Notes: Thank you so much to Catyah, Oddmonster, and Tinx_r for their support and enthusiasm. Lucy is an Asian-American character from the episode "Smiles We Left Behind," but it is absolutely not necessary to have seen that episode to read this fic, and this does not contain spoilers for said episode. Tiffany is an OFC from the Pact on the Island and Too Close for Comfort , but it isn't necessary to have read either fic to read this one. This fic owes a huge debt to the amazing stories in the Things They Carried by Tim O'Brien. I have done a little bit of research into the Vietnam War, and I apologize for any errors made. A giant thank you to Husband, who read and encouraged and advised. I listened to "Pull Out the Pin" by Kate Bush while writing.
Warnings: This fic is rated R due to scenes of violence, very raw language, and a small amount of gore. Some physical h/c, some emotional h/c. No sexual content.
Disclaimer: I do not own the Riptide characters. I make no money from this work of fiction.
Cody is nearly deafened by the roar of gunfire, but he keeps his cool, pulling his handgun out from the waistband of his pants. Across the warehouse floor he can see Nick trading blows with a goon the size of a small island. He forces himself to tear his eyes away—Nick is holding his own for the moment—and scans the rest of the huge room, desperately looking for the girl. Murray is further back down the hallway, calling the police while sending files to Roboz with some complicated gizmo.
Damnit, where is she? He huddles in the entrance of the hallway as long as he can, sweat breaking out on his forehead as he finally steps out into open space of the warehouse. Have to find cover. Bullets are streaking through the air, and Nick's still out there, and this is so screwed up that Cody almost can't take in a new breath.
Then he spots her. Her black hair is nearly indistinguishable from the dark barrels behind her, but her pale blue dress stands out, and his stomach does a flip. Blue. Like...
Memories swamp him, his throat turns dry. Savagely, he forces himself to the present. Lucy's niece—Jenny—looks terrified and bewildered. Her lips are moving, her hands outstretched toward someone. She's shaking her head, the whites of her eyes showing. Have to get her out of here. Pull it together.
A flicker of movement to his left, and Cody sees a blond head, a bright point in the dim light of the warehouse. The kidnapper, Derek, watching calmly as his goon knocks Nick to the floor. Derek's arm moves upward and out in an unmistakable gesture, and Cody's heart freezes in his chest for a split second. He's got a gun he's got a gun— He brings up his own gun, finger on the trigger a second too late, as Derek points at Jenny and fires.
"No!" screams Cody. Derek turns, surprised, and fires in his direction. Everything is happening so fast that Cody barely has time to process it. Nick, lunging forward, knocking Jenny to the ground. Derek's arm smoothly firing round after round toward Cody. Jenny falling to the floor under Nick. The blue dress spattered with blood. A wave of hot, fierce nausea swamps him suddenly, and he stumbles behind a stack of wooden pallets, falling to his knees.
Another gunshot, and he hears Nick hiss in pain. "Get him off her," says Derek.
Nick. Without conscious thought, Cody jumps out from behind the pallets, feeling a bullet pass by so close to his ear that he puts his left hand up in fright to make sure it's still there. He hears Nick cry out, and suddenly his veins are overflowing with boiling blood, and he squeezes off a round, and then another, still moving to the side, and Derek ducks behind a barrel to get away from him. His hearing feels muffled, blocking out everything except his pulse pounding in his head, maddening, hot and hurting.
Cody's stomach is in his throat. His brain keeps replaying her falling, the blue dress, the bloodstain, her black hair. His mouth tastes like bile. The gun is jumping in his hand, the barrel is full of bullet holes—
Click. Click. He tries to pull the trigger again, but the clip's empty. Sound penetrates once more. His brain registers that he's standing out in the open, and he makes a desperate dive for cover. He can hear someone sobbing in pain, fist striking flesh, and then he's hitting the dirty floor behind a forklift, pulling another clip out of his pocket, his hand damp with sweat.
The cartridge slips out of his fingers, clattering to the floor, and he makes a desperate grab for it, shoving it forcefully into his gun. His frightened breaths sound unnaturally loud to his ears. The warehouse is eerily quiet; no one is shooting.
Peeking out from behind the forklift, he sees blood slowly pooling next to the barrel where Derek is taking cover. He takes a deep breath. He can faintly hear sirens, Murray's voice shouting something, and Nick will kill him for this later but he has to make sure now. He cautiously moves across the floor, a step at a time.
"I give up!" pants Derek from behind the barrel. "I give up." His gun falls to the floor.
"Kick it away from you!" shouts Cody. His voice sounds strange to his ears.
The gun lazily spins to rest a few feet away.
"Give up," repeats Derek softly. "I...give up..."
"Unhand him!" shouts Murray, brandishing a handgun.
Cody turns to see the goon drop Nick to the floor, a flash of too-pale face and awkward limbs. Next to him, the girl. The blue dress, spattered with blood, and Nick. Nick. Cody's head spins, and then he falls to his knees, vomit rising in his throat, his entire body glowing and spitting off heat like he's nuclear. Blood. He's only dimly aware of Murray's voice rising and falling, confident and certain in the middle of chaos.
"Cody? Are you okay?" Murray. Worried. A hand on his shoulder. "Are you hurt?"
Cody shakes his head. "The girl," he says hoarsely. "He shot her—she needs an ambulance." The hand is removed and he wishes it could stay—he's losing it—losing it big time. The blue dress. The girl falling. It's all so horribly familiar that he thinks he's going to pass out.
"I think the police are here," says Murray. "Did you hit your head? What's wrong?"
"I'm okay." Nick. Have to check on Nick. Cody makes an effort, crushes the nausea down through willpower alone, pushes the churning in his mind back down into a deep well. Nick. "Is Nick—"
"He's trying to stop the bleeding," says Murray. "He sent me to check on you."
Bleeding? He got hit? A wave of fear threatens to drown him again until he remembers Jenny. Cody stands up, the sudden movement making him dizzy. "Did you—have you seen a first aid kit?"
