Брайан Гарфилд - The Last Bridge

“Thank you,” Tyreen said with reserved courtesy. He passed the map to Saville and went toward the door; he stood there with his back to them and clasped his hands behind his neck and tipped his head back, closing his eyes briefly.

Saville said, “We’re all zombies, David. We ought to get an hour’s rest, at least.”

“No,” Tyreen said. He touched his jaw; the sound of scraping stubble was loud in the hut. He marked the blank, unnatural calm of Saville’s expression, and put it away in his head as something worth remembering. And J. D. Hooker lifted his head alertly:

“What’s that?”

Corporal Smith said, “Nothing. I don’t hear nothing. You’re getting the spooks, Sarge.”

Tyreen said, “Check it out,” and nodded to Sergeant Khang. Khang ducked out of the building. Tyreen spoke to the girl: “It’s ten-twenty. Get your people moving. I’ll expect the power to be cut off at eleven. Can do?”

“I think so.” She gave him a sober glance and went out, and Theodore Saville said:

“She’s not a line lieutenant. Quit treating her like one. What do you expect out of these people, David?”

Tyreen only looked at him. Saville said, “I wouldn’t want to get stuck with the blame for it if she got herself killed up there. It wouldn’t feel too red-hot.”

“Only the commanding officer can take blame or credit, Theodore,” Tyreen said. “That’s the way you wanted it, remember?”

It was not like Saville to air his grievances in the presence of noncoms; it was a measure of the strain on him. But now Saville swung past Tyreen and went outside, and after a moment Tyreen followed him. Saville was waiting by the corner of the hut. “What in hell happened to your conscience, David?”

“Maybe old age has a few advantages.”

“You don’t care what happens to anybody, do you?”

“If you don’t want to get burned, Theodore, you ought to stay away from fires.”

Saville shook his head ponderously. “We’re riding on a tiger’s back, David. I’m not kidding. But where does the Goddamn ride end?”

Across the clearing a Montagnard appeared on the edge of the trees. The girl Lin Thao was over there with a group of men. She spoke to the Montagnard; his hands moved in gestures. Tyreen heard the faint clatter of a vehicle, a jeep or an old car. Tyreen drew back to the doorway. The girl stood where she was until the noise died away; she came across the clearing and said, “A police patrol on the road. They did not see your truck — but they may return.”

Saville came up, and Tyreen said, “That’s what was bothering you.”

“I couldn’t hear it, but I knew something was there.”

“Hooker heard it. Hooker’s got damn good ears.”

The air was sharp with a damp chill. The girl folded her hands and said, “We will leave now.”

Tyreen lifted his hand and opened his mouth to speak to her. She said, “I shall see you again.”

“Good luck,” he said lamely.

“Afterward,” the girl said, “I shall meet you at the garage in Chutrang to guide you out of the city. Wait for me there.”

“Don’t risk that,” said Saville.

She made no answer. Tyreen said again, “Good luck to you.”

“The world must be made of our hopes,” she said to him. She went away with proud strides. Tyreen’s regard came around toward Saville. Above the high bones of his cheeks, Saville’s powerful eyes were two symmetrical slits. “I wonder what makes these Montagnards fight on our side. What’ve we ever given them?”

“Hope,” Tyreen answered. “All the Ho Chi Minh crowd ever does for them is march up here once a year and confiscate most of their opium crop.” He shook his head, as if it were unimportant. “Let’s get back to the truck and get this thing organized.”

Sergeant Khang came into the clearing. “Jeep,” he said. “Light machine gun on the back. I don’t guess they were looking for us.”

Saville poked his head into the hut to talk to the others inside. The dark bulk of his body loomed in the lamplit door and made a strange, wavering shadow. Nguyen Khang said, “Getting late.”

They walked through the woods to the truck. Tyreen said, “I wonder where that girl learned English.”

Saville grinned briefly. “Ah so, you ah surplised.” His face turned angry. “Damn it.”

“What?”

“We’ve all got to die, David. But first you’ve got to live. I feel like we’re just — throwing it away.”

Tyreen stepped immediately off the path and waited for the others to go by. Saville stopped by him. When they were alone in the jungle Tyreen said, “I don’t have to explain this to you, but it ought to make sense. I’ve got orders, Theodore.”

“Nothing’s impossible on a piece of paper,” said Saville. “But sometimes a set of orders just won’t do the job. You’ve got dynamite sticks in both hands. Maybe you don’t care what happens to you. But I’ve got to protect myself and the rest of this crew. Even against you, if I have to.” Saville had remarkable hands. They lifted and splayed. “You can’t rescue Eddie Kreizler with a crew of men walking in their sleep.”

“In this business you sleep when you can. You know that.” He had been looking toward the truck; now he faced Saville squarely. “It’s supposed to be a commander’s duty to train the men under him for fitness to command. Did I fail with you, Theodore?”

“I’ll take over if I have to.”

“Think about that. I was born a few minutes ahead of you, Theodore.”

“I mean what I said.”

“All right,” Tyreen said. “If you think you have to tie me up and assume command, then you do it. Do it. But be damned sure you know you have to. And between now and then, Captain, you will follow my orders to the letter, and you will keep your complaints to yourself. Now let’s quit wasting time here.”

Saville murmured, “You have a special kind of hell, don’t you, David?”

“Come on.”

George McKuen sat sleepy-eyed in the pilot’s seat. His cap was tipped back on his head, and the synthetic fur collar of his leather jacket was upturned against his throat. He glanced at his watch and took a sandwich out of a paper bag. The bread had gone stale. He ate slowly.

Mister Shannon said, “What happened then?”

“It was embarrassing, me boy, most embarrassing. I’m ashamed to be admittin’ it. They cut me bloody head off.”

“ What ?”

“Aye. I had to carry it around under me arm.” McKuen shook his head with an expression of gloom. “It was the first time that happened to me.”

“The first time?”

“Let it be a warning to you, never lose your head.”

“Lieutenant, you’re the absolute limit.”

When McKuen wadded up the empty paper bag it rattled like flames. Mister Shannon uncorked the Thermos flask. “Have some coffee. You can’t win a war without coffee.”

“Who’s winning the war?” McKuen said sourly. He drank and sank back into his seat with a sigh.

Shannon said, “I was thinking about my girl back home. You know, I–Look, I wouldn’t want to create an undue panic, Lieutenant, but we don’t seem to be alone.”

McKuen swiveled around. “Where?”

“Ten o’clock. Over there — see him?”

McKuen bobbed his head back and forth, trying to see between sliding raindrops on the glass. Someone moved vaguely on the fringe of the forest. McKuen muttered, “You think he’s one of the good guys, or one of the bad guys?”

“He’s wearing a white hat.”

“Okay.” McKuen sat a moment, grinding knuckles into his eye sockets. He trembled slightly with chill. The figure in the light-colored straw hat stirred slightly on the edge of the airstrip. “Jesus. It’s cold as a bloody St. Bernard’s nose. Come on, Mister.”