Black Market (7 page)

“How did you see me here!” Woods knew he had cupped his cigarette before Arnason could have seen it.

“Smell … my young sergeant. I could smell your cigarette way the fuck back there.” Arnason held up his arm and pointed at
the parachute flares drifting above their heads. “Notice the wind is blowing the flares back toward the camp.”

Woods felt dumb and changed the subject. “Have a seat.”

“I just might. Who’s on guard?”

“Koski and Sanchez. Warner and I have the graveyard shift tonight.”

“What do you think of him?”

“Who, Warner?”

“Yeah.”

Woods thought for a few seconds before answering. “He’s a very
smart
guy and I think the team can use that. Koski and Sanchez are tough and I think they’re going to really jell as a two-man
team. Between you and me, we lucked out and drew three aces.”

The new replacements could all hear the sergeants talking and all three of them smiled to themselves. Warner slipped his hands
behind his head and laced his fingers together. He liked the compliment Sergeant Woods had given him, mostly because it was
true. He had been tested every year at the Cranbrook School and had always placed in the top one percent. He had even snuck
a look at his private files and had seen an IQ test result that showed a score of a hundred and forty-three. He knew he was
smart, but what the sergeant didn’t know was that he had a highly developed photographic memory.

“Speaking of aces…” Arnason’s voice dropped. “Shaw really screwed over that new supply officer tonight. He took him for over
eight grand.”

“Eight thousand dollars!” Woods leaned forward on his seat.

“Yeah, but it was a real rip-off. I tried to stop it, but Shaw went ahead and nailed him … Look, Woods, I told Shaw that I
was going to get his ass and I am…”

Woods sensed what was coming next.

“Dave, I know that something happened a couple months ago when you and Masters went with Shaw to Qui Nhon.” Arnason sat down
on the ground in front of Woods. “I need to know what it was.”

Woods took his time lighting up another smoke before answering. “I can’t prove anything.”

“I’m not a fucking judge and this isn’t a courtroom.” Arnason released the air that was built up in his lungs. “Just tell
me what you know.”

“All right, but you’re going to think I’m fucking nuts.”

‘Try me.”

“I think Shaw and the yardmaster back in Qui Nhon had Masters killed.”

Warner bumped his head on the roof of the bunker when he jerked upright. He bit his lip to hold back the groan and felt his
forehead for blood. Koski and Sanchez both looked at each other.

“Shaw went up in the yardmaster’s tower to get his paperwork signed and Masters and I slipped under the tower to get out of
the sun. Shaw didn’t know we could hear everything he was saying, and we heard him cutting a deal for some meat with the yardmaster.
Shaw has been black-marketing meat for a long time, along with a lot of other stuff. The meat is declared unfit for human
consumption by the quartermaster vet and then they sell it to the Vietnamese…” Woods ground out his cigarette and lit another
one. He was very nervous. “Masters got real mad and wanted to tell the CID about it. I didn’t think it would be a good idea.
Who would believe a couple of grunts against NCOs and officers?”

“I understand, Dave. You don’t have to make any excuses with me.”

“I told Masters if he was going to the Criminal Investigations guys to keep me the fuck out of it. He got pissed and left.”

“Did he go to the CID?”

“Yes, that’s why he stayed back at Qui Nhon that night. They wanted to get statements from him.”

Arnason had put the picture together. “So when Lieutenant Reed was telling us that Masters had been killed by VC sappers,
that’s why you got mad!”

“Yeah, it didn’t make sense. Masters reported Shaw and the yardmaster and the next day he’s floating headless in the bay.”

“I think you’ve got something there, David!” Arnason slapped his thigh and stood up. “Man! I thought Shaw was small-time but
he’s been making a bundle and that explains why he’s extending for his
third
tour over here as a supply sergeant!”

“Probably…” Woods looked up at the stars. “This is a fucked-up war.”

“From what you said, not only are there officers and NCOs involved in it, but the CID!” Arnason looked up at the top of the
bunker. “You guys keep this to yourselves. Hear me?”

Sanchez answered for Koski and himself. “No problem here, Sarge.”

“Warner?” Arnason spoke at the black entranceway. He had lived in the fighting bunker too long not to realize their conversation
could be overheard.

“I haven’t heard a thing, Sergeant Arnason. I’ve been sleeping all the time.”

“Good! Because this could get real nasty …
real nasty
!”

Arnason had meant every word he had said to Shaw earlier in the evening. He was going to bum his ass. The incident with the
new captain was too much. Shaw was making a fortune off the war while he and the young troops were risking their asses out
in the field. Shaw was an infantry sergeant, not quartermaster, which made his profiteering criminal as far as Arnason was
concerned, and that was all that counted. If Shaw had
anything
to do with Daryl Masters’s death, Arnason decided that he would find out.

The storm arrived at the base camp with a tempestuous rage of high winds that forced the rain to blow parallel to the ground.
None of the hooches had been designed to protect against rain attacking the sides of the structures, and gallons of water
poured into the offices and sleeping quarters, getting everything wet. The force of the monsoon thrashed the tall grasses,
and the trip flares around the perimeter were being ignited, causing the guards to become very jumpy and fire blindly into
the solid sheets of water.

“I’m glad we had the first shift tonight.” Koski checked the edge of the plywood flap that covered the gun port near his bunk.
“Warner and Sergeant Woods must be soaked by now.”

“They’ll survive up there.” Arnason turned down the Coleman lantern in the snug bunker and lay down on his bunk fully dressed.
He rarely took off more than his boots at night. It had become a habit with him to shower during the day and then change uniforms
right after the sun went down and it cooled off. “This bunker can take a direct hit from a 122mm rocket and should be able
to handle a little monsoon rain.”