"Cody, you look really pale." Murray is staring at him anxiously. "Are you sure you weren't hit? You know, sometimes victims of gunshot wounds aren't aware that they've been shot, and they go into shock—"
"I'm fine, Murray. Really." He forces himself to smile, though the results must not be very good, because Murray draws back a little.
A clatter of noise from both the hallway and the large warehouse doors. "Freeze! Police!"
Cody has never been so glad to hear Quinlan's raspy voice before. "Over here!" he shouts. "We need an ambulance—a girl is down—" He doesn't want to look at her, but he has to know if Nick is okay, and so he turns, trying not to look at the dress that is wreathed in blood and horror in his mind, trying to look only at the familiar red plaid of Nick's shirt. There are dark wet patches on his shoulder, below the pocket, on the sleeve. Blood. He shivers. It's from covering her with your own body, right, Nick? Right? He has to come closer, he has no choice. "Nick, are you all right?"
Nick looks up at him, his face lit with guilt. "Everything went to hell so quick." He's holding both of his hands against her shoulder, bloodstains up to his wrists. Cody can't help it, his eyes loop down past Nick's fingers to her face. Her eyes are closed. There are wet tearstains on her cheeks and he can't tell if she's breathing. His stomach churns up a new wave of acid. "Did you—is there an ambulance—"
"I've already called Marina Medical Center," says Murray calmly. "They're sending two over."
"Two?" asks Cody, mystified. He puts his gun back in the waistband of his jeans.
Murray looks at him, surprised. "I think the kidnapper will require medical assistance as well, Cody."
Oh. Him. Cody shuts his eyes for a moment, a roaring in his ears. When he opens them, Nick is staring at him, looking frightened. "Cody, were you hit? Are you okay? I thought you said he was okay, Murray!"
"I'm fine." He tries to smile again.
Nick's eyes narrow, and they sweep down to Jenny and her blue dress, and then back up to Cody, and there's a long moment where Cody wishes above anything that the floor will swallow him whole. Sudden understanding flares in Nick's eyes, and he almost looks fearful.
"Nick." He tries to sound calm. "I'm fine. It's okay." He locks eyes. Please. Not here.
Nick hesitates, and then gives him the barest of nods, turning his attention back to Jenny. "Murray—is there a blanket, anything—"
"Ambulance will be here any minute," says Quinlan. "I'll get one of my men to help—Carlisle!" He snaps his fingers. An officer jogs up. "You've got first aid training, right?"
Carlisle immediately kneels down next to Jenny and puts his fingers on her throat, feeling for a pulse. "Gunshot wound?" he asks. Nick nods in response. "How long ago was she shot?"
"Five minutes, maybe," says Nick. His arms are trembling. "I put pressure on it as soon as I could. I don't think she was hit anywhere else. Just...just the shoulder." He shifts position slightly to let Carlisle have better access to her pulse, and winces.
Cody drops to his knees next to him, suddenly afraid. "Nick—did you get hit?"
"Just a graze," says Nick tightly. "I'll be fine. Just need to keep pressure..." He looks pale. There's an angry raised welt on his cheek. "Just gotta hold down..."
Loud sirens, again, and Cody hears a clatter of wheels. The ambulances have arrived. Thank god. "C'mon, buddy, you can let go now," he murmurs. "It's okay, Carlisle's got her." Carlisle nods in agreement, his hands poised next to Nick's. "C'mon, Nick, just let go."
Nick blinks, looking dazed. The EMTs are there, pulling out gear, and Carlisle starts explaining Jenny's state to them. Cody puts his hands on Nick and pulls him away, easing him down to the floor. "Where were you hit?"
"I'm fine," Nick starts to say, tries to sit up, but Cody won't let him. The red plaid shirt is torn and stained with blood.
Cody rips the front of it open, heedless of the buttons, and begins checking him frantically. "C'mon, Nick, where were you hit?"
Nick blinks. "Left side."
Sure enough, there's a gash oozing blood on his ribs, a couple inches above the waistband of his jeans. Cody swears and then swears again, gathering the edge of Nick's shirt and pushing against his side, and Nick cries out in pain. "Hey," says Cody to the nearest EMT. "My partner's been hit, too—"
"Just a graze," grinds out Nick.
"Someone will get to him in just a moment," answers the other EMT. Jenny's already on a gurney, looking very pale, and Cody catches a glimpse of her blue dress before they pull the blanket up further. Guilt and terror press against his skull, and he feels sick again.
"Cody, stay with me," says Nick urgently, grabbing at his sleeve with a bloodstained hand. "C'mon, we're home, everything's okay."
Home. But even here, safe at home, terrible things can happen. A girl in a blue dress can get shot. Nick, on the ground, bleeding, bruised. He tries to shove it back down the well, but it's overflowing with images. With blood.
"Guys, I've just spoken to Lucy," says Murray quietly. "I think we should all go down to the hospital and meet her there. She's pretty shaken up."
Cody blinks a few times to clear his jumbled thoughts. "Yeah, Murray, good idea." Even Nick nods in assent, which makes Cody feel a small sense of relief. He needs to get looked over by a doctor, not just paramedics.
"I'll just take the Jimmy and meet you there," says Murray, and Cody feels another tide of relief wash over him. Thank you, Murray.
"What?" asks Nick, looking from one face to the other.
"You're going in an ambulance," answers Cody. Nick looks mutinous, but Cody lays his hand on his arm lightly. "I don't want you bleeding all over my seats."
Nick frowns but doesn't argue further.
The emergency room is a nightmare. Cody hears vague snatches of conversation about a multi-car accident on the freeway, and there are nurses and doctors everywhere. Patients are everywhere, too, in beds, in wheelchairs, waiting in chairs. A brusque woman in scrubs has shunted Nick off to the side, as his injuries aren't life-threatening. No one seems to know if Jenny's there or not. Nick sits down carefully in a chair, white-faced, favoring his side.
"Listen, I have to find Murray and Lucy," says Cody.
"Fine, let's go." He starts to stand up.
"I have to find them, not you." He glares at Nick, one hand on his collarbone, keeping him in his seat. "I've started the paperwork. The doctors just need to—"
"The paramedics already—"
"Doctors, Nick. Doctors." Cody frowns at him. "You need x-rays. You need to sit here and wait."
