The Intruders (40 page)

“They won’t. Let’s go.”

They went back toward the cache and settled in fifty feet away, hidden
in waist-high foliage. Flap waited until a guard went by and turned the
corner, then he flitted across the gap like a shadow and disappeared
into an aisle between stacks of boxes. He left his rifle with Jake.

One minute passed, then another.

The second guard came around the corner and walked by.

Flap had to find the man inside amid the aisles, if there was one, kill
him, then come back to dispose of the guards outside. It was a tall
order, yet these men had to be down before Jake and Flap could rip into
the boxes, which could not be done noiselessly.

Several more minutes ticked by. Jake fitigered his Hooded, useless
watch. Perhaps he should have thrown it away.

Okay, Flap. Where are you, shipmate?

Come on! Come on, Flap! Oh, Jesus, don’t let anything happen to Le
Beau.

Little late to think about that4 isn’t it, Jake? You two could be on a
boat going down the river right this very moment if you hadn’t insisted
on going through with this.

Well, something had gone wrong. Flap was in trouble.

Jake was torn by indecision. If he went inside looking he could blow
this whole deal. Yet if Le Beau were injured he might die without
assistance.

Here comes one of the guards. Walking and looking, his rifle held
carelessly in the crook of his arm.

As the guard went by the aisle where Flap had disappeared, he hesitated.
Jake stared at him across the sights of the AK. Now the guard took a
step back and peered into the gloom as Jake’s finger tightened on the
trigger. If he points his weapon he’s dead.

Hands reached for the guard and jerked him forward off his feet, into
the aisle.

What were you worried about, Jake? Flap’s the bes4 the absolute best, a
fucking super-Marine.

More time passed.

Waiting was the hard part. If you didn’t know what was happening.

Jake lifted his head and took a long, careful scan of the area. No one
moving.

The other guard came around the corner. He was more alert than the
first one. He held his rifle in both hands, the muzzle up. He looked
puzzled.

Uh-oh, he didn’t pass the other guy and now he’s wondering where he is.

He stopped and looked about carefully, then turned and went back the way
he had come. When he reached the corner an arm shot forward. The guard
jerked away.

Even from this distance Jake could see the hilt of the knife protruding
just below his chin. The rifle fell harmlessly as the man staggered,
grabbing at his throat. Le Beau was right there, an arm coiling around
the man’s mouth to ensure he didn’t scream. When he went down Jake
hobbled forward.

Le Beau was bent oveTholding his side. Blood splotched his flight suit
everywhere. The Marine jerked the knife from the man’s throat and wiped
it on his leg, leaving yet another streak on his filthy flight suit,
then slipped it into his sleeve sheath.

“What happened?”

“Guy inside had a knife. He got me good.”

“Let’s saddle up and get the fuck outta here.”

“No. They bought us tickets and we’re taking the ride.

Quick, let’s drag this guy out of sight. Grab hold.”

They each took an arm.

“How bad is it?” Jake wanted to know.

“I don’t know. Burns like fire.”

“Can you keep going?”

“We’ll see.” As they dropped the body in a dark aisle, Flap muttered,
“Always knew I’d get it with a knife.”

He led the way down a gloomy aisle, almost feeling his way along. “The
stuff we want is down here. Fuses and wire.

Found it this afternoon.”

They attacked the side of a box with Flap’s throwing knife. The nails
ripping loose sounded loud as gunshots.

“How do you know what’s in each box?”

“Seen crates like these before, in Cambodia. This is all Russian stuff.
The crates got symbols on them for the comrades who can’t read Russian.
Like me,”

The side of the crate came loose. Flap dug into it. He came out with a
handful of primers and wire. AfteTa little more digging they extracted
a timer.

“Now all we gotta do is find the plastique.”

Jake was horrified. “You don’t know where it is?”

“Couldn’t find it this afternoon.”

“Maybe it’s still on the ship.”

“Maybe. Get out your lighter and look.”

They found a crate with the lid already open. Grenades.

Each man stuffed four or five into his chest pocket, then they went on.

Time was dragging. The lighter got hot and flickered. It was about out
of butane. Someone was going to come check on the guards any minute
now.

Jake was about to give in to despair when they found the plastique.
There were at least five crates of it, piled one on top of the other.

“Boost me up,” Flap said.

Lying on top of the crates, Flap pried at the lid of the topmost one
with his knife. More groaning noises, as loud as fire sirens. Finally
he said, “Okay, pass up the primers and stuff.”

