There Will Be Killing (24 page)

“I mean that the enemy doing the dirty work you've seen likes to go after weaker prey so we need to load you up with some gear, make you look like you're part of the patrol,” Rick said patiently. “Then you don't look quite as much like the easy pickings you are that could further attract the guys we're playing cat and mouse with. . .Hmmm.”

While Rick considered the merits of the ploy he seemed to have unintentionally unearthed, Izzy died a thousand deaths and judging from Gregg's grip on his arm, he was equally as terrified at the thought of being used to lure in some killers, and not just any killers.

Boogiemen liked to do it gory.

“Well, it was a thought, but I'm not about to put you shrinks in harm's way,” Rick determined, and Izzy could have kissed his boots for that. “So let's get the three of you fixed up and try not to worry. You will have me and all my best guys in front and in back of you. I will not let anything happen to you out there I promise. Okay?”

Soon Izzy and Gregg were geared up in their fresh new soft round booney hats, LRRP Tiger fatigues with utility belts, flak jackets, canteens, their holsters and pistols. They each had a new M16 which Rick had reviewed for them and showed how to tape their gear down for silence and efficiency. J.D. was a good actor, pretending he didn't know any more about gearing up than they did.

“Wow Rick, I'm impressed,” he said. “I didn't expect us to get a new wardrobe out here.”

“Hey, I'm just a Boy Scout at heart.” He raised the three finger hand sign. “Always be prepared, that's me. Now you guys just carry this stuff and the medic kits. We will hump the rest of any gear you might need. Come on, no need to worry,” he assured them. “This is like a camping trip for you.”

Although they were not carrying as much gear as the rest of the real LRRPs, and J.D. insisted on carrying the medic kits and canteens to lighten their load, what Izzy had on even standing in place felt like he was carrying a ton. “How far do we have to go?”

“A lot depends on you guys, Doc. But if we can manage about ten clicks out and set up by nightfall, assuming we're not being followed or closed in on, then we're gold and you'll be home this time tomorrow.”

“Is there. . .” Izzy swallowed. “Is there any chance we could be ambushed while we're doing those ten clicks? Or, maybe in our sleep, like the Headman and his wife last night?”

Maybe it was just his imagination but it felt like J.D. was staring a hole through the middle of his head, like he was trying to send him some kind of message.

Probably to shut the fuck up.

“Anything's possible, Kemosabe,” Rick responded as he made hand signals that caused the LRRP he commanded to make some kind of formation around him and Gregg and J.D. while Rick hitched his M16 like a baby on his hip. “But me and Tonto and the posse here, we've got you covered. Let's move!”

Gregg never thought he would gladly pay to be incarcerated, but as night fell in the jungle and Rick's LRRP patrol of seven men set up a small perimeter around them, even a lock down unit with the criminally insane seemed like a safe haven compared to the insanity of this.

Gregg knew he should feel as safe as one could possibly feel in VC jungle at night since Rick's hand selected team of killing machines was specifically put together for this mission. He did not feel safe. But he was so bone weary and hot that he started taking off his pack and bandolier and flak jacket, breathing, “God, what a relief.”

Izzy began stripping down himself, groaning, “I had no idea how heavy all this gear is. I'm not wearing it anymore.”

J.D. patted his own flak jacket. “Okay and good thinking, guys. Now you can stand out from all the rest of us so if the Boogeyman notices he'll say: Hey, cool they brought some Medical Services Officers this time, how interesting. Maybe I should kill the rest and capture those two. Me? I'd rather be dead.”

Izzy and Gregg immediately put all their gear back on.

“So, what do we do now?” Izzy asked, dripping sweat, “Just wait for something to come out and try to get us, then you jump them?”

Rick chuckled. “Not exactly, no. We do not wait for anyone to make the first move or just hang around here like sitting ducks. Men, quietly now, remind our guests, what do we do?”

“Strike hard. Strike first.”

Their subdued voices were no less powerful than their shouts volleyed at the training camp. Rick nodded his approval.

“That's right,” Rick confirmed and patiently baby-walked his guests up to speed. “So, what's going to happen now is you three are going to stay put here with the guard while I do some recon. Then I am going to wire this place up like a fun house to keep you safe from any intruders while we go hunting.”

“You mean you're going to leave us here while you and the patrol go after the bad guys?” Gregg knew his voice squeaked but he couldn't help it.

“No, no, not just yet,” Rick assured him. “First, I'll take care of business and come back and make sure you're all tucked in, then leave my best guy to guard you shrinks once you go nighty-night. Stone, you get the honors.”

“Do I?”
have to?
went unsaid as Stone's deflated expression transformed to a stoic mask with a single, sharp glance from Rick. “Sir, yes sir, my honor.”

“And Stone here will also see to your dinner or anything else you need while I go do my thing now. Okay?”

Then Rick seemed to disappear before their very eyes, he was that silent and swift.

With the patrol basically surrounding them it wasn't exactly conducive to small or private talk, and despite the growl of his stomach Gregg couldn't eat a bite of the rations offered. J.D. passed a canteen but didn't say much beyond a whispered, “You two stick together. I'm going to need to leave,” then appeared to be meditating on his next move, which did not include them.