Nick grimaces. Cody can see how miserable and uncomfortable he is. He really hates hospitals. "Lucy—"
"We'll help Lucy. You stay here."
"Fine." Nick settles back in his chair, resting his head against the wall and closing his eyes.
"I'll be right back." Cody lets go of his shoulder.
"Yeah. Sure." Nick gives a halfhearted nod but doesn't open his eyes.
The hospital corridors are confusing, but he sees a familiar lanky form out of the corner of his eye and dashes down the hall to catch up with Murray.
"Cody, I was just trying to find you." Murray looks worried. "Lucy's on her way. Is Nick all right?"
"Yeah, he'll be fine. Just grumpy at the moment. He's sitting in the ER." His stomach still won't settle. The fluorescent lights aren't helping; their buzzing feels like it's crawling under his skin.
Murray frowns. "They haven't treated him yet?"
"It's a zoo there right now. Have you heard anything about Jenny?" Don't think about it. Don't think about it.
"She's in surgery. I told Lucy we'd wait for her there."
"Good work, Murray, let's go," says Cody, following him through a maze of corridors. Murray leads the way unerringly to a small waiting room near a suite of surgical rooms.
Lucy isn't there yet, and Cody stifles a groan of impatience. He wants to pace back and forth, maybe run back and check on Nick, do something, but instead he sits down next to Murray, his mind running in circles. He can't even muster enthusiasm for the Yachting magazine on the table.
His head aches. The little waiting room is too hot. Stifling. There's a glimpse of blue out of the corner of his eye, and suddenly he's there, the heat damp and sticky on the back of his neck, the mud, the shocking, seething green of the jungle crowding against him, and he tries to close his eyes against the blood, but he can't. Sweat trickles down the back of his shirt, there's blood on his sleeve, he can barely draw in a breath—
"Lucy!" says Murray, standing up again. "Over here!"
Murray's loud voice reverberates unpleasantly in his ears. He feels hot all over. Dazed. He looks up to see Lucy, who's come straight from her dry cleaning shop, her hair a little disheveled, her eyes already red-rimmed from crying for the two days that Jenny's been missing. He stands up automatically as she nears.
"Cody," she says, and wraps her arms around him, putting her head on his chest. He can feel her slight frame shaking and guilt surges through him. We were supposed to get her out safely.
Murray explains what happened in the warehouse as he leads Lucy to a chair, and Cody walks off to get her a cup of coffee. Murray is still sympathizing with her when he returns, lending her a compassionate ear; she's really broken up about this, understandably. Jenny is the oldest of her nieces and nephews, barely fifteen, and her favorite. Cody tries not to think about her blue dress. Tries to keep his hands from shaking.
After what feels like hours, her husband arrives, and Cody breathes a sigh of relief as they shake hands with him and give her a last hug. He feels like a traitor. iI didn't keep her safe. That's all I had to do. Go in, get her, grab some evidence, get out./i He inhales, his chest suddenly tight as they begin to walk back toward the ER.
"Cody, are you sure you're all right?" asks Murray. "You don't look good."
"I'm fine." He pats Murray reassuringly on the shoulder. "Just...just worried about Nick." It's a good thing he's talking to Murray, because Nick would have seen right through it. Murray seems put at ease by this, though, and tells him about some new breakthrough involving robotic surgery, but Cody can't seem to follow the thread of his conversation.
The ER isn't quite as packed, but Nick is still sitting there, looking even worse than before, his face pinched with pain, his arm held close to his side. Cody can't help but swear quietly, and stride up to the admitting desk. A few well-chosen words, and Nick is finally taken care of.
The drive back is quiet. Cody's thoughts loop in on themselves, returning over and over again to a pale blue dress. And blood. No matter what he imagines, it comes back to blood.
He looks over at Nick, sitting stiffly in the passenger's seat and wincing minutely over each bump in the road. The doctor advised him to stay overnight, but he refused, as Cody expected. He looks exhausted, and the bruises on his face and neck have darkened, making him look strange in the low light of early evening.
The sun is setting, spreading tongues of orange flame across the water as he parks the Jimmy in front of their slip. Murray jumps out and fiddles with the padlock, and Cody stares at the Riptide from behind the fence. He's always loved her, the way she is home and sanctuary and escape all in one, but tonight it feels wrong to approach her, to sully her with the blood on his hands.
Murray's got the gate open now, and Cody walks past him, feeling like a traitor as he walks down the companionway.
"Uh—Cody—I think Nick might need some help—"
Cody looks back to see Nick leaning heavily against the gate, and in a few long strides he's there, supporting him on one side as Murray helps on the other. The reddish glow of the sunset lights up Nick's face, shimmers faintly on his dark hair, and Murray runs ahead to unlock the wheelhouse doors.
"Thanks," says Nick, though it's so faint Cody almost doesn't catch it at first.
"Sure," replies Cody. Only the last tip of the sun is visible, sinking fast. He feels like he's sinking, too, into a well of his own making, cast like a stone tied to a frayed rope. A blue dress, and blood, and the mud and the green. He shakes his head to rid himself of the image.
He helps Nick board, and enters the wheelhouse, bringing the nightmare aboard with him, bringing the pain and the horror with him. Nick can't make it much farther than the salon, and sits down on the bench seat, resting his head on the table, the bruising on his cheek and neck in vivid contrast to his too-pale face.
"Now ithat/i was a difficult case," says Murray, coming down from his stateroom and sliding in the other end of the seat. There's no triumph to his tone, though; more like relief that they're on the other side.
"Yeah, Murray, tough case." Nick's voice is weary, slightly muffled.
"I've downloaded all of the information we need by remote relay to the Roboz," continues Murray. "I think we have more than enough to nail this creep. It's printing as we speak."
"Great job, Murray." Nick sounds completely exhausted.
"Yeah, great job." Cody checks the coffee pot. There's a little left, and he pours it into a whale mug, just enough to fill it. Extra sugar, because this is the pot that Nick made before they left, and Nick always makes it too strong. He takes a sip and winces. Okay, extra extra sugar, then. He spoons a little more in and stirs it, and then slides in next to Nick, glancing at the answering machine.
