Strays Page 6

  “I thought your mom was a teacher, Double O,” said Billy. “The seed be growin’?”

  “Just because I know the white man’s rules doesn’t mean I have to follow them.”

  “But you’re always correcting me.”

  “Because you the white man. If you can’t speak your own language, it’s just sad.”

  Chuck and Ajax watched them argue, their heads moving side to side like they were watching a ping-pong match. Chuck still had no idea what this thought or idea or plan was or what it had to do with him or why these men had come all the way across the base to wake Chuck up from his dream and argue in front of him about it.

  “Gentlemen,” Doc interrupted. “Back to the matter at hand?”

  “Right,” said Double O. “So, we heard that you were rotating out and that the dogs weren’t going with you. And that’s when Doc had his … thought.”

  “All I did was mention that it was too bad there was no local place that could take them in,” said Doc. “Back in the States, we have this organization, the ASPCA, that takes in abandoned dogs. I wished there was something like that here in Vietnam.”

  “But there’s not,” said Chuck. “There’s nothing like that here.” He looked at Ajax, the sharpness of his ears and snout, the intelligence in his eyes. The love. Chuck didn’t know how to let him die. Chuck didn’t know how he could bear it and go on living.

  “Well, that’s when I had the idea,” said Billy, his voice swollen with pride. “I heard from my cousin about a Frenchman up by the border.”

  “A Frenchman?” Chuck asked.

  “Like I told you, my cousin’s in the marines,” said Billy. “And he told me about a patrol from his company that went up by the border with Laos, like, four months ago. A week in the bush, real hairy times. They fought through for days, and suddenly, they come out and they see this mansion. Like … like a real mansion. White columns and ivy and stained glass. Marble floors. And there’s this Frenchman who owned the place. It was a rubber plantation when this was all a French colony. His family had it for generations. Way out on the edge of nowhere, and the guy never heard that the French got kicked out of Vietnam. He’d stayed on in his crazy mansion, eating off china plates and drinking out of crystal goblets and all that. He invited the marines in, like he was inviting them to tea. The guy was nuts.”

  “You’re nuts for believing this story,” said Doc. “It’s make-believe. It’s a Hollywood fantasy.”

  “But the dogs are the thing.” Billy kept going, like he didn’t hear Doc at all. “My cousin says the guy had, like, twenty dogs, all different kinds. Hunting dogs and lap dogs and those crazy little Vietnamese dogs we seen around.”

  “We have seen around,” corrected Double O. “Past-perfect tense.”

  “Whatever,” said Billy. “My point is, the marines asked this crazy old man why he had so many dogs, and he said that he was saving them. He was trying to show some civilized ways to the locals. Like if the Vietnamese could just save the dogs, there’d be no war and they’d all be rich, living in mansions and drinking from crystal goblets.”

  “You really shouldn’t believe everything you hear,” said Doc. “False hope is no hope at all.”

  Chuck cleared his throat. The story was crazy. There was no way it could be true. No way. But he didn’t agree with Doc. Hope was hope. “So the guy is running a dog rescue out there in the bush, that’s what you’re saying?”

  “That’s why Double O came up with his plan,” Billy said.

  Double O nodded. “Simple, really,” he said. “We take Ajax up there. Take him to the Frenchman.”

  “There is no Frenchman,” said Doc.

  “There is,” said Billy. “If my cousin says there is, then there is. I mean, I’ve got the letter right here.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a moldy letter, half-rotten from the jungle, and waved it in Chuck’s face. Double O pushed Billy’s wrist down and looked Chuck square in the eyes.

  “You know me, Chuck,” said Double O. “I ain’t one to believe Billy’s stories. And I ain’t one to take crazy risks. But I owe that dog my life, same as you do. All of us. So, I figure it’s worth a shot. You’re on your way to a Bronze Star or to the loony bin by the looks of it, but no matter what, you’re out of this army soon enough. And, well, this was never my war. So I’m ready to go if you say you want to.”

  “Me too,” said Billy. “I’m with Ajax.”

  “And Doc?” Chuck asked.

  “It’s a fool’s quest.” Doc shrugged. “But even fools need a medic, I guess,” he added.