Normally, Gregg would have thought this a good thing, but for J.D. to force them to join him on this journey only to throw them out on their own in enemy territory could be the equivalent of a death sentence and Gregg didn't give a rat's ass if Stone was playing babysitter.

“You fucking Benedict Arnold,” he snarled under his breath. “Don't you have any sense of right and wrong? Even a small, tiny shred of human decency?”

J.D. didn't so much as shrug, just kept staring ahead, plotting whatever he was plotting until Rick returned as soundlessly as he had left.

He signaled to Stone, who signaled to his left.

“Go silent,” J.D. muttered out the side of his mouth, playing interpreter.

Gregg watched the hand signals as the other men passed the message: Go silent.

Izzy gripped Gregg's arm. They were both so deeply out of their element they may as well be on the moon but at least he had Izzy to remind him he wasn't completely alone. Still it didn't alleviate a gnawing premonition so intense it was a physical sensation. Gregg felt like his feet were strapped onto a conveyor belt and everything he had experienced so far in this war was only a long hallway leading him to a door that was just now opening to reveal what war really was all about. He desperately wanted to get off the conveyor belt because in the pit of his stomach was the knowledge that once he crossed that threshold, he was never coming out of here again.
How did the grunts out here live for their 365 days with this never ending dread?

Time passed. All quiet. They were deep into the night. Gregg actually felt his head bob with the weight of his helmet as he nodded off. He slightly jerked and saw Izzy lightly dozing, sitting next to him, his chin on his chest, helmet slightly askew. How either of them could sleep here was beyond Gregg, but given everything they had ingested the night before, and the relentless trek through the jungle that afternoon, it was probably a minor miracle they weren't comatose.

The moon cascading through the overhead tangle of trees was bright enough to slightly see a bit. Rick sent a hand signal to Stone who was a little further down the line. Then Gregg glimpsed J.D. making a signal of his own to Rick and Gregg let his head bob down again, pretending to sleep, which he was strangely fighting as he strained to eavesdrop when Rick came their way.

“Well, well,” Rick whispered to J.D., “Just as I thought. Much as I like the docs, they wouldn't know a hand signal from wiping their asses with the toilet paper they brought along. Actually, Mikel, I feel a hell of a lot better with you being out here and knowing you're not one of them.”

“That makes two of us, Captain.”

“Care to share who sent you?”

“Let's just say a mutual friend who wants this thing to stop. I'm here to help. I saw you signal Stone to stay and guard the sleepers while you and the rest of the patrol slip out to reconnoiter. Let me go out on the perimeter with you. I can help check trip wires and,” J.D. slyly chuckled. “Make the ‘rounds' as it were.”

“I like your style, Mikel. Tell you what, we'll leave Stone to watch after your buddies.”

“They aren't really my buddies, but they have been useful so I appreciate you leaving Stone to keep an eye out for them. We may need them later.”

“Gotcha. I've already told Stone where to look for the wires and where the path is to get out if necessary, so they're gold. Let's go out so I can show you if, worse case, anybody goes down. The way I have this rigged they won't, but just as back up to make sure you know how to get these guys out, and after that we can split up. If you're comfortable with that?”

“Absolutely.”

J.D.'s imitation of Izzy had Rick softly laughing while Gregg wanted to pummel the shit out of J.D. for mocking Izzy and deserting them both. Then again, maybe they were safer without J.D. in case he decided they were no longer of use.

“Okay, then let's check the traps,” Rick whispered with the glee of a kid embarking on an Easter egg hunt. “With any luck we'll be back with some Boogeyman heads before our two sleeping beauties wake up.”

“They should wake up in time to hear the birds but not too much before.” The light sound of a finger pinging the canteen was followed by J.D.'s smug assurance, “I figured they were safer with a little help from the medic bag than deciding to look for a little privacy behind a bush that might trip before Stone could warn them. The nerves they're nursing aren't healthy for them or anyone else around here.”

“I say that makes you a good buddy after all—to all of us.” Then Rick was already gone like the wind, chased by J.D.'s muttered, “Not really,” before he was just as gone, too.

That was the last thing Gregg remembered until the ground itself seemed to be shaking him awake, followed by the shrill sound of trip flares. Either he was trapped in a vivid nightmare or the jungle was coming alive with light and sudden explosions.

If it was yet another nightmare or reality, Gregg didn't know as he grabbed Izzy and began shaking him so hard that the back of his head hit the tree they were both somehow now leaning against.

“Ouch, son of a bitch! What the hell?”

“Izzy, Izzy wake up!”

Gregg got in another two shakes before Izzy backhanded him. Gregg's head snapped back with the haphazard blow.

“Oh shit, I'm sorry! Sorry, Gregg, sorry, sorry! I didn't realize that was—”

Another flare, then more explosions that seemed to go on and on while Izzy's mouth moved and Gregg clamped his hands against the deafening Boom. . .Boom. . .
BOOM!