Murray adjusts his glasses. "There was only one message, from Tiffany." He flushes slightly.
Cody grins. "I assume that you've taken care of it, then."
"Of course he has, Cody. Our Boz is on top of things." Nick chuckles and it vibrates through the table.
The phone rings, and Cody jumps a little in his seat. Murray grabs it and answers, "Riptide Detect—oh, Lucy, yes, how is she?" Cody leans forward, watching Murray's face. "Really? She's out of surgery? Hey, guys, Jenny's out of surgery!"
"She'll be okay?" asks Nick, sitting up.
"Uh-huh." Murray nods against the phone, looking serious. "Yes, well, that does sound promising. Uh-huh. Oh, really? You know, when Melba was—oh, sorry, what was that?"
"Murray, she's got a lot on her mind, maybe you should let her go." Cody gives him a pointed look.
"Oh, Lucy, yes, thanks so much for calling. We'll call you tomorrow." Murray hangs up.
"Well?" asks Nick impatiently.
"Hmm? Oh, yes, she came through just beautifully. They've removed the bullet and expect her to make a full recovery!" Murray beams.
Cody slumps back in his seat, feeling the pressure on his chest ease a little. iFifteen years old, and she'll have a scar from a bullet./i He takes a gulp of coffee. Just doesn't seem fair.
He looks at Nick, red plaid shirt hanging open, showing bruises and bandages from being beaten and shot. iThen again, what ever is?/i
"Tell Tiffany we said hi," says Nick, a small smile on his lips.
"Uh, sure thing, I will." Murray turns red. "How did you know—"
"Just a hunch." Nick turns and gives Cody a look.
"Yeah, Murray, go ahead, take the Jimmy." Such a horrible case, we've all got to cope in the best way we can. And Tiffany will help ease his mind tonight, for sure. Cody finishes the last of the coffee, puts the cup on the table, noticing a chip on the handle.
"Oh, thanks, Cody! I'll just go grab my sector parsing relay module—" Murray dashes up the steps.
Cody fingers the chip lightly, hoping it won't lead to a crack. He hates throwing them out. Nick yawns and winces.
Murray dashes past them, heading for the steps. "Murray...Murray! You'll need the keys!" Cody holds them out.
"Yes, of course, keys!" he says, taking them from Cody. He looks at Nick. "Are you guys sure you'll be all right?"
"Yeah, Murray, go have fun parsing your sectors." Nick waves his hand.
"If anything changes in Jenny's condition—"
"We'll call you," says Cody.
Murray gets to the steps, and then turns back to face them. "I still can't believe that he shot her," he says, a serious look on his face. "She's only fifteen...what kind of a despicable character would shoot a teenaged girl?" He shakes his head sorrowfully.
Nick glances at Cody and then turns to Murray. "I couldn't get to her fast enough," he says, sounding guilty, and Cody misses Murray's reply because his ears are buzzing again. Everything looks washed out and strange. He feels a tide of horror poised to sweep him under, to suffocate him in hot green heat. Breathe.
Nick's hand is on his arm, and Murray is gone. "Cody..."
"I'm fine, Nick," he forces out. Nick doesn't move his hand. Cody can feel the heat through the sleeve of his shirt, just above the bloody handprint at his elbow. He swallows painfully.
"Yeah. We're all fine." Nick gives him a meaningful look.
"I'm going to take a shower."
Nick pauses for a long moment, staring at him, and then sighs. "I was thinking the same thing."
"You can't get your stitches wet."
"Just need some plastic wrap and tape." Nick reaches over and grabs Cody's mug, but looks disappointed after tilting it and finding it empty.
"You should be in a hospital bed with a pretty nurse giving you a sponge bath." He rubs his forehead.
Nick touches the chip on the handle absently. "And miss out on this? You gotta be kidding."
"Nick, you should have stayed overnight. This happens every time you get hurt." Anger blossoms in his chest.
Nick is quiet, letting go of the mug. "Maybe I didn't want to spend tonight in a hospital because I knew you'd be tearing yourself apart if you were alone."
Cody's sucking in a breath to argue until he realizes what Nick is saying, and then he coughs. "You think I'm..." He stares at Nick. "You think I can't handle it. You think that seeing her get shot's going to mess me up big time."
Nick doesn't say anything. He doesn't have to; it's all in his eyes.
"I'm taking a shower," says Cody, too loudly. "And then I'm going to bed. And I'm fine. Like I said before." He stalks off without looking back.
The hot water does nothing to ease the ball of pain in his chest. He can't help but ifeel/i the jungle crowding around him, suffocating him. A blue dress. Blood. The overwhelming green. Tracks in the mud.
He scrubs at the blood on his elbow. Nick's blood, soaked through the sleeve, on his skin. Or is it hers? He shivers and scrubs harder.
The bedroom is dark and quiet when he walks in. He turns on the light over his bed, glancing over his shoulder; Nick is already under his covers, eyes closed, but wide awake. Cody doesn't like seeing the lines of pain on his face. Stripping off his robe, he pulls on a fresh pair of underwear and then slides in between the sheets, turning off the light.
Still quiet, except for the sound of Nick's breathing.
Cody's almost afraid to close his eyes.
iBreathe. It's all over. Home./i But as he closes his eyes, it creeps in, takes over, forces him to remember. The blue dress will not be forgotten. The blood will not forget.
He's there, back in the green, back in hell.
Cody's only been in country for three weeks, and already it feels like a lifetime.
This is his second patrol. He turns to watch as the chopper clears the field behind them and angles up above the trees. Triple-canopy jungle, heat like a constant damp blanket, and the relentless green. He thinks about an entire year of patrols stretching out ahead of him and feels sick. He adjusts his rucksack awkwardly.
In his helmet he carries an unfinished letter to his mother. The first paragraph tells her not to worry, but after that, he can't think of what to say.
The rest of the platoon is already heading for the trees, and Cody scrambles to follow them. One of the guys—Nick Ryder—turns his head, looking straight at him, and Cody returns his gaze. Next to him, Lenny Shaw grins and elbows Bobby Henson in the ribs, pointing at Cody.