  “So it’s your call, Devil Dog,” said Double O.

  Chuck looked at Ajax panting beside him, the empty ration cans strewn about the kennel. There was nothing for him here. Nothing for him left in this army. If this place was real, if this Frenchman existed, he could leave Ajax there until the war was over.

  Once there was peace — and there would have to be someday; all wars ended sometime — then he could come back and pick up his dog, take him back to the States, get that piece of land, let Ajax enjoy his retirement. If this Frenchman existed … It was a big if, a mansion in the jungle.

  He thought about that book he’d read, Don Quixote, where the crazy guy goes off on a crazy quest. It was all about nobility and honor in a time when there wasn’t enough of either.

  “Quixotic,” said Doc.

  “Quick-what?” said Billy.

  “Quixotic,” said Doc. “That’s the word Chuck’s looking for.” He looked at Chuck. “From that book you were reading up on the outpost. Don Quixote. A mad quest for some dreamed-up idea is called quixotic. And that’s what these guys are suggesting. A quixotic quest.”

  “Quixotic,” Chuck repeated, nodding. “I’m going to do it. But you guys don’t need to come. If I run off, they won’t make such a fuss. But if you guys go … You’ve got time left on your tours. They’ll lock you up as deserters.”

  “Details,” said Double O. “Just details.”

  “No,” said Chuck, standing, brushing himself off. “That’s not just details. It’s your lives. I can’t have you throw them away for me and Ajax.”

  “Ajax and I,” corrected Billy.

  “No,” Double O said. “Chuck was right. Me and Ajax.”

  “You send me in the right direction, and I’ll find the Frenchman,” said Chuck. “You can’t risk your futures for me.” He shook his head. “No way.”

  “It ain’t for you,” said Double O, shaking his head right back at Chuck. “It’s for Ajax. He was drafted just like us. They’d put us down just as soon as they’d put him down. And, like I said, Ajax ain’t going down like that. Not on my watch.”

  “You all feel this way?” Chuck looked from man to man. They each nodded in turn, even Doc Malloy.

  “Guys, I can’t ask …” His voice caught in his throat. Chuck felt himself filling up, swelling with feelings he didn’t know he could still feel, a crazy mixture of fear and gratitude and hope.

  “You ain’t askin’,” said Double O. “We tellin’ you. And now we got work to do. We gotta pack for about a week in the bush, I think, and we can’t get caught packing. And then we gotta get past the sentries and get outside the wire. And that’s when we’re in it. No friends. No allies. VC and Uncle Sam both gunning for us. We’ll need you and Ajax at your best.”

  “Oh, you’ll have our best. But there’s one thing.” Chuck patted Ajax on the head. The dog looked up at him. His tail wagged slightly, sweeping the floor behind him, expectant. “We have to leave tonight.”

  The other guys looked at one another, eyebrows raised. Double O whistled. Billy cleared his throat.

  “Look around,” said Chuck. “The kennel’s almost empty and the platoon’s almost packed up. We’ll be pulling out any day now, and Ajax’s turn will come before that. It could come tomorrow. If you want to help me save him, we’ve got to do it tonight.”

  “Well, gentlemen.” Doc clapped his hands together. “We’ve got about four hours until sunrise
, so if we’re going to commit this act of defiance against the United States Army, to which we’ve all pledged our loyalty, I suggest we start gathering our things.”

  They all nodded, and Chuck bent down to Ajax’s level and looked him in the eyes. Ajax did what dogs do; he looked at his master and then he looked away and then he licked Chuck’s face.

  “You ready, pal?” Chuck whispered, pressing his mouth to Ajax’s ear. “You ready to go AWOL, old friend?”

  Ajax looked at Chuck like he understood, although he couldn’t possibly understand.

  AWOL.

  Absent without leave.

  Desertion.

  It was a criminal act, punishable by prison or even death. It was also crazy to head off on their own into the jungle to chase down one of Billy’s stories. And if Ajax could understand, he might never choose to go. But Chuck made the choice for him, because Chuck understood what would happen if they stayed.