:’How long do you want on the timer?”

“Thirty minutes.”

The timeTwas mechanical. Jake began winding it up as fast as he could.
When the spring would go no tighter, he used the lighter. The clock
face would take up to a twelvehour delay. He set thirty minutes, then
passed it up to Flap.

Two minutes passed before Flap asked for help to get down. His side was
wet with warm blood.

“Those antitank rockets are down this way,” he murmured. He took four
steps and fell.

Jake helped him up. “Let’s try to get a bandage on that.”

“With what?”

“Shirt off one of the corpses.”

“We don’t have the time. Come only”

They took four of the rockets, two for each man. Flap was visibly
weaker now, but in the spluttering light of the butane fighter he took
the time to explain how to arm, aim and shoot. The lighter died for the
last time before they were through and couldn’t be refit. Jake dropped
it and slung his rifle over his back. Then he hoisted two of the
rockets.

He had to help Flap to his feet. Flap hoisted his two and let the rifle
lay. He turned and led the way.

Two steps out of the aisle Flap froze. A figure stood in front of him
with a rifle leveled.

“Ibe captain! “You two! I knew you weren’t dead.”

He took a step closer. “You have caused me a great deal of trouble. Now
I’m going to cause you a great deal of pain.”

Quick as thought he moved forward and smashed Flap in the head with the
butt of his rifle. Flap collapsed.

The captain drove a kick at Jake Grafton that caught him right where his
rib was broken. He almost passed out from the pain.

When he came to his senses he was lying almost across Flap. The captain
was talking. “Been into the weapons, I see. What else have you done?”
He kicked Jake again, but he took the blow mostly on his shoulder.

Jake felt for Flap’s left arm. He found it. The sleeve was loose. The
knife came free in his hand.

Another kick. “What have you done in there? Answer mell, As the foot
flashed out again Jake grabbed it and pulled.

Off balance, the captain fell. Jake scrambled to his knees and went for
him but the man was too quick. He was coming off the ground so Jake
slashed with the knife, a vicious, desperate backhand.

The captain staggered back. Through all the kicks he had kept his rifle
in his left hand. Now he dropped it and grabbed his stomach with both
hands as a shriek of agony escaped him.

His guts spilled out.

The captain fell to the ground. Jake crawled toward him and stabbed,
again and again and again.

When the captain went limp Jake slashed at his throat for good measure,
then rolled over moaning. He couldn’t breathe. His side!

The captain quivered. In a haze of pain, Jake stabbed the knife into
his chest and left it there.

Somehow he got to his feet.

Le Beau seemed only partially conscious. Jake grabbed him by the back
of the neck of his flight suit and heaved.

The Marine slid about two feet.

Jake needed both hands.

The boat dock. He had to get Flap to the boat.

No way but to drag him.

In a haze of pain, struggling to breathe, he pulled. He paused
occasionally to glance over his shoulder, because he was dragging him
backward. Right by the lights of the village.

Someone would see him and shoot him.

He didn’t care.

How he made the journey he didn’t know. Flap stirred several times but
he didn’t come to.

Finally he had the Marine on the boards of the dock. In a supreme
effort he got lurn over the side of the cabin cruiser onto its deck.

He paused, breathing raggedly, not getting enough air but sucking hard
anyway.

Cast off. He had to cast off Somehow he remembered the other boats. He
got out on the dock and fumbled with their ropes.

The knife! Damn, he had left it sticking in the captain.

He managed to untie all of the ropes except one, which was knotted too
tight for his fingers. In his pain and anxiety he forgot all about the
second knife that Flap carried.

The ropes for the cabin cruiser came loose easily.

Jake got aboard just as the current began to ease it away from the dock.
Those other boats that were free from their moorings were already
drifting.

The grenades.

He fumbled in his chest pocket for one. He pulled the pin and held it
as the distance increased.

T Now.

He let the spoon fly, gritted his teeth and heaved. It hit on the dock,
bounced once, then rolled into the moored boat.

Jake sagged down just as it went off.

The noise would bring the pirates. Maybe this would be a good time to
see if the engine in this boat can be started.

Fumbling with the switches by the helm, he found the one for the
battery. A little light came on. There was a button just beside it.
Here goes nothing!

Please God The engine tamed over.

He jabbed the button in and held it. Grind, grind, grind as he played
with the throttle.

A choke. Maybe there was a choke. Desperately he felt around the
panel.