He knows what they think. FNG, they call him, right to his face—Fuckin' New Guy. Cherry. It's bad enough that they've all been here at least a few months, but even worse, Cody's replacing a guy they liked, a real card. Some of the guys are openly hostile, while others ignore him. Even the nicer ones prank him. Bobby Henson sent Cody on a wild goose chase in camp three days ago, ordering him to bring back a mortar cable quick. It took two hours for someone to finally confess that there's no such thing as a mortar cable.
Later, Bobby took him to the canteen, and they shared a couple beers. Nick Ryder came over, too, and he and Bobby shared some stories with him, Nick talking mostly about choppers and Air Cav until Bobby good-naturedly told him to shut up.
Now, however, he's back out in the field, panting like a dog already, even though it's only been five minutes since he was in the relative cool of the chopper. He wants to take a long drink of water, but he knows that it's foolish. Bobby told him that eventually he'll get used to it—or as used to it as one can get—and to just try to keep up for now.
Doesn't sound promising.
The platoon is single file now, experienced guys on point and bringing up the rear. Bobby and Nick are close to the front. Cody scopes out his place in the line, but when he tries to get in front of Joe Benton, Joe stares at him, a not-so-nice smile on his face. "FNG," he mouths, and jerks a thumb over his shoulder.
Cody takes the hint and gets in between him and Chase, who is second to last in line. Fifteen guys, walking through a jungle halfway across the world. Cody wipes sweat from his face and tries to keep up, gripping his M-16 tightly. A brand new rifle that he hasn't even fired in combat yet.
The line stretches out, men picking their way carefully through the brush, and Cody keeps his eyes open for trip wires and mines. On the last patrol, Steely, the medic, was in front of him, pointing out traps grudgingly, but Joe doesn't seem inclined to do the same. Cody can only watch him like a hawk, seeing where he steps, and try to step in the same places.
He can see Bobby up in the distance. He's the RTO, and the heavy radio is a real bitch to carry in the jungle. Joe is carrying the M-60, a heavy machine gun. Cody can't imagine carrying anything heavier than the ruck he's carrying right now. He's ready to drop already. It must get easier eventually.
He could write something clever to his mother. Describe the guys in his troop. How Chase is obsessed with Sophia Loren, and Nick has choppers on the brain. How Bobby doesn't share Nick's love, and always says a prayer aloud each and every time he gets in—and out of—a chopper.
It gets hotter, even though he didn't think it was possible. He wonders if he's supposed to take a salt tab now. He drinks sparingly from his canteen, and wishes for the hundred and fourteenth time this morning that he could go home.
He can't see much farther ahead than Joe now. He's close enough that he can hear the hissed swear words as the big guy steps in mud. Cody's heart sinks. Up until now the undergrowth had been damp and thick, but slogging through the mud is another story entirely. Good thing Nick told me to bring extra socks.
His first impulse is to stick to the drier side of the little muddy trail, but he's heard those stories, so he grits his teeth and follows in Joe's footprints. Joe's stride is longer than Cody's, and it's awkward, but he does the best that he can, thighs aching in a matter of minutes. Joe looks at him, grins, and doesn't bother to change the length of his steps.
It feels like hours, but the land rises slightly, and the trail becomes easier to navigate. His boots are caked with mud. His socks make a squelching noise with each step. He looks behind him and Chase gives him a jaunty salute. He can't even see Steve, who's bringing up the rear.
The trail zigs to the left and right, little more than the barest sliver of brown in the lush undergrowth. The close-growing plants make Cody feel claustrophobic. As keyed-up as he is, every brush of a leaf against his neck feels like the finger of death.
Around the next bend the path opens up. He can see Lenny Shaw ahead of Joe, and Steely ahead of him. Steely turns and grins at Lenny, mouthing words, and pulls something out of his pocket—cards?
Who would play a card game on patrol in the middle of the jungle? Cody wipes the sweat from the back of his neck with his left hand. Lenny grins and catches up to Steely, and they walk side by side, Steely flipping through the cards.
Joe jogs forward, blocking Cody's view, joining the other two.
Technically, someone should tell the lieutenant and break this up. They're single file for a reason, and the line isn't supposed to bunch up. Maybe Chase will say something—he's a short-timer—
Chase passes Cody, giving him an amused look as he joins the others. Which leaves only Steve behind him. Cody frowns.
The trail takes an abrupt turn to the left over a little rise. Cody can hear them snickering and whispering. Steely holds one up and Cody catches a glimpse of a nude, buxom blonde before he hands it to Lenny with a mock bow.
There's a whisper of sound from the left, and suddenly all four of them come to an abrupt halt, rifles up and at the ready, cards dropped in the dirt.
Cody curses, his stomach doing flips, and forces his tired legs to move faster. He comes up around the right hand side, his own rifle gripped in both hands, and stares, open-mouthed.
A girl.
She can't be more than fifteen—maybe not even fourteen, even. Vietnamese, but wearing an incongruous Western-style dress. Later, he'll learn that it isn't all that unusual, but at that moment, in the jungle, seeing the pale blue cotton amidst all that green, he can't help but boggle at her.
She's pretty, and he blinks sweat out of his eyes. Very pretty. Her right hand is on her hip. She's standing next to a tree. Her left hand—oh god—
She has no left hand. Her arm ends at the elbow. He drags his eyes away, back to her face, his own burning in shame and horror.
Lenny makes a murmured comment and Steely chuckles. Where did she come from? How did she get past Nick and Bobby and the others? Chase says something in Vietnamese to her, and she smiles a fake smile and replies with a quick, nearly unintelligible phrase.
The guys all relax, their rifles dropping. Later he'll find out that it's a common phrase for a prostitute, something that all the men learn early on, but at that moment he feels perplexed, his brand new M-16 still in his hand, his whole body taut. She's still smiling that horrible parody of a smile, and she puts her right hand on the tree trunk and turns, showing off her backside. She says something else, and then wiggles her hips obscenely, her ass shifting under the blue cotton of the dress.