  It was madness, Chuck knew, but the whole war was madness. And maybe, somehow, through all the madness and death and destruction, they would manage to save this one dog’s life. Maybe this was the only sane thing to do after all. Chuck wasn’t ready to give up on Ajax. They were breaking out and heading for the border.

  They gathered again forty minutes later behind the kennel at the perimeter of the base. There were two rows of barbed wire in front of them, with guard towers stretched overhead and listening posts dug into foxholes outside the wire at various points. They wouldn’t be safe from detection until they were at least two or three hundred yards away. They had to make that distance while it was still dark.

  Billy pulled out wire cutters and went to work on the barbed wire. The guys had their packs on, more filled with rations than with ammunition for this mission, but they were not unarmed.

  Chuck and Billy and Double O had their rifles. Billy had two hand grenades and Double O had a grenade and some flares. He’d thought about taking the big machine gun, the sixty-caliber, but the army might chase him down for that. It was worth more to them than he was. So he left it behind.

  Doc Malloy had packed extra first-aid supplies and a few colored smoke grenades, but he didn’t have a real weapon with him. “We’re outnumbered and we’re on our own,” he explained. “If we get into a firefight with VC, I’ll be more useful as a medic than a soldier. And if we get caught by an American patrol, we’re not going to shoot at them anyway, right?”

  The other three stopped to think about that. They hadn’t considered what they’d do if an American patrol tried to stop them. They couldn’t attack their own soldiers, but they couldn’t just surrender either. That’d be it for Ajax, and they’d all go to jail as deserters for nothing.

  “Right,” said Chuck at last.

  “We better not get caught, then,” Double O declared, and they nodded in agreement.

  Billy Beans slipped under the barbed wire and then Chuck held it up so Ajax could slide under, followed by Doc Malloy. Double O went last, giving the base a long final look. Billy watched him and couldn’t tell if he was happy or sad to be leaving.

  They crept along on their bellies, staying as low to the ground as they could. Ajax knew the drill. He crawled along right next to Chuck. For him, there was nothing unusual about their mission, just another night patrol with his best friend and some other guys.

  Suddenly, Ajax stopped and perked his ears up. Chuck reached forward and caught Billy’s ankle. Billy looked back and saw Chuck and Ajax frozen on the ground. Behind them Doc and Double O had pressed themselves into the earth, their camouflage making them almost invisible in the shadows.

  Chuck looked at Ajax, trying to figure out what the alert was about. The army set up their own trip wires around the base. They were attached to flares so that anyone sneaking through the jungle to try to ambush the base would set off a warning signal. Chuck looked around, trying to find a wire, but he couldn’t see much in the dark. He tugged at Ajax to see if he could give a better idea what he smelled, but Ajax kept himself planted in place.

  The soft brown hairs on his back stood up. He growled and Chuck’s blood froze. Ajax wasn’t warning them about a trip wire.

  Ajax was warning them about a person.

  Chuck held his breath. His eyes scanned through the ink-black dark. The darkness that hid them also hid the listening posts around the perimeter of the base. They might stumble right into someone’s foxhole if they kept going.

  But if they stayed still too long, they’d never make it far enough away by sunrise.

  He knew the other three guys were looking to him to make a decision, but he didn’t know what to do. He closed his eyes. He pictured himself running through that field with Ajax, safe and dry with nothing but sky above them. No hard choices to make.

  “Who’s there?” A voice cut the darkness, a terrified whisper. “Who’s there?” Again, the voice from the brush.

  There was a password they should know. If they had a reason to be out there, they would know the password, and the sentry would know they were friendlies and that they were meant to be in the jungle. But they didn’t know the password. It changed every day. They stayed silent, hoping the soldier wouldn’t come looking for them.

  Chuck opened his eyes and looked in the direction of the voice. He could just make out the shape of a helmet poking up from the ground, ten feet straight ahead of Billy. It was a lone soldier in a foxhole in the dark on the outside of the wire, and he was surely scared out of his wits. A noise in the jungle, a growl. He could think they were the VC about to attack. Or a tiger. Or maybe he thought they were just the wind.

  Chuck had spent so many lonely nights in foxholes that he knew the fear the imagination could create all too well. He couldn’t let the young guy sit there in agony. And the longer they waited, the more of a chance there was he’d just start firing at them anyway, just to be sure. You never felt safer in a war than when you were squeezing the trigger.