He found it and pulled it out. The engine ground several more times,
then caught. He inched the throttle forward from idle and spun the
helm.

He had the boat headed down river when the first bullets thudded in.

One man shooting. No, two.

He hunkered by the wheel and fed in full throttle.

The boat accelerated nicely. He slewed it and craned his head to see.
The banks of the river were even darker than the water.

Stay in the middle.

More bullets whapping in. The windshield in front of Jake shattered.
Then something hit him in the shoulder, drove him forward into the
panel. Somehow he kept his feet under him.

The shooting stopped. He was rounding a bend. He got himself into the
seat behind the wheel.

How far to the sea? Would the pirates follow?

He was worrying about that when he heard the explosion, a roar that grew
and grew and grew, then died abruptly.

His head swam and he worked desperately hard to breathe. Somehow he
stayed conscious and kept the boat ‘in the channel.

Eventually the darkness of the him on the riversides merged with the
night and the boat began to pitch and roll.

The ocean. They were out of the river.

There was a bungee cord dangling from the wheel. With the last of his
strength Jake managed to book the free end to the bottom of the chair
where he had been sitting.

He roiled Flap over to check on him. He had a terrible knot on his
forehead and the pupil of one eye was completely dilated. Concussion.

“Hey, Flap. It’s me, Jake.”

The Marine moved. His lips worked. Jake put his head down to hear.
“Horowitz had a brother. Tell him … Tell him …

Just what Jake was to tell him Flap didn’t say.

Jake was so tired. He lay down beside Flap.

The boat ran out of fuel an hour later. It was rolling amid the swells
of a sun-flecked blue sea when a pilot of an A-7 from Columbia spotted
it. The crewman the helicopter lowered found Jake Grafton and Flap Le
Beau lying side by side in the cockpit.

JAKE WOKE UP IN A Room wrm cREAM-COLORED wAUS AM ceiling, in a bed with
crisp white sheets. A sunbeam shown like a spotlight through a window.
An IV was dripping into a vein in his left arm.

Hospital His curiosity satisfied, he drifted off to steep again. When
he next awoke a nurse was there taking his pulse. “Welcome back to the
land of the living,” she said, and lowered his wrist back to the bed.
She annotated a clipboard, then gave him a grin.

“Where am I?”

“Honolula. Trippler Army Hospital.”

“Hawaii?”

“Yes. You’ve been here almost a day now. You’re just coming out of the
recovery room.”

“Le Beau? Marine captain. He here too?”

“Yes. He’s still in recovery.”

“How is heT9 “Still asleep. He’s had an operation. You’ve had one too,
but yours didn’t take quite as long.”

“When he wakes up, I want to talk to him. Okay?”

“We’ll see. You take that up with the doctor when he ML L

comes around. He should be here in about thirty minutes.

Is there anything I can do for you?”

“No.”

She busied herself arranging the sheets and checking that he had fresh
water in a glass by the bed. He lay taking it in, enjoying the
brightness and the cleanliness.

After a bit curiosity stirred him. “What day is it?”

“This is Wednesday.”

“We got shot down … December nine. What day … is it now?”

“The sixteenth of December.”

“We missed Australia.”

“What was that?”

“Nothing,” he murmured, and closed his eyes again. He was very tired.

He was still pretty foggy when he talked to the doctor, either later
that morning or that afternoon. The sunbeam had moved. He noticed
that.

“We operated on your left side. Your lung collapsed.

Lucky you didn’t bleed to death. And of course you were shot in the
shoulder. By some miracle the bullet missed your collarbone. Went
clean through.”

“Uh-huh.”

“You’re also fighting a raging infection. You aren’t out of the woods
yet, saffor.”

“Le Beau, how’s he doing?”

“He’s critical. He lost a lot of blood.”

“He gonna make it?”

“We thinkso. 19 “When he wakes up, I want to see him.”

“We’ll see.”

“Bring him in here. This room’s big enough. Or take me into his room.”

“We’ll see.

“How’d we get here, anyway?”

“The ship medevaced you two to Clark and the Air Force flew YOU here.”

“I may not be out of the woods, but I’m out of the jungle.”

The next day Flap was wheeled into the room. His bed was placed beside
Jake’s. A bandage covered half his head.

But he grinned when he saw Jake out of his one unobstructed eye.

“Hey, shipmate.”

“As I five and breathe,” said Flap La Beau as the nurses hovered around
hooking up everything. “The neighborhood is integrating. Better put
the house up for sale while you still can.”