The guys have been out here for weeks, some even months, and they look like a pack of jackals. Cody licks his lips, wondering what will happen next.
"By the time LT figures it out I'll be done," says Lenny in a low voice, and Chase snorts. "Anybody else quick on the draw? We might get two or three in..."
She turns back, one hand still on the tree trunk. Her lips are still smiling, still transmitting good vibes, but her eyes are untouchable, flat and emotionless. Cody wonders if he should run for the LT.
"Yeah, we're gonna have a real good time," says Lenny. Clearly he's made up his mind.
"Who says you're gonna go first?" says Joe menacingly.
"I been here longer than you," says Lenny fiercely. "I go first." He turns back to the girl and smiles. "Yeah. I get first dibs."
Nick and Bobby are nearly there, he can see them out of the corner of his eye. The LT can't be far behind.
Her smile widens, and her eyes come alive. Her right hand dips behind the tree and she produces a rifle. Without a word, without a single wasted motion, she blows Lenny away.
The noise startles Cody so much that his finger squeezes the trigger accidentally, and three rounds burst out of his M-16 before he can stop himself. The sound is deafening. The recoil makes the last shot miss wildly. Bright red splotches blossom on her chest and she falls backward to the ground.
Oh god.
Oh god.
Oh god. It was a mistake. I didn't mean to kill her—
For a heartstopping moment there is no sound except for Lenny's gurgling shrieks. Cody's dimly aware of footsteps and voices as the LT and the rest of the platoon come running to them. Lenny thrashes on the ground, his garbled moans incoherent as Steely frantically tries to stop the bleeding from the wound in his throat.
The girl lies perfectly still.
Chase looks at Cody, wonder dawning on his face. "FNG," he breathes. "Damn."
Nausea twists his stomach. Cody wishes he could sink into the earth. I'm so sorry I can't believe I killed her I didn't mean to—
"What a way to pop your cherry," says Joe. They're all staring at him now. Nick and Bobby, too.
"How the hell'd you know?" says Chase.
Cody blinks. I could have accidentally shot one of them— "Uh—I—I—"
"Wow." Bobby slaps him on the back. "Way to go, FNG. That was some shooting."
The others nod in agreement, except that Nick is gazing at him intently, and so is Joe, and Cody realizes that they both know exactly what happened, that it was an idiot move, and that he could have killed one of them instead. Cody tries to swallow the nausea.
The blue dress is utterly still in the hot damp air. He can see fragments of chest bone gleaming, blood still oozing down her sides, down her neck. He stares at the stump of her left arm. Her mouth, her bare feet covered with cuts and bruises, her bloody chest.
The LT is near, ordering guys here and there to make sure the area is secure, and he calls in a request for a Medevac for one KIA on Bobby's radio. Cody is shaking in his core, but it hasn't reached his hands yet. Steely looks raw, his hands bloody, his expression frustrated; there was no way he could save Lenny.
"We have to backtrack," says the LT. His dark brown eyes aren't sad or worried or even frightened; they're resigned. "Back to the insertion point."
So we've humped through the jungle for nothing, we're retreating back to where we started, and we've lost someone, to boot. There's a metaphor in there somewhere for the whole fucking war, but Cody's too scattered to put it together at the moment.
Chase spits on her. "Sin loy, minoi," he says. Later he'll find out that it's a common phrase; iTough luck, sweetheart./i
Joe brushes past Cody. "Smooth move, iLadykiller./i"
Cody can't help but start to crumble. The nickname hurts. iI killed her. Killed a teenaged girl./i He doesn't even care that she killed Lenny. Somehow it isn't right, regardless.
Bobby puts a hand on Cody's shoulder, and for a moment catches his eyes. "Good work," he says quietly. "She would have killed us all if she could have."
It isn't a comfort.
The walk back seems to take years. Lenny Shaw's body is on a tarp, and they're taking turns holding the edges. Like they're grotesque pallbearers. Cody takes his turn, trying not to look. Not that it matters. The blue dress is in his head now, and it's all he can think about, the way she fell to the ground, the way the rifle jerked, the blood that spattered everywhere, the bits of bone. Her eyes, open and staring in death.
At edge of the field, they set down the body, and most of the guys pull out cigarettes and light up. Steely pulls out a joint and doesn't share. Steve tells some story about Lenny and a smoke grenade. They're sitting on some rocks, Steve and Chase laughing, and Cody feels like the world has flipped somehow. Lenny is dead, not five feet away, and they're grinning.
"Can't believe that stupid bitch wasted him," says Steely, looking down at Lenny with disgust on his face.
"Yeah. Good thing Cody here was so quick on the draw," says Bobby.
"Ding, dong, the bitch is dead..." sings Chase, and Steve joins in.
The LT is scoping out the field with binoculars, occasionally checking above the trees. Cody can't help but stare at Lenny's dead body. Chase and Steve finish their song and high-five.
"Dustoff's coming," says Nick, and as if on cue, within seconds they hear the unmistakable sound of a Huey.
"Now you know what a real patrol's like, Ladykiller," says Joe, punching Cody hard on the arm. There's a pause as the joke sinks in, and then the guys start laughing.
Chase laughs so hard the cigarette falls out of his mouth.
After the dustoff picks up Lenny's body, they trek through the jungle in a different direction. The afternoon is almost pretty, except that it looks like a blue dress soaked in blood.
They make camp just before the sun sets, and the LT orders them to dig foxholes. They all grumble but pull out their entrenching tools and begin digging.
Cody can barely get his unfolded, his hands are shaking so badly. The steel blade is heavy. He starts to dig and his helmet slides forward.
He manages to move one spade of dirt, and then another. The girl's face looms in his mind. Is she still lying there? Has her family found her body? Does she have a family? He thinks of the flies settling on her. It feels wrong that they didn't bury her, that she's still out there, her blue dress shining in the dim light. He hacks at the dirt viciously.
The sun has nearly set, and he's barely made a dent in his foxhole. Chase is already done with his, and Joe as well, and they're laughing and smoking together. He remembers Joe's voice. Ladykiller. Just the thought that this nickname might stick nearly makes Cody vomit. I
He shudders and strikes the ground with his shovel, and a bolt in the aluminum handle breaks.
