Black Market (15 page)

Simpson shook his head slowly. The guy was too fucking dumb to live, especially as his partner.

“Look! They’re coming out of the hooch!” Shaw stepped back in the shadows of his entranceway. “The captain has someone with
him.”

“I think that’s his brother, a Marine lieutenant.”

“SHIT!” Shaw stepped farther back into the shadows.

“Now what?” Simpson spoke from his seat.

“That Marine lieutenant is crawling under the hooch!” Shaw’s voice was about to break.

Lieutenant Fire Youngbloode squatted down next to the wall and the row of sandbags that circled the orderly room and tried
to look under the building. “Yakub, I’m sure I smelled gas all night long. Someone could have thrown some weapon-cleaning
rags under there.”

“Forget it. Let’s go to breakfast.”

Fire started to stand up and then his Marine discipline got the better of him. “Hold on! It’ll just take a second to crawl
under there and check. Gas rags are a fire hazard … you should know that.”

“Hurry up.” Yakub resigned himself on waiting for his kid brother.

Fire leaned sideways between the sandbags, dropped down in a push-up position so that he wouldn’t get his uniform dirty, and
looked under the hooch. The light coming from the other side silhouetted the coffee can. “I found it!”

“What?”

“A gas can … someone…” Fire reached for the can but was a foot short. He tried scooting forward on his hands and reached out
again, balancing himself on one hand and the toes of his boots. “I got it.” He grabbed the lip of the can with his fingers
and started pulling it along the ground until he could get a good grip on it. The bumpy ground caused the gas to slosh out
of the can and cover the back of Fire’s hand. “Shit!”

“What happened?” Yakub’s voice reflected his disapproval.

“I almost spilled the damn thing.”

“Please! Don’t pull a Marine fuck-up and spill that stuff all over the place!”

“Leave the Corps out of this. It’s not my fault you went to West Point…” Fire’s voice trailed off and then became alarmed.
“Oh!”

“What’s wrong?” Yakub took the three steps over to his brother and leaned over the sandbag wall. He looked directly down into
the can. “
Don’t
tilt it!” He could see the base of the grenade pushed up against the side of the coffee can and the safety handle pressing
against the other side. The can was too small and had prevented the safety handle from flipping up. Yakub realized instantly
that the grenade couldn’t go off unless it fell out of the can. “Hand it straight up to me.”

Fire obeyed his older brother. He had only glanced inside the can, had seen the grenade sitting in the gasoline, and didn’t
realize that it was safe.

Yakub took the can and reached down into the gas. He pushed the safety handle against the side of the grenade and removed
it from the gasoline. He could see the small pieces of what remained of the electrician’s tape and quickly pieced together
what had happened. “It looks like someone left me a present last night.” Rage started boiling up inside him. If the assassin
had used a larger Number 10 can instead of the smaller coffee can, the homemade bomb would have worked very well and would
have killed not only him but his little brother as well.

“It looks like someone doesn’t like you, brother.” Fire poured the gasoline out onto the ground.

“I agree with that,
little
brother … come on.”

“Where we going?” Fire had to run to catch up to Yakub as he strode toward the company supply room.

“Fuck! He’s coming this way and he’s carrying that fucking grenade!” Shaw rushed to the back of the supply tent and started
making himself busy. Simpson smiled and lit a cigarette.

Captain Youngbloode pushed the screen door open so hard that it slammed against the two-by-four supports.

Shaw swallowed and looked up from the stack of C-rations he was counting. “Morning sir! Can I help you with something?”

“Yes you can, Sergeant Shaw. Do you have a
safety pin
lying around that I can borrow?”

Simpson almost started laughing.

Captain Youngbloode glared at Shaw. He could see the fear in the fat man’s eyes and knew that Shaw had something to do with
the attempted fragging.

Woods sat in the back of the deuce and a half and watched Kirkpatrick. He could see that something had gone on between Simpson
and Kirkpatrick that was bothering his teammate.

Woods held out his package of Kools for Kirkpatrick to take one. “We should reach Qui Nhon before noon, even after having
to wait on the engineers.”