Sanchez listened to the storm outside the bunker and reached up and touched the crucifix he had attached to the frame at the
head of his bunk for good luck anyway. He had lived through a hurricane that had hit Florida one year when they were down
there picking oranges and the fear had stayed with him. He had been only six years old and they weathered the storm sitting
in a tar-paper shack.

Woods tried locating Warner on top of the bunker. He couldn’t see anything but black water striking his face. He knew Warner
was sitting only a few feet away.

Warner licked the water around his mouth and then bit his upper lip. He was scared. Three of the trip flares in front of their
bunker had gone off and he was sure that the Vietcong were using the storm as a cover to sneak up on them. He kept asking
himself what in the fuck was he doing there on a sandbag bunker in the middle of a fucking war. The collar of his poncho was
acting like a funnel, directing the water running down his face to his neck and then under the poncho to his dry clothes.
He could feel the water spreading out, soaking everything under the poncho. He didn’t care as long as the rubber garment kept
him warm.

Warner opened his mouth, tried taking a deep breath to calm his nerves, and nearly choked. He had never been in a storm as
severe as the one he was sitting through. Once he had been caught in a heavy thunderstorm driving back from their cabin in
his 427 AC Cobra. He had been more worried about wrecking the fifteen-thousand-dollar sports car than getting hurt himself.
Warner smiled to himself in the rain and felt the cool water wash his teeth. His thoughts went to the car he loved more than
just about any inanimate thing. He thought about how hard his dad had worked to surprise him with the car. They had a family
tradition that both his mother and father would each get the children a special birthday present and surprise the whole family.
The car had been built to Carroll Shelby’s specifications with a Ford 427 engine that could generate 500 horsepower. Only
200 of the sports cars were built. The first day he drove it to school, he drew the envy of every kid in the eleventh-grade
class at Cranbrook, and the private school’s parking lot was filled with exotic cars, even an occasional Camoradi Birdcage
Maserati that one of the auto executives would bring home and let their kids drive to school. The difference was that the
AC Cobra was
his
.

The memories of Cranbrook drew Warner’s thoughts to Lake Jonah, a large cement swimming pool designed to look like a lake
and occupying a prominent place on the campus behind the resident dorms. He had experienced sex for the first time on the
balcony that overlooked the lake. She had been a senior and he was just starting his freshman year. He had been expecting
more from the act and was disappointed; of course he had never admitted that to anyone, but there had been something missing.
She had done just about everything to him in the five minutes the whole thing had lasted, but there was something big missing
from it. He had figured out what it had been almost a year later when he had met a girl up north at their cabin, and after
going together for nearly the whole summer, they had sex. The difference was simple: sex without love really didn’t amount
to very much except a physical release and a lot of guilt.

“It looks like the storm is letting up.” Woods slid over the wet sandbags and joined Warner. The first rays of sunlight were
just breaking in the east. “Those clouds had blocked out everything. It’s nearly dawn.”

“Wow! That was some heavy stuff.” Warner felt the erection pressing against his soaked fatigue pants. His thoughts of home
had done more than entertain him during the storm.

“Drop down in the bunker and change into some dry clothes, and I’ll stay up here until you get back.” Woods nodded down at
the sealed trap door.

Warner felt the pressure of his love muscle and knew that it was going to take awhile for it to decide on going soft again.
It had been what seemed forever since he had gotten laid. “You go first.”

Woods shrugged his shoulders. “Fine with me!”

The dim morning light revealed a panorama of destruction. The whole base camp was a mess. Warner stood up and checked the
perimeter in front of their bunker. The red-clay-dyed streams of water still rushed through the rows of barbed wire off the
hill the camp was built on. Engineer stakes had been washed away all around the perimeter and huge gaps had appeared in the
defenses. A lot of work was going to have to be done before dark to make the camp secure again. Warner turned around and looked
back at the hooches. The building next to the Recon Company’s orderly room had its roof torn off and the open area between
the hooches and the fighting bunkers was littered with sheets of roofing tin.

He felt his erection pressing against the coolness of his wet pants and a rush of sexual excitement sent shivers over his
body. He looked down at the dark hole in the roof and could hear Woods’s muffled voice talking to someone. Warner unzipped
his pants and released his pride. His poncho still covered him as he stood watching the rest of the company leave their hooches
and look around at the mess. He masturbated slowly so that it wouldn’t show under the poncho. It was almost erotic standing
there on the bunker overlooking the destruction from the storm.

Captain Youngbloode had been up most of the night working on the company’s paperwork. He had found boxes of awards that hadn’t
been forwarded to the troops who had DEROSed back to the States and orders for promotions that should have been sent to their
new units. The storm had hit just as he had finished and locked the stacks of paperwork up in the steel wall locker. He had
spent the rest of the night checking the company area and had nearly been decapitated by a sheet of flying tin. When he had
returned to his quarters at the back of the orderly room, he found that one of the folding shutters had been left propped
open and everything he owned was soaked. He opened the Samsonite suitcase that contained mostly military manuals and removed
a sealed bottle of Seagram’s Seven.

“I think I deserve a little of this!” He spoke to himself and poured a double shot of the whiskey in the small silver cup
his wife had given him as a present when he had been promoted to captain. He held the cup up in the air and toasted his wife.
“To you, my dear!”

A knock on his door drew his attention away from the bottle. He screwed the cap back on and closed the suitcase. “Yes?”

“First Sergeant sir … I’m just checking to see if you’re up yet.”