“If you don’t stop that racist stuff I’m gonna start calling YOU
Chocolate.”

“Chocolate Le Beau,” he said, savoring it. “I like it. They hung that
Flap tag on me because I talk a lot. My real name is Clarence.”

“I know. Middle initial 0. What’s that stand for?”

“Odysseus. I picked it out in college after I read the Odyssey.
Clarence 0. Le Beau. Got a ring to it, don’t it?” He directed the
question to one of the nurse% who looked sort of sweet “It is very
nice,” she said, and smiled.

“So how you feeling?” Jake asked.

“Like a week-old dog turd that’s been rim over by a truck.

And you?”

“Not quite that chipper.”

When the nurses were leaving Flap told the sweet one, “Come back and see
us anyfte, dearest.”

“I’ll do that Clarence O.”

When they were gone, Flap told Jake, “Don’t worry. I’ll get you one
too. Trust me.”

“So what’s wrong with your head?”

“Concussion and blood clot. They had to drill a hole to relieve the
pressure. Another hole in my head-just what I needed, eh?”

“Me captain laid you out with a butt stroke. I killed him.”

“I figured that or we wouldn’t be here. But some other time, huh? I
don’t want to even think about that shit.”

“Yeah.”

“What’s for lunch? Have they told you?”

“No.”

“I am really ready for some good grits.”

“Guess we missed Australia.”

“These things happen. Don’t sweat it. You can make it up to me
somehow.”

The following day they were visited by a Navy commander, an officer on
the staff of Commander In Chief Paciflo–CINCPAC. He interviewed both
men, recorded their stories, then when they tired, left while they
napped. He came back for another hour just before dinner and asked
questions.

“If I can do anything for you gentlemen, give me a call.”

He left a card with his name and telephone number on the stands beside
each of their beds.

They had lost a lot of weight. When the nurses first sat Jake up he was
amazed at how skinny his legs and arms were.

Improvement was slow at first, then quicker. By the fifth day Jake was
walking to the bathroom. He bragged, so Flap got himself out of bed and
went when the nurses weren’t there. He bad trouble with his balance but
he made it to the john and back by holding on to things.

On the eighth day they went for a hike, holding on to each other, to see
what they could see. A nurse caught them and made them retrace their
steps.

The hospital was half-empty. “Not like it used to be. You were the
first gunshot victim we saw in two months,” one nurse told Jake.

“Not like the good old days,” he replied.

“They weren’t good days,” he was told. “Thank God the war is over.”

On the day after Christmas they demanded clothes. That afternoon an
orderly brought them cardboard boxes containing some of their clothes
that the guys on the ship had packed and sent. The orderly helped Jake
open his. Inside he found underwear, uniforms, shoes, insignia As he
was inspecting a set of khakis, the thought went through his head that
he should discard this shirt and buy another.

Where had that thought come from? He was getting outout of the Navy!

He sat on the edge of the bed holding the shirt, looking at it but not
seeing it. Out. To do what? What could he conceivably do as a
civilian that would mean as much to him as what he had spent the last
six years of his life doing?

He was a naval officer. lieutenant, United States Navy.

That meant something.

He was digging in the box when he found a letter. It was from the Real
McCoy.

Hey Shipmate’

When you read this you will probably be getting spruced up to go to the
club or chase women. Some guys will do about anything to get out of a
little work.

This boat was like a damn funeral parlor the night you and Flap didn’t
come back. The mood improved a thousand percent when they announced
that the chopper was inbound with both of you aboard. The captain and
CAG and Skipper Haldane were there on the flight deck with the medicos
when the chopper landed, along with a couple hundred other guys.

After the docs got you guys stabilized and you left in the COD, the
captain got on the 1-MC and said some real nice things about you. It
was pretty maudlin. I forgot most of it so I won’t try to repeat it
here, but suffice it to say that every swinging dick on this boat is
glad you two clowns made it.

Australia is on. TS for you. We’ll party on without you, but you’ll be
missed.

Your friend, Real Two days later Jake decked himself out in a white
uniform and Flap selected a set of khakis. They strolled the grounds.

The days were Hawaii bahny with clouds every afternoon.

One day they took a taxi to the golf course and rented a golf cart.

Out on the fairways they went over the whole adventure again, little by
little, a scene here, a scene there. Gradually they dropped it and went
on to other subjects, like women and politics and flying.