Kirkpatrick took the offered cigarette and produced a light for both of them. He inhaled deeply and glanced over at Shaw.
The supply sergeant sat staring directly ahead of the truck, deep in thought.

“I think you’re letting that mine back there bother you too much. This is a war.” Woods was referring to the three-quarter-ton
truck they had passed back near Khu Pho, a small rice-growing village on the Song Da Mang. The vehicle had tried making it
to Qui Nhon on the highway before the engineer mine sweep team had checked the road. The driver had fallen for one of the
oldest tricks in the book. A tipped-over ox cart blocked the road near Khu Pho and the small truck tried going around it and
went off the asphalt onto the soft shoulder. A dud American 155mm artillery shell had been re-fused and rigged up as a mine.
The front wheels of the vehicle were missing and one of the rear tires was still spinning when their deuce and a half came
over a crest in the road. One of the GIs had been thrown clear of the truck and was trying to crawl away from the burning
vehicle.

“Yeah, I shouldn’t let that stuff get to me.” Kirkpatrick took another long drag from his cigarette and blinked when some
of the ashes flew back in his face. “I think I knew one of those guys.” He nodded with his head back down the road.

“Sorry.” Woods cupped his cigarette and took a drag.

Kirkpatrick shrugged and looked over at Simpson, who was driving the vehicle. Woods could see that there was a hell of a lot
more bothering him than the death of two American GIs.

Simpson pulled the camouflage-painted truck over to the side of the road once they had entered the large logistics base and
left it idling. The line into the refrigeration compound was a half-mile long, and it would be a good hour before they could
process their paperwork and load up.

“Simpson and I are going over and talk to a couple friends of mine. Woods, you stay with Kirkpatrick and watch the truck.”
Shaw’s voice lacked a lot of its usual cocky confidence.

“I wanted to go over to the nonperishable warehouse and check on the availability of some new special equipment.” Woods pointed
with the barrel of his CAR-15 at the long building.

Shaw didn’t want to get in an argument and was happy that the questionable noncommissioned officer was going somewhere away
from the meeting he was planning on having with the yardmaster of the refrigeration compound. “Go ahead, but relieve Kirkpatrick
with the truck.” Shaw pointed to the gate the trucks were going through into the yard.

Woods nodded and left them standing in the shade of the vehicle. The tin and wood warehouse contained a large air-conditioned
office that housed the logistics center’s computer. A constant updating of the contents of the supply depot was made, and
an accurate accounting was supposed to be forwarded to the commander of the depot and then on to the logistics command in
Saigon.

Woods stopped and waited for someone to stop working and help him as he stood at the main counter. An effeminate specialist
fifth class looked up from the microfiche he was working on and smiled when he saw the handsome NCO.

“Can I help you, Sergeant?” The thin clerk strolled over to where Woods stood.

“Yes, or I hope so.”

“Well, if it has
anything
to do with this depot, I’m your man.” The soldier tapped the long fingernail on his right pinkie against the Formica counter.

“I’m looking for a new weapon system called a starlight scope.”

“Do you know the federal stock number?” The man’s voice was too soft.

“Sorry, just the nomenclature.”

“Never you mind. If Teddy can’t find it, no one can!” He placed his hand on his hip in the feminine manner, with the thumb
pointed forward and his fingers resting on his buttocks.

“Thanks, it’s very important.”

The clerk paused and looked at Woods over the top of his gold-framed glasses before going back to his microfiche files. He
spent less than a minute flipping through a thick index and then wasted the time to glance up at Woods before pulling out
his high priority file.

“Here it is under sensitive issue items … We have exactly fifty in stock and four hundred special batteries for them.”

“Have you issued any to the First Cav?”

The clerk flipped through another stack of microfiche and released a high-pitched sigh before stepping over to a nearby computer
terminal and typing in his query. He kept glancing up at Woods and smiling each time he made eye contact. “Ah—interesting!
None of them have been issued and they’re all on special hold for the Special Forces Command in Nha Trang.”

“Are you sure? How about another depot having them?” David was puzzled.