He stares at it in shock. Fucking piece of junk—fucking junk— All he wants to do is crawl into a foxhole and disappear. That's all he wants. Just this one thing. Tears sting his eyes, and he throws the broken entrenching tool to the ground in disgust, putting the heels of his hands to his face. Damnit. Damn this whole fucking country.
He sits down on the ground, the anger leaving him, only to be replaced by nothing. His insides have gone numb. He feels disconnected from the camp, his thoughts, even his body. Everything seems to be graying out and slowly receding. The broken tool is a thousand miles away.
A hand on his shoulder. "Hey, Cody," says a voice, soothing. He looks up into Nick's face. The blue eyes are dark in the twilight gloom. "C'mon, you gotta get into a foxhole. LT's orders."
"My shovel broke," says Cody stupidly.
"Yeah, I know." Nick's lips quirk into a smile, and he pulls on Cody's sleeve. Cody stands up and follows him blindly.
Nick's foxhole is larger than it should be, and Cody jumps into it behind Nick. He sits down. The smell of earth is overwhelming.
Nick doesn't say anything, just opens up some rations and starts eating them cold.
There's muted laughter from somewhere else. Cody wonders if they're still laughing about Lenny, or the girl.
"Might want to put on some dry socks," says Nick. Their knees are touching.
"Yeah." Cody nods dumbly, pulling off his ruck. His hands are tingling. He takes off his boots and throws the sodden socks to the side, flexing his toes.
They sit in silence. The moon is halfway across the sky already, painting everything with silver. Nick finishes his rations and starts looking through the accessory packet, pulling out the cigarettes and putting them in his ruck, probably to trade with the other guys.
"Might want to take off your helmet, too." Nick's hands finish sliding his ruck shut, and he leans back against the dirt.
Cody reaches up and pulls it off with one hand. Something inside of his chest feels like it's breaking, and he can't help but feel the pain of it. Lenny. Shooting the girl. He starts to cry.
"Let it out," says Nick. "It's okay, man."
"Something wrong?" It's Joe, smoking a cigarette and leaning over the edge, the glow from the tip lighting his face faintly with orange.
"Nothing's wrong," says Nick calmly and evenly. Cody gulps back a sob.
"I think Ladykiller's feelin' blue," says Joe, grinning. "Probably—"
"Use that name again," says Nick, just as calmly and evenly, "and I punch your teeth down your throat."
Joe blinks, surprised. He has at least fifty pounds on Nick and can probably knock him into Thailand, but he hesitates. Nick seems fairly well-liked, and he's a bit of a bruiser himself, and Cody watches as Joe calculates everything in his head and grudgingly comes up with Nick's total. "Fine, then." He lopes off for his own foxhole.
Cody sits still in disbelief, and then wipes his eyes. "Thanks," he says finally, and it seems inadequate.
"Sure." Nick stretches his arms and yawns.
He tries to sleep, but he keeps jerking awake, dreaming of his finger pulling the trigger. His rifle leans next to Nick's, looking pristine next to Nick's battered, well-worn weapon.
The night is calm. He hears the noises in the jungle, can smell the dirt. Nick shifts a little, changing position.
He tries not to think of the look on Nick's face earlier. Nick knows that it was an accident. Cody feels a throb of panic in his chest when he thinks that he could have shot one of the others. His thoughts loop back to the girl, to the blue dress, to her falling to the ground. He's shaking again, his hands trembling, and he feels sick to his stomach.
Cody's helmet is on the ground, and there's a flash of white inside, and he remembers the letter. Dear Mother. I killed a girl. A teenaged girl. She was wearing a blue dress. He's suffocating. The girl was young. She had a mother. A family. A life. And now she has nothing except the flies. He can't breathe. He's going to pass out.
The tears are back, hot and stinging, and he sobs for his own mother, sobs for the pain of it, sobs knowing that no one back home will understand—can understand—the horror and the shame and the wrongness of it.
He closes his eyes against the tears, but they don't stop, he's weeping for everything, for the year of his life that will be spent in this hellhole—if he even lives through it. It's all in the hands of fate. The hands of a god who has no problem with watching him kill a girl in a blue dress.
There's a touch to his face, and he inhales, startled. Nick is pressed up next to him, his hand on his face, fingertips lightly gliding down his cheek, slow and delicate. For a long moment Cody sits, uncomfortable, uncertain, but the fingers don't stop; they travel back up, then across his forehead, then back down. Cody opens his eyes, and Nick's expression is open, simply offering him comfort. Tears well up again, and Cody leans on him, letting them spill down his cheeks as Nick's fingers continue to soothe.
Nick's touch is more than just a touch; it's the feel of hope and caring and civilization in the middle of this merciless, godforsaken jungle. It feels better than it has any right to feel. Cody lets Nick run his hands through his hair, over his face, and remembers how to breathe again.
The morning is foggy and the men grumble as they break camp. Cody leaves his broken entrenching tool on the ground, picks up his rucksack, ties his laces double. He looks up to see Nick watching him.
"You ever think of joining Air Cav?" asks Nick.
The Riptide is quiet and dark. Cody trembles with the memories, the dark thoughts, wipes the wetness from his cheeks.
The boat slowly rocks in the water. The rhythm is like breathing to Cody, a comforting motion, no end and no beginning, just the movement, back and forth.
He wonders if the Riptide will always forgive him for bringing blood and pain with him, blood and pain that she always washes away. His well is deep, and the blood keeps coming, and yet she always calms him. The ocean, too; he knew as soon as he came back from 'Nam that he needed to be near it.
There's no moon tonight. The cabin is dark, lit only by the dim harbor lights, and he thinks anew of that day in the jungle, the girl in the blue dress, his finger on the trigger.
That night in the foxhole. They'd shared plenty of foxholes afterward, but never touched each other like that again. It didn't matter. It was enough. That single touch had sustained him through all of 'Nam, was enough to cling to as a reminder that there were still good things in the world, and that he just had to keep putting one foot in front of the other.
