A friend and I got to talking one day about what they didn't show at the end of 'The Raid' or the beginning of 'Payback.' We saw McKay's reaction to being told he could never fly for the military again. What was William's reaction to being told he would never see again? Did he 'take it like a man?' All stoic and quiet? Or did he react like a young man who had just had his whole world ripped apart? All we were told in that episode is that he was blind. Period. No further mention was made of a tragic situation until the next episode, which covers events at least a month later. We also know that McKay and Pop Scarlet were flown out by Med-Evac. Danny and Ruiz said their goodbyes, jumped aboard the chopper, and flew off into the sunset.
But what of William Griner?
This is my concept of that missing scene, and the events that may have ensued shortly after. I tried to keep the language at least as clean as the show did, and I hope my characterizations are fairly close. Be warned, I am an action/adventure junkie, so there is some violence. No gory details, though. It should be safe for the younger set. I would give it, at worst, a PG-13.
Disclaimer: None of these characters belong to me, with the exceptions of Lister and Matthews who are entirely figments of a severe case of jet lag. (I wrote most of this while working in Alaska. That's three time zones west of home for me.) Everyone else belongs to the creators and developers of Tour Of Duty. William will always be my favorite, though.
Shattered Dreams
By Polgana
"Colonel! Colonel! I-I cain't see! Colonel!" Groping his way through the blackness, the young soldier found himself on a set of metal stairs leading down. "Colonel! I cain't see!" Frightened, confused, he stumbled through unfamiliar corridors, trying to find something, someone, anyone who could help him! Just another voice so he wouldn't be alone in this nightmare! "Colonel!"
Stumbling and groping, he turned toward the sound of gunfire. That had to be where he would find his teammates! "Sarge! Taylor! Oh, God! Please, help me!" he groaned. "Percell, Ruiz, Pop, anybody! Please!"
He tripped, sprawling full length onto the dusty floor. Moving cautiously, he felt around until he encountered the object that had felled him. His questing fingers touched rough cloth, then smooth, still warm skin. William fell back with a choked cry as he felt the warm stickiness of fresh blood. Was it one of his teammates? How could he tell? Gathering his courage, William searched for the face of the lifeless corpse. He traced his fingers over the broad face, the thick epicanthic folds of the eyes. He tried to picture the face as it would have been in life. Deciding it was no one he knew, and therefore must be the enemy, he struggled to his feet and continued his search for help.
An open doorway, the sound of gunfire so loud, it was deafening! A loud explosion, knocking him into something! Sandbags! He was almost there! He could hear the sound of the choppers; hear the whine of their engines over the din, in the all too brief silences! Where were they?
He was flat on the ground, afraid to move! Arms covering his head, he could only cower there, unable to hear anything, now, but the artillery and the gunfire! Where were the choppers?
A strong, rough hand grabbed his harness, dragged him to his feet! The same hand pulled him forward, fighting to keep him on his feet.
"C'mon, Griner! Move you're a--!"
"Taylor? Taylor, I cain't see!" he cried, stumbling, grasping onto the other man's equipment harness. "I cain't see!"
Grasping hands, pulling him up and in. The rising whine as the chopper lifts into the air. He's safe! Alive! He's made it! But at what cost?
"I cain't see! Oh, God! Oh, God! I cain't see!"
********
"I cain't see!" He was sitting straight up on what felt like a cot, his heart pounding, but he couldn't remember how he got there! "Sarge! Colonel! I-I cain't . . .!"
"Griner! Ease up, man," a familiar voice tried to soothe him. "It's all over. You're safe. Ya hear me? You're safe! You're just havin' a bad dream!"
"Doc?" Private William Griner groped blindly until he felt another hand take his. "Oh, God, I cain't see! Wh-why cain't I see?" he asked in a faint, frightened voice. "What's wrong with me?"
Gingerly, 'Doc' Hockenberry eased down on the bed next to the distraught young man, slipping an arm around his shoulders. He dreaded this part. The doctors had left it to him, as he'd been on several missions with the younger man, and gotten to know him quite well. They felt that the boy might take the news better from someone he knew. Doc wasn't so sure.
"William," he sighed, "when that shell exploded, and knocked you and Colonel Brewster off your feet, you were the closest to it. The . . . the concussion from the blast, it put a lot of pressure on your brain and caused some of the blood vessels in the back of your head t-to break."
"B-but it'll heal, right? How . . . how long before . . . before I'll see again?" the young private stammered hopefully as he reached a trembling hand up to the bandage covering a tiny scalp wound, his only outward sign of injury.
The arm around his shoulders tightened in a rough hug. William felt a tightness in his throat as Doc murmured the words he most dreaded to hear.