Suddenly, all was quiet. Izzy's mouth quit moving. Gregg removed his muffling hands. They both looked around in the kind of raw terror and that only a really bad B movie with walking zombies could capture.

“It's over,” Gregg whispered. “We're next.”

“Wait.” The sound of a morning bird coincided with Izzy's frantic point towards Stone, stoically sitting against a nearby tree, rifle positioned against his chest, on ready to protect the men on his watch.

Stone was a man of few words beyond “Sir, yes sir” or “Strike Hard! Strike First!” and he hadn't wanted to babysit the shrink pansies, so his lack of response to their “Psst! Hey, Stone!” was no surprise. Although Stone might be too proud to be relegated to the duty he had been assigned to, Gregg had no problem groveling in their protector's direction; or Izzy, crawling on all fours right behind him.

“Stone,” Gregg whispered, shaking him, “Stone come on, wake up—”

Stone fell over, right on top of Gregg. Something wet was on Gregg now, coming from Stone, slick on Gregg's own body. Recoiling, Gregg jerked away and Stone hit the ground with a
thump
.

His throat was slit from ear to ear.

Shouts were coming towards them. Gregg fumbled with the M16 Rick had strapped onto him, tried to raise it to fire. Izzy was doing the same, crying “Shit, oh shit, how do I do this?”

Neither had time to figure it out before J.D. and Rick were both racing into the clearance, with Rick barking, “Stone! Stone!”

“Stone's dead,” Gregg panted, struggling to rise on watery knees.

“What the fuck?” Rick snapped, stopping just long enough to lean down over Stone. “Oh god, shit! Not Stone, not— goddammit. I'll have to come back for him. Mikel, grab them, get them out of here. Take them the way I showed you. Only that way got it?”

“Roger, got it,” said J.D.

“I'll gather the unit and you meet us at the rendezvous point I showed you.”

Rick took off at light speed while Gregg and Izzy both latched onto J.D. like baby kittens onto a mama cat.

“What's happening, what's happening?” Izzy demanded, gripping J.D.'s arm.

“Stone had his throat slit.” Gregg felt crazy, wiping the blood on his hands onto J.D.'s flak jacket.

“Yeah, yeah, I see that, we'll get you some therapy for it later, but right now you both have to keep it together, stay with me and we can still get out of here alive.”

“But what's happening, what's—”

“I don't know, just that something's wrong. Now stay with me and run, or stay here and die. Okay? Now
Run
!”

With J.D. leading them out the same way Rick had exited, they ran down the jungle path through the eerie weird orange light of trip flares and jungle shadows greeting the first hint of morning. More flares went up and it was suddenly like a full but fleeting sun with even more dark contrasting shadows. They heard the sound of an M16 and then the sound of an AK47 and then. . .

They caught up with Rick, but he was down and bleeding. Badly. The remaining six members of his platoon came running from another direction and circled around him while Rick groaned, “Shit, I'm hit.”

“Oh no, I forgot the medic bag.” Izzy pumped a fist into his palm. “Dammit, dammit, I'll go back.”

“No! And keep your voice down,” Rick ordered, his own voice stern but low. “Mikel, grab him. We got our own medics, Doc. Oakley, got a hand?”

The entire platoon responded, assisting Rick as he struggled to get to his feet while Oakley pressed on a compress and wrapped a quick bandage around him. Blood continued to ooze past the bandage. Undeterred by the deep wound, Rick proved himself a true example of courage for the men he commanded in a sharp whisper:

“Come on, come on! Don't stop now; get the fuck after them right down there.” Rick pointed north, toward an incline, with his gun. “I saw three of them in masks go that way. Get them! I'll be right behind you. Mikel, you and Oakley, take the docs west, that's the safest route, and we'll catch up once we have these fucking chinks heads on a stick. Understand everyone? We end this now and send a message that will be heard all the way to goddamn China!”

Rick's men took off as directed and immediately disappeared into the thick undergrowth, as Oakley instructed, “This way” and made tracks. Izzy hesitated.

“I'll stay here with you, give me something to stitch up the wound with—”

“Get the fuck out of here,” Rick snapped. “I'm fine. Mikel, get him out of here!”

And Rick loped slowly north, well outdistanced by his men but even wounded, refusing to let them fight without him.

Oakley gestured impatiently and kept going while J.D. seemed to pause before giving Izzy a push forward. Gregg hit the ground running right behind Izzy. He still felt woozy from whatever J.D. had put in the canteen and maybe Izzy too since he was struggling to run with all the gear on. His bandolier slipped off his shoulder, slid down his legs and tripped him.

Izzy fell forward, hard. Gregg hit Izzy from behind, and J.D. ran into Gregg so they all fell like dominoes, the three of them tangled with limbs and gear on the ground. They were still getting themselves extricated to get back up and run when an explosion went off on the trail Oakley was leading them on and it was like a bad, bad flashback of one of Izzy's first nights when they ran from the villa and the soldier with no name who tried to help them got blown into a gory cartoon character where they should have been, only Izzy was too busy pissing his pants to get up and run with him.