His eyes sting again as he thinks of Nick, and that night. Days later he'd realized that Nick knew what was going to happen. He had known that Cody would break down; he hadn't even bothered to set up a stove and heat his rations. He'd just sat there and waited for Cody to fall apart so he could help pick up the pieces.
Which he's still doing today.
The boat rocks a little in the wind, and he peers across the dark cabin. Nick isn't sleeping, of that he's certain.
Lying there now, he thinks of how Nick felt. Not just in 'Nam, but earlier today, when he'd tried to save Jenny but failed. What had he said to Murray? I couldn't get to her fast enough. Cody feels a surge of guilt that he hasn't even considered Nick's feelings. Nick's always been protective. It's probably eating him alive.
Even more surprising to him is the thought that Nick could be hurting just as badly, that seeing Jenny get shot could cause him nightmares as well.
I can't believe how selfish I've been.
Nick has always fought for him. Still fights for him. Cody gets up, puts on his robe. He crosses the room and sits down on Nick's bunk. Nick shifts, giving him more room, but says nothing.
Cody reaches out, laying his right hand on Nick's arm. Nick inhales, startled, but gradually relaxes under his hand, the tautness slowly melting away.
Comforter. Comforted. The line has blurred, and Cody knows he should have done this long ago. Nick's been hurting just as long as he has, filled with the same thoughts of a girl in a blue dress, the hot green of the jungle, the agony of being on patrol and knowing the twin horrors of boredom and terror. Nick's seen everything he has, been closer than a brother, been his friend, his lifeline, his rock.
"Thanks," he says softly.
Three breaths, and then Nick says, "Cody, I just couldn't..."
"I know." Cody runs his hand along Nick's arm, trying to be soothing. "You wanted to help. You always want to help." Nick starts to shift, as if he's going to sit up, but Cody pushes firmly on his arm. "Don't. Just—just let me talk here."
Another long pause, and Nick relaxes again. "Okay."
"You're the best friend I've ever had," says Cody. "You've always been there for me, no matter what fucked up thing I've done, no matter what I put you through—"
"But—"
"—and you know, you know, what I've seen. You were there when I shot that girl." There. He's said it aloud. He can't believe it. "You know that it was an accident. I didn't—I didn't mean to shoot her. If my finger hadn't been on the trigger I wouldn't have squeezed off a round." He takes a calming breath, and another.
"She would have killed as many as she could, Cody," says Nick quietly. "Accident or not, it saved Steely's life, at the very least."
Steely died two months later in an ambush, but Cody doesn't bring that up. "Look, the thing is, there's no making sense of it. Of any of it. We were there, and we tried...we tried to make the best of it, of a crazy situation. We just put one foot in front of the other. And getting out of there alive...I owe that to you."
"C'mon, we pulled each other out of plenty of tight spots."
"No, Nick. If you hadn't helped me after—after the girl—I would have lost it. I would have jumped on a mine, I think."
"You wouldn't have." Nick's voice sounds convinced.
"I don't know. All I know is that without you, I would never have made it past the first month. And then you got us transferred to Air Cav, into Pitbull's group..."
"I knew if I could just get us both in a chopper, we'd make it out of there."
"Today, when I saw the girl—Jenny, when I saw Jenny get shot, it was almost like it was happening again, like I was seeing myself, in a way, and...it was horrible. Like I was just as much of a monster as Derek. Like I shot a girl, and there was no excuse for it—"
"Cody—"
"I've been thinking about it nonstop. I've been thinking of Jenny, and the girl in 'Nam, and Lenny Shaw, and none of it makes sense, none of it makes a goddamned bit of sense. It's the same as always. The only thing that makes sense is that we did the best we could and we have to move on."
There's silence for a long moment, and then Nick shifts a little. "You've been carrying that for a long time, buddy."
"Yeah. You're right. I don't want it anymore."
"Think you can let go so easy?"
Cody nods, then realizes Nick can't see it in the dark. "Yeah."
Nick shifts again, and his tone turns serious. "I feel like I failed her. And Lucy both."
"You did the best you could. Isn't that what you'd tell me?"
"Yeah," admitted Nick.
"Then you should take your own advice." Cody squeezes his arm. "Nick, you really did the best you could. I mean it. Jenny is still alive. She'll be okay."
"Yeah."
"I don't want to think about blood anymore." Cody shuts his eyes. "I don't want to think about the girl in the blue dress. I don't want to remember this stuff. But maybe if I talk about it to someone...to you...maybe it'll go away. Or just not hurt so much."
"You know you can tell me anything." Nick's hand rests on top of Cody's. "I mean it. Anything."
"Thanks, Nick."
For a long moment he sits there on Nick's bunk, hand on his arm, remembering the smell of dirt, the taste of tears. He thinks of all the guys they knew, the guys who never made it home. Steely. Lenny. Bobby.
The girl in the blue dress. Again he sees her lying on the ground, bloody and dead. But then he remembers flying with Nick, the jungle canopy spreading out beneath them, a river shining like a ribbon of flame below. He remembers the breeze in his hair, the feeling that he'd never see a sight like this again, the vibrant green undulating and shimmering in the sun. And Nick, fierce and capable, piloting them through the worst of everything, becoming the best of friends. If there's anything to be grateful to 'Nam for, it's Nick, and their bond, forged in blood and green heat.
He squeezes Nick's arm and goes back to his own bed, getting in between the sheets. The iRiptide/i continues to rock back and forth, soothing, and he closes his eyes.
Again he remembers being in-country. They'd returned to camp after the patrol, without Lenny. After a long night at the canteen with Nick and Bobby he'd gone back to his bunk and finished the letter to his mother, scribbling out four pages of love and, surprisingly enough, hope.
Glossary
Medevac/dustoff: Medical evacuation chopper used to retrieve the wounded or dead
KIA: Killed In Action
LT: Lieutenant
RTO: Radio Telephone Operator
Air Cav: Air Cavalry, the helicopter units of the Army
Short-timer: A soldier close to the end of his tour
Hump: To carry something through the jungle, to walk through the jungle
Sin loy, minoi (xin loi, minoi): Too bad, sweetheart