"I'm sorry, William," he sighed. "The kind of damage you've suffered . . . it's likely to be permanent. They're gonna send you to Honolulu, to Tripler Hospital, for more tests. But I'm afraid you're never . . . never gonna see again."
Doc watched helplessly as the young man fought not to cry. His youthful, boyish features twisted in pain as he struggled to hold back a flood that refused to be denied. William struggled to his feet, staggering a few steps as conflicting emotions warred across his normally pleasant face. His muddy green eyes flickered back and forth, as if searching for just a glimmer of light. Head pounding, he groped around for something, anything to orient himself, trying to breathe past the constriction in his chest as he fought to come to terms with what he had just been told. Worried that he might hurt himself, Doc grabbed onto the younger man to steady him. William gave the medic a rough shove as his face twisted in anger.
"Why!" he hissed. "Why'd you wanna go 'n' tell me somethin' like that, Doc? I-I know we've been rough on ya since . . . since . . . But this is . . .! It ain't funny!"
"No," Doc replied evenly. "It's not. And I'm not saying this to be cruel, William. I'm just trying to lay it all out, so you'll know what to expect. You'll have to go through rehab, learn how to get around with a cane. It won't be easy . . ."
"Cut it out, Doc," William demanded in a half pleading whisper. "Th-the joke's over. Now, please, tell me . . . tell me I'll see again! Tell me! I've gotta hear you say it! I-I've g-gotta . . . gotta see." His voice broke as the truth finally won out over hope. "Oh, God! God, please!"
Doc pulled the sobbing boy into a rough embrace, letting the hot tears soak into his fatigues. Rather than push him away again, William clung to him like a lifeline, his slender frame wracked by heart breaking sounds of grief and despair.
"S'okay, William," Doc crooned, fighting back his own tears. "S'okay. Just . . . just let it go."
***********
"How'd he take it?" Lt. Goldman asked kindly.
"How did you expect him to take it, sir," Doc grumbled. "He's just been told he's never gonna see again. He's a kid, with his whole life ahead of him, and I had to tell 'im he's gonna have to grope his way through it with a cane! Poor guy didn't wanna believe it, naturally. When he did . . . it was . . . I don't ever wanna have to be in that position again. God, LT, he's just a kid!"
They were sitting in Lt. Goldman's quarters sharing a drink as Doc reported on his conversation with Pvt. Griner. Sergeant Anderson was also present. Later, one of them would have to break the news to the rest of the team, although they had probably guessed the worst by this time.
"I know," Sergeant Anderson sighed. "I've got suits older than he is." He looked over at his lieutenant. "Fontaine's gonna pay for this one," he promised. "It was his faulty intell that sent us on that mission. Now, we've got one dead, and four wounded countin' Colonel Brewster and Lt. McKay. Col. Brewster's gonna recover, but Pop Scarlet may never walk again. McKay's gonna be lucky if he can walk with a cane. And that kid is never gonna see another sunrise! For what? For a bunch of empty cells? For Fontaine to get another notch on his belt?"
"For a chance to do something that mattered," Lt. Goldman sighed. "That's why most of us volunteered, remember? It was a chance to take something in this crazy war that we didn't have to give back. A chance to make a difference. I agree, Fontaine should've checked his information somehow. Given us something a little more up-to-date. But we all volunteered."
"Tell that to Griner and Zemke," Anderson growled. "Seems to me, they paid the highest price."
"Well, you'll have to wait on Griner," Doc told them. "He finally cried himself to sleep. That's the part that kills me. That boy looked Death square in the eye on his very first mission, and never blinked. He's faced it a hundred times since then, and the only time I've seen it get to him was when Eddie Bell died. He told me, that night, that they'd been friends since basic. He had trouble sleepin' for a while, but he never . . . shed . . . a tear. This . . . this is a nightmare he can't wake up from. He's gonna have to face it for the rest of his life!"
"What happens to 'im now?" Sarge asked.
"He gets an ambulance ride to Saigon in the mornin'," Doc sighed. "From there, he starts the first leg of his trip to Honolulu for a bunch of testing, then rehab. When they're satisfied he can get around on his own, they send him home."
"To do what? The boy lives on a farm," Sarge reminded them. "How's he supposed to live? Can he go out and help his daddy dig postholes? Can he drive a tractor or till a field? Hell, the best he could do is feed the livestock!"
"Don't sell 'im short, Sarge," LT spoke up. "Griner's always struck me as a resourceful young man. I have a feeling that, given time and a decent opportunity, he can make it."
***********
"Here you go, William," Corpsman Matthews said as he guided the sightless man toward the back of the ambulance. "A big step up, here. Nice and easy. Now, reach to your right. You'll find a cot. You can stretch out on that, if you like."
William gingerly eased himself onto the flimsy support. "I'd like to sit up," he murmured. "Am I the only one takin' this trip?"