“No, I saw on the microfiche that we’re the first ones to receive them. That’s why the Special Forces people want a hold on
them. They were shipped to us by mistake.”

“Are they stored here?” Woods pointed out of the office at the rows of supplies.

“Yes…”

“Can we go back and check on how many are
actually
here?” Woods smiled his best smile at the clerk.

“We’re not supposed to allow outsiders back in the bins…” The clerk smiled and winked at Woods.

He swallowed and winked back. He had to get back in the warehouse and see for himself if there were fifty starlight scopes
on hand.

“All right. I go on break in a couple of minutes, if you can wait for me.”

Woods nodded and kept smiling his best grin.

The clerk removed the stock card from the office files and located the row and bin number for the starlight scopes, then waved
for Woods to follow him through the office to the exit. The clerk walked fast, taking short steps, and wiggled his rear end
for Woods’s pleasure.

“Here … is the row…” The clerk looked down the dimly lit aisle and led the way back to the bin. “There they are!” He was proud
of himself. He hadn’t been back in the bins on official business for a long time and was worried about locating the scopes.

“Let me count them.” Woods started shifting the cardboard boxes on the shelf and ignored the clerk’s hand on his rear end.
“Forty-five.”

“You have to be mistaken … the computer
and
the microfiche show fifty on hand.”

“Let me count them again.” Woods started his recount and this time he brushed the man’s hand away.

“Don’t be shy. No one comes back here very much … it’s very
private
.”

“Forty-five! There are five missing.”

“Screw the starlight scopes! Don’t you want to mess around a little?” The clerk pouted.

Woods had the information he needed. “Not today … maybe some other time when I’m not so busy. Thanks for your help.”

“Not even a quick blow-job?” The clerk tried reaching for Woods’s crotch.

“Naw … but it was nice of you to ask.” Woods winked at the homosexual. “You’ve been a
big
help and I appreciate it.”

“You sure?”

“Yep.”

“You’re awful cute.”

“Thanks, but my partner’s waiting for me outside.”

“All right … but if you change your mind…”

“
If
I change my mind, you’ll be the first guy I call!” Woods had to swallow the laugh building up in his throat. He did appreciate
what the man had done for him, and he didn’t want to screw up his connection with the depot by insulting him.

“That’s great!” The clerk started his short-step walk back to the front of the warehouse. “You don’t know what you’ve missed!
I’m
very
good!”

“I believe you … it’s just that I’m not in the mood right now.” Woods waved good-bye to the clerk and left the building. He
was beaming from ear to ear. The starlight scopes
had
come from the Qui Nhon Depot.

Sergeant Woods jogged over to the truck. Kirkpatrick had moved it forward and he was three vehicles away from checking in
to the compound and drawing their supplies.

“You made it back just in time!” Kirkpatrick looked up from his seat on the floorboards of the truck.

“Where’s Shaw?”

Kirkpatrick pointed using his cigarette. “He’s still over at the tower.”

“I’m going to go get him. We need some paperwork to draw supplies.”

“Sure…” Kirkpatrick leaned back against the fender and smoked his cigarette.

The bright sunlight filled the tower. The yardmaster had three large window air conditioners installed in the lower part of
the walls at floor level. The ten-foot-square office was very comfortable and offered a raised view of the whole Qui Nhon
Depot and a spectacular view of the sea.

Shaw pointed at the very distinguished-looking NCO. “
You
have to understand that I can’t take any extra meat this trip and probably for at least a month, until things cool off for
me!”

The tall sergeant lit an imported Cuban cigar and smiled. He pointed out at a ship anchored in the bay and tapped the glass
with the wet end of his cigar, leaving small spots on the glass. “That’s the
San Francisco Gull
, a refrigeration ship.” He turned around and looked over at Simpson with a hint of his true character gleaming through his
eyes. “The captain of that ship is very nervous and wants to unload his cargo of meat that is
unfit for human consumption
. My friend, the quartermaster veterinarian, is very nervous and wants that ship unloaded because he’s the one who declared
the meat unfit for human consumption. I am very nervous because
I
signed the paperwork that has confirmed all of the meat has been thrown overboard and is destroyed.”