Free The Fire Ship by Peter Tonkin Page B

‘bout Nam?” yelled Hood as they worked shoulder to shoulder.
    “Bit.”
    “Tet Offensive? Khe Sanh?”
    “Some.”
    “I met that asshole there. That was, what? February ’sixty-eight? Long ago…” The wind snatched at him,he staggered, and some of his words were lost. “He was in a Huey of all things when I first saw him. I was in the jungle in back of Khe Sanh, pinned down, rest of the unit gone. We was part of D Company, First Battalion, Twentieth Infantry, Twelfth Brigade of the American Division. Mean mothers; born to kill.”
    The bow disappeared under a steep white horse. The foam hesitated, not knowing whether to splash back over them or to break forward with the brunt of the wind.
    “Never found out precisely what unit Doc was with. Some gung ho elite volunteer Australian outfit. He don’t know more than that now, that’s for sure.”
    “Wh—”
    “Let’s get back along here a piece. Hell, girl, this’s getting dangerous!” Real, almost boyish excitement in his voice.
    A moment or two later, “So…”
    “So I was pinned down and lookin’ to die when suddenly this Huey full of Australians comes along. Picked them up a ways back and taking them down to our lines. But the pilot saw me and came down. Brave mother, I thought. Found out later they made him do it: Doc and the rest. They came down and I went for it like a jackrabbit. That line tight there? Jesus, listen to the sound of it! Back a ways more, Miz Mariner: we’ll get some protection from the outrigger.”
    Hood was having a good time. To tell the truth, so was Robin. The simple sense of fun kept the very real—momentously increasing—danger at bay.
    “I almost made it to the Huey when I fell. Thought I’d tripped: been shot in the leg, ten maybe fifteen yards short. Then there’s this kid. He just jumps out of the side and comes for me. Big, strong guy. He used to work out with weights in them days. Don’t do muchthese days. Do ya, Doc?” he yelled at Weary, slapping him on the shoulder as Robin and he tumbled into the sloping bucket of the cockpit.
    Weary made no direct reply. His massive, golden body was like a statue as he forced his will through the wheel to the delicate, intricate machine he had built. As if he had not heard what they were saying, he yelled, “I may need some help here.”
    “Richard’s stronger than me,” shouted back Hood cheerfully. He had lost at arm-wrestling to Mariner a couple of nights ago and was happy to take his revenge by sending Richard over to help with the wheel now. But Richard welcomed the challenge. While Robin and Sam Hood had been working at the bow of the boat, he had been working at the stern, and, satisfied now that everything there was as safe and secure as he could make it, he was looking for something else to do in any case. Weary moved sideways and Richard covered the Australian’s hands with his own. The impact of trying to control Katapult under the circumstances, the elation of it, nearly made the Englishman shout aloud.
    Hood continued telling Robin his story. “Weary lifted me up by the shoulder straps and ran me the rest of the way. Like I was a feather!” he shouted. “Up to the Huey in a couple of seconds and hefted me in. The others grabbed me and pulled me up. Sort of rolled me over as they did so and my arm hit him in the head. Knocked his helmet off. Now I was wide awake at the time and my fucking leg was really starting to hurt so I can be damned sure about what happened next. I c’n still see it if I close my eyes. Hell, I don’t even have to close them. He jumped in beside me—well, half on top of me really, and I was just fixin’ to say thanks and sorry about the tin hat or something, when this bullet goes right through his head. I mean I saw the sucker—saw itgo in and saw it come out. Like it was slow motion, you know? And the whole front of his forehead from his hair down to his eyebrows just sort of flapped open. Like it was a door or something. Just