"Griner? What's up with you man?"
"Cpl. Lister?" William turned toward the sound of the other man's voice. "I-I've got a . . . a little problem with my eyes. What're you doin' here?"
"Tried to catch a falling tranny with my hands," the corporal chuckled. "I'm on my way to Tokyo so they can fit all the pieces back together."
"You always were a clumsy sonovagun," William replied with a hesitant grin. "They gonna send you home after that?"
"Yeah," Lister sighed. "They say I'll be months in rehab, getting my . . . what'd they call it? My dexterity! Yeah! They said it'd be awhile before I'll be able to hold a wrench again. You?"
"I can still hold a wrench with the best of them," Pvt. Griner replied, forcing a smile. He knew what the other man was really asking.
"No, you hick!" Lister chuckled. "Your eyes, man! How long before . . ." There was a pause as both of their duffels were tossed into the back. The mechanic looked from the bags to the boy sitting across from him. "Aw, Christ. I'm sorry man. I didn't know."
"No way you could," William replied evenly. "I'm on to Tripler for a while, then back to Old Fort. My tour's done."
***********
Normally, it just took a few hours to drive to Saigon. Unless one was unlucky enough to get caught behind a large crowd of refugees. Corpsman Matthews slowed the ambulance until he was crawling along six feet behind the last ox-drawn cart. Cursing vehemently, he counted almost two-dozen families moving at less than four miles an hour.
"We're gonna have to take a little detour, guys," he called back to his two patients. "Strap down, if you can. It's gonna get bumpy!"
William reached over and, following Lister's directions, fastened a couple of webbed straps over the other man. He then sat back on his own cot, grabbing a hanging strap that brushed his ear.
Matthews turned onto a little used side road a few minutes later. For a while, they made pretty good time, although William figured that the motor pool would have to overhaul the shocks when Matthews returned to base. The narrow trail seemed nothing more than a long series of bumps and potholes. So much so, that Matthews should have been instantly suspicious to spy a relatively smooth, flat stretch of road. But he had a three-day pass burning a hole in his pocket and he didn't want to waste a minute getting started on it.
He should have been more patient.
William clutched convulsively at the strap as a loud explosion split the air and the bottom of the van came up to meet him! There was a moment of confusion as everything tumbled wildly, only to finally settle down with a crash!
Panting in fear and confusion, William found himself dangling from the strap, with no idea where the floor was. For a wild moment, he had been back in that prison camp, sprawling over the body of that dead NVA!
"William! William! Snap out of it, man! Get me out of these damned straps!"
"L-Lister?" William gasped. "Where's the floor? I-I can't feel it!"
"That's cause this thing is all cock-eyed," Lister told him. "Reach out with your right hand. You should be able to feel the cot you were sitting on. A little farther. That's it, stretch . . . Atta boy! Now, get me outta here before all the blood goes to my head."
Holding tightly to the cot, William felt his way to Lister's side, quickly undoing the straps and helping the other man to his feet. With his verbal guidance, the young soldier was able to get them both out of the ambulance.
"Musta hit a mine," Lister grumbled as he eyed the wreck. "If that's the case, we're luckier than we have right to be. Hunka junk's nose down in a ditch, tilted to the left. Can you check on Matthews?"
"I-I think so," William replied uncertainly. Probing his way carefully, he found where the passenger door used to be and leaned inside. "Matthews? Can you hear me?"
"Y-yeah," a strained voice murmured. "Oh, man! What'd we hit?"
"Lister thinks it was a land mine," William reported. "Give me your hand and I'll pull you out," he added, stretching his arm down as far as he could.
"Can't," Matthews gasped. "B-both arms . . . man, I think I broke the left and dislocated the right. I'm royally screwed here, man. I can't move."
Now what? William asked himself with a mental sigh. He had to get Matthews out of the wrecked vehicle. He didn't know for sure that the fuel line had ruptured, but it would be another miracle if it hadn't. It was also a chance he didn't want to take. With two broken hands, Lister would be no help, and neither would Matthews. It was all up to him.
Groping his way into the back of the ambulance, William managed to find a blanket. This he pushed through the communicating window and draped over the injured driver. Climbing back out, he made his way to the front and kicked out the rest of the windshield. Getting both arms around him was tricky, and awkward, but William was finally able to worm Matthews out of the vehicle. By which time the corpsman had passed out.
It took William longer than it would a sighted man, but he retrieved the medical supplies and managed to splint Matthews broken left arm. The right had popped back in place during the extraction. Nonetheless, William strapped it to the injured man's chest to immobilize it.
When he was done, William slid the unconscious man onto the blanket and dragged him to where Lister was sitting, being careful to stay off the road.
"This a fine mess," he sighed. "I can't see, you can't use your hands, Matthews can't use his arms, and the road is mined. Have I left anything out?"