  “We’re Americans,” Chuck whispered back.

  He heard Double O exhale behind him. “Shoot, we’re cooked now.”

  “Night patrol,” said Chuck. “I forgot the password.”

  “Chuck?” the voice whispered back. “That you, Chuck?”

  Chuck lifted his head. He squinted into the dark and then he crawled forward past Billy, to the foxhole, with Ajax right by his side.

  He couldn’t see clearly until he was almost on top of it, but the guy in it brushed aside a big, waxy leaf he’d been using to hide the opening and Chuck saw that it was Griffin, standing in muddy water up to his ankles, holding his M16 like a child holds a teddy bear.

  “Griff?” Chuck couldn’t believe it. “What are you doing out here?”

  “I asked for it,” said Griffin. “Couldn’t stay on base doing nothing, thinking about Bruno. Thinking about you sitting in that kennel. I figured I could clear my head with a night outside the wire standing guard.”

  “It working?” Chuck asked.

  “What do you think?” Griffin grunted. Then he got over the surprise and considered what an odd situation they were in. “What are you doing out here, Chuck? There’s no night patrol. And if there was, you wouldn’t be on it. They’ve got you lined up for a Section Eight discharge now, off to the loony bin.”

  “Guess I lost my chance at the Bronze Star?” Chuck laughed.

  Griffin didn’t laugh. “You’re taking Ajax out?”

  Chuck nodded, but Griffin couldn’t see him nod in the dark. “Yeah,” he answered after the silence dragged on too long.

  “You ain’t alone, are you?”

  Chuck didn’t answer. He didn’t want to give the guys away, but suddenly Double O was right beside him.

  “No,” said Double O. “He ain’t alone.”

  This time, Griffin nodded. They couldn’t see the expression on his face, just the up-and-down rocking of his head. The silence between them was loaded, deadly as a gun.

  Griffin knew that Chuck had Ajax and Double O with him, maybe more guys. He was outnumbered and alo
ne in his foxhole. But they knew that all Griffin had to do was let out a cry to alert the next foxhole down, and in seconds, the whole base would be after them. They’d never get away. They might be shot then and there.

  “So, what now?” Chuck asked.

  Griffin laughed a sarcastic laugh. He took his helmet off and ran his hand through his bright red hair, and his body shook with laughter. Double O and Billy looked at Chuck nervously. Doc shook his head and whispered something about battlefield hysteria, psychological shock, that kind of thing.

  “It ain’t that.” Griffin pulled himself together, still giggling, but forcing out the words. “It’s just funny, you know? It’s up to me to choose … I went eighteen months in this war without ever having to make a choice harder than picking between eating a can of peaches or a can of chili.”

  “Everything tastes the same with enough Tabasco on it,” said Chuck.

  “Right,” Griffin said. “No choice at all. But this is the second time today I’ve been asked to make a real choice. Did you know that, Chuck? With Bruno, just this morning, Morris asked me to choose: Did I want to be there or not?”

  Griffin had stopped laughing. In the night, you could see the glint in his eyes. They were wet. Chuck put his hand out, rested it on Griffin’s shoulder.

  “I stayed with him,” said Griffin. “I looked in his eyes. I’ve been in the war, you know? I mean, real hairy stuff, I’ve seen. I watched a captain blown to pink powder by a mortar shell the second he stepped off the helicopter into a hot LZ. I watched a private — a seventeen-year-old kid — take a bullet in the nose, right in the nose. He looked so surprised. And that’s how he died, with surprise on what was left of his face.

  “But I never saw a look like Bruno gave me when I held him there on that table with Morris. His big brown eyes just looked at me, just looked at me for an answer, and he panted a little when Morris put the needle in, but he still looked at me, and I don’t know what he was thinking. I wished they could talk, these dogs. I wished it so bad. Then he could have said something, he could’ve objected or complained or at least, you know, he could’ve forgiven me. He could’ve said, ‘Hey, pal, it’s okay, we had a good time together. We had fun. Don’t be too hard on yourself.’ But they can’t talk, the dogs. They can’t forgive us …”