One day Flap brought the subject up again, for what proved to be the
last time. “So where is my slasher?”

“I think I left it sticking in the captain. But I might have just
dropped it somewhere. It’s a little hazy.”

“That was my best knife.”

“Tough shit!”

“I designed it. It was custom-made for me. Cost me two hundred bucks.”

“Order another.”

Flap laughed. “I can see you are oozing remorse over MY loss.91 ::To be
frank, I don’t give a shit about your knife.”

You’re as full of tact as ever. That’s one of the qualities that will
take you far, Grafton. 01′ Mister Smooth.”

“And the horse you rode in on, Clarence O.”

“It’s my turn to drive this friggin’ cart. You’re always hoggin’ the
driving’.”

“That’s because I’m the pilot. Why don’t you tell me about some of the
ugly women you’ve run across in your adventures?”

“Well, by God, I just will.” And he did.

In the evenings there was little to do, so Jake wrote letters. His
first was to his former roommate, Sammy Lundeen.

He hit the highlights of this last cruise and devoted a whole page to
crossing the line. In the finest traditions of naval aviation, he
seriously down played his and Flap’s role in the pirate adventure. Luck,
luck, luck-he and Flap had survived due to the grotesque ineptitude of
the villains and despite their own extraordinarily stupid mistakes,
mistakes that would have wrung tears from the eyes of any competent
aviator. All in all, the letter was quite a literary effort, firstclass
fiction. That thought didn’t occur to Jake, of course, when he reread
it before stuffirtg it into an envelope. His buddy Lundeen would
chuckle, Jake knew, and shake his head sadly. Good ol’ Sammy.

Instinctively he adopted a completely different tone when he wrote to
Tiger Cole, his last BN during the Vietnam War.

There was no bullshit in Tiger Cole, and no one who knew him would try
to lay the smelly stuff on him. You gave it to that grim warrior
straight and unadorned.

He ended the letter this way:

I have never thought of myself as a professional.

Never. I’ve been a guy who went into the service because there was a
war and I’ve merely tried to do my best until the time came for me to go
back to the real world. Still, I have watched so many pros since I have
been in the Navy-you included-that I think I’m beginning to see how the
thing is done. And why. I hope so, anyway. So I’ve decided to stay
in.

The decision hasn’t been easy. I guess no important commitment is.

Whenever I get back to the mainland, I’ll give you a call. I’ll
probably take some leave. Maybe swing by Pensacola if you’re still
there and we can swill a beer at the club.

Hang tough, shipmate Your friend, Jake One day Jake penned a letter to
Callie. Then he put it in the drawer beside his bed. Each day he got
it out, read it through and debated whether or not he should mail it.

She probably had another boyfriend. There was’always that possibility.
Jake Grafton had no intention of playing the fool, with this or any
other woman. So he kept the letter formal, as if he were writing to a
great-aunt. He omitted any reference to Ins adventure with the pirates
or the fad that he was just now residing in a hospital room. But on the
second page he said this:

I’ve decided to stay in the Navy. It has been a tough decision and I’ve
had to really wrestle with it. The arguments for getting out are many
and you know most of them. The Navy is a large bureaucracy, anyone who
thinks the bureaucracy will miss them when they are gone is kidding
himself.

Still, this is where I belong. I like the people, I can do the work, I
believe the work is important. Of course the Navy is not for everyone,
but it is, I believe, the best place for me. I know full well that
there is nothing that I can do here that others cannot do better, but
here .I can make a contribution.

He closed with a few pleasantries and the hope that all was fine with
her.

On New Year’s Eve he got it out again to read it through carefully.

The tone was wrong, all wrong.

He added a P.S.

As I reread this letter it occurs to me that I’ve made a very stupid
mistake. The last few months I’ve been so busy worrying that you might
not love me as much as I love you that I lost sight of what love is.
Love by its very nature opens you up to getting burned.

I love you, Callie. You were a rock to hang on to the last year of the
war, the one sane person in an insane world. And you’ve been a rock to
hang on to these last six months. You’ve been in my thoughts and in my
dreams.

If I love you more than you love me, so be it. I’m tough enough to love
and lose. But I just wanted you to know how much I care.

As ever, Jake In the third week of January he and Flap moved to the BOQ-
They continued to visit the hospital on an outpatient basis. Flap took
daffy physical therapy to overcome the effects of his head injury. The
knife wound in his side drained slowly and healed stubbornly. Eventually
it did heal, leaving a bad scar.