"Well," Lister shrugged, "we're off the main road. A search party won't know where to look for us. You need to get on the radio . . ." he looked over at the wreck, noticing, for the first time, that half the engine and part of the cab was gone. Matthews was lucky to be alive! "Never mind," he sighed. "You'd better check the cab for a rifle or a handgun, and any spare ammo you can find."
"Why?" William asked bitterly.
"Because whoever planted that mine might still be around somewhere," Lister growled. "Did you think of that, plowboy? We need it for protection!"
The sightless young soldier turned to the corporal with a dry chuckle. "And who's gonna shoot it?" he asked.
"You . . ." Then it hit him. "Oh, sh--. We're screwed."
************
Doc Hockenberry knocked tentatively on the door of Lt. Goldman's quarters. It seemed he was fated to be the bearer of bad news for the rest of his tour. At the muffled invitation, he opened the door to step inside.
"We've got a problem, sir," he reported, hoping it wouldn't hurt as much if he said it quickly. "The airfield just radioed that the ambulance never arrived. It's now five hours overdue. They sent someone to back track and ran into a band of refugees blocking the road. Th-they're tryin' to find out what alternate route they might've taken, but there's been some NVA activity reported in the area." Doc hesitated as he considered what he wanted to say next. "They think we should also start a search from our end. They, um, they think that either the VC has them, or the ambulance hit a mine and . . . and they're all dead."
Goldman sat back into his chair, wiping both hands over his face with a sigh. "I'll talk to the commander and see how quick we can get a chopper in the air," he said. "You go find Taylor and Anderson, bring them up to speed on this. Until he gets on that plane, Griner is still one of us. We're not going to abandon 'im now."
************
William had gone into the wreck once more to remove one of the stretchers from its restraining clamps. Using Matthews' knife, he cut the canvas from the other cot and tore it into strips. This he used to fashion a crude harness for the one he was going to use to transport the injured man. It was Lister's plan to go back the way they had come, being fairly sure they would encounter no more mines on a route they had already been over. It was also the only way either man knew of to get back to the main road, where they were more likely to find help.
Lister was unable to assist him as Griner shifted Matthews onto the stretcher and strapped him in. With two broken hands, he was almost as much a liability as the semi-conscious corpsman. The best he could do was walk on his own, and serve as William's eyes.
Strapping the corpsman's automatic onto his hip, William couldn't help but feel like an idiot. How was he supposed to hit what he couldn't see? From the moment he had first laid hands on a rifle, his father had impressed on William how irresponsible, and dangerous, it was to 'shoot for sound.' Now, that was the only option left for the sightless young soldier.
With a sigh of frustration, William secured the pouch containing the extra clips to his belt, and then shrugged into the makeshift harness. He had strapped a pouch containing as much medical supplies as he could pack into it onto Lister's back. He'd considered giving Matthews a dose of morphine, but had passed on the idea as being too risky. He would not be able to tell if he were in a vein or not, and could end up killing the man.
"You ready, Lister?" he asked.
"Yo," the corporal replied. "Just follow the sound of my footsteps, Billy Boy, and I'll lead you to salvation!"
"Not if you keep callin' me 'Billy Boy,' you won't," William grumbled. "A Billy's a goat, not a proper name."
"Lighten up, Griner," Lister chuckled. "It's a 'term of endearment,' as my ol' man usta say. Just somethin' to show how much I love ya, brother!"
"What kinda painkiller you on, Lister?" William asked as he trudged forward, towing his burden. "And how long does it last?"
"Don't know," Lister responded jovially. "Don't care. Just glad it works. Why?"
"'Cause, if you don't tone it down some, the VCs what planted that mine 're gonna be all over us," William responded. "An', if they don't kill ya, I will."
"Why, William! Is that any way to talk to one of your superiors?" the corporal snorted. "You should have more respect, son!"
"I'll show lots of respect at your funeral," Griner sighed in resignation. "Unless they bury me right next to you. Now, please hush an' let me listen. We're more likely to hear 'em than t-to see 'em."
Looking back at the slender youth being forced to shoulder all the responsibility for their safety, Lister no longer felt in such a jovial mood. William was just a skinny kid compared to the brawny corporal, but he was also the only one with two good hands. It wasn't fair, and it wasn't right to put so much on him at a time when he had such large problems of his own, but their only other choice had been to sit by the ambulance and pray. Lister wasn't big on prayer.
It had still been fairly early in the day when the wreck had occurred. By the time they were ready to start back, it was almost noon. If they had been able to work together, the three would have been halfway home. Of course, if they had been in any shape to work together, most of the preparations would have been unnecessary.
As William struggled under his burden, he was under the additional onus of having to listen to the corporal's endless chatter, and a throbbing headache. The older