.

He was about halfway there when she turned and he realized it wasn't Anna. She gave him a quizzical glance.

“Dr. Anway?” he asked. “Is she here?”

“Who?”

“You speak English?” Zeus asked. “I'm looking for Dr. Anway. I'm, uh, Zeus Murphy. Major Murphy? She worked on me … I was her patient. I
am
her patient.” He looked down at his scrubs. “I was just patched up. I wanted to make sure … I thought, you know, she was a doctor so I wanted her to check me out.”

The nurse shook her head, her mastery of English overwhelmed by the sheer amount of words that had flooded from Zeus's mouth. She pointed to the floor: a small puddle had dripped there from his wet clothes.

“I'm sorry,” he told her.

“You are a patient?”

“Yes. Dr. Anway's.”

She came over and put her hand on his arm. He let her guide him out of the ward. When she turned in the direction of the stairs, he stopped.

“I wanted to see Dr. Anway before I left.”

She frowned at him, then turned and walked in the other direction. Zeus decided his best bet would be to follow.

The room where the shooting had occurred was on his right. He glanced in as he passed, only to make sure Anna wasn't there. It was empty.

A middle-aged man in a lab coat came out into the hallway. “You are Major Murphy,” he said.

“Yes.”

“I am Dr. Quan.”

Zeus moved his clothes to his left arm and held his right hand out to shake. The doctor hesitated a moment, then clamped his hand around Zeus's.

“You need something for your things,” said the doctor. “Come into my office.”

“Thanks.”

Zeus followed him into the room, which was more like a small alcove off a narrow corridor that ran perpendicular to the main hall. The nurse Zeus had followed was standing at the edge of the alcove, watching apprehensively.

“Thank you,” Zeus said as she started to leave. “Thanks.”

“Here,” said the doctor, taking a mesh bag from behind a filing cabinet near the wall. He held it open. Zeus squeezed his clothes in. More water dripped on the floor.

“I'm very sorry,” Zeus told him.

“Someone will clean it up. Don't worry.”

The office space was small, with a metal desk pushed up against the side, and the filing cabinet taking most of the space opposite it. The doctor seemed not to have a chair, not even behind the desk.

“I wanted to see Dr. Anway,” Zeus said. “She had helped me before. We're friends now.”

“Dr. Anway.”

“Anna.” Zeus couldn't believe that anyone who worked here, let along another doctor, wouldn't know her. “Where is she? Is she working today?”

“Dr. Anway is not here.” Dr. Quan pushed his lips together, his cheeks pinching inward.

“Where is she?” Zeus asked.

“I don't know.”

“What happened to Anna?” said Zeus, leaning closer.

“She was arrested as a traitor,” said the doctor, looking down. “I know nothing else.”

6

South of Hanoi

Perry needed to make the call
to Washington from outside the bunker, not just because the signal for his scrambled sat phone wouldn't reach from beneath all the cement and metal grids, but because he could not trust the Vietnamese not to listen in. He certainly would under the circumstances.

Unfortunately, that meant standing in the rain and the wind to make the call. He pulled the collar of his raincoat up and took his cap out and put it onto his head, pulling the beak down over his eyes until he could barely see.

The phone rang once on the other side before Walter Jackson, the President's National Security adviser, answered.

Personally. One measure of the importance of his mission.

“Walter, this is Perry.”

“General.”

“I need to talk to the President. As soon as possible.”

“That's not a problem, General. He happens to be right here in my office.”

There was a slight delay as the President picked up another phone.

“Harland. Bringing good news, I hope.”

“No, Mr. President. I'm not.”

“Okay.” Greene's voice dropped about a half octave, and the cheeriness was gone. “Tell it to me straight.”

“One of my men died in action.”

Perry explained the circumstances briefly. Neither Greene nor Jackson interrupted.

“I think that, unfortunately, under the circumstances, it was a necessary sacrifice,” said the President.

His voice was so emotionless a shudder ran through Perry's body. The general immediately upbraided himself. The President's attitude was hardly surprising; it was exactly the way a commander ought to think. The stakes were much higher, much more important, than the life of any one individual.

It was the way Perry should think. It was the way he had thought in the past.

“Our read on the situation is a little more positive today,” said Jackson, filling the silence. “Between the action in the east and the storm, the Chinese advance is stalled. If you can capitalize on that, delay it even further, that would be a good thing.”

“The Russian missiles should be there soon,” said the President. “I'm still working with Congress. Eventually, you'll have real support. I may send SOCCOM; we're discussing that right now.”

SOCCOM was shorthand for Special Operations Command—Special Forces, Rangers, SEALs. Covert units the President could essentially sneak into the country without telling Congress.

“Continue helping the Vietnamese,” added Greene. “Spare no effort. We have to slow down the Chinese.”

Perry's throat suddenly thickened. “Mr. President, I think under the circumstances we're going too far. Given the status on Congress, if we have more casualties—”

“Not to be crass, Harland,” said Jackson, “but what casualties are we talking about? We haven't committed troops.”

“One of my majors just died.”

“I'm sorry about your man, Harland. Those are my orders,” said Greene.

“George—”

“If you're unable to carry out your mission—”

“That's not necessary,” said Perry, almost under his breath.

“Good,” said Greene.

Perry struggled to articulate his objections to escalation by pieces. Bringing in special ops troops now for more missions wasn't going to change the war. The only effect would be dead Americans—more people like Christian.

But the President had already hung up. He punched off the phone and went back inside the bunker.

7

Hanoi

The door to Anna's apartment was open
. There was no one inside, and the place seemed neat and completely in order, as if she had just gone down to a neighbor's. But she hadn't.

No one in the building answered his or her door when he knocked. Not that he would have been able to talk to them anyway.

Zeus had no idea what to do. Finally he went back to the hotel, changed into his BDUs—the only clean clothes he had left—and had the driver Cha
Å«
had left him take him to the bunker.

*   *   *

“What the hell did you do?”

General Perry's words slapped Zeus as harshly as the rain had. He curled his fingers into fists and looked at the ground.

“Excuse me, sir?”

“What did I tell you? I told you to stay away from the action. Why the hell aren't you in civilian clothes?”

“This is all I had that was dry.”

“What the hell did you think you were doing?” Perry shook his head. “You're out of control, Major. I gave you orders—you know what our mission here is. We are
not
here. We are
not
involved. I thought you understood that.”