Page 146 of Cry Havoc

“Hardy, don’t shoot him,” the man yelled up to the .50 gunner.

“Yes, Sergeant.”

The man looked Tom up and down. “You look like shit.”

“Thanks.”

He opened the door and stepped down onto the red clay.

“Medic,” he yelled into the cargo bay without taking his eyes off Tom. “And somebody bring down some food and water.”

“And a cigarette,” Tom said.

“And a cigarette,” the soldier yelled.

Tom heard the steel tailgate crash open and the sound of soldiers moving in the cargo hold. He felt his body begin to give out after his days of exertion.

A canteen appeared, and Tom slugged down a few sips of water. It was followed by a cigarette and a Zippo.

Tom lit the smoke and noticed a soldier opening a meat and gravy C-rat with a P38 can opener.

“I’m Sergeant Leiter,” the lead soldier said, tipping his helmet back on his head, still astonished by Tom’s appearance. “You lost? A POW or something?”

“More of the ‘or something’ variety,” Tom said. “Where are you guys headed?”

“Khe Sanh.”

“I’m going to need you to take a detour.”

CHAPTER 52

FOB 1, Phu Bai

South Vietnam

“YOU LOOK LIKE SHIT,son,” Colonel Backhaus said.

His Finnish accent seemed even more pronounced to Tom than it had on their last meeting.

“People keep telling me that.”

“Let’s get you over to medical.”

The colonel’s eyes bore into the two MPs who had driven Tom from the front gate, where he was dropped off by the convoy, as if asking them why they had not taken the wounded SEAL directly there.

They were standing in front of his hooch on FOB 1. The Cavendish tobacco from the colonel’s lit pipe smelled sweeter than it had before. Perhaps that was because Tom was alive, and sensations would feel more pronounced from now on. Backhaus’s German Shephard sat obediently by his master’s side.

“He insisted we take him here first, sir,” one of the MPs said.

“I did, Colonel,” Tom said, well aware that he would need medical attention as soon as possible. The large open wound on his arm was clearly infected, as were some of the smaller cuts from vines and thorns. His ribs hurt like hell, and the sickly sweat that drenched his body was not from the humidity. He was burning up.

As Tom was still shirtless, Backhaus unbuttoned his green BDU top and insisted the Frogman put it on.

“Go prep the MASH unit,” he said to the MPs. “Tell them Petty Officer Reece will be there shortly. Then come back here to wait on us.”

“Yes, sir,” both MPs said in unison.

Backhaus helped Tom up the steps and into his hooch, ushering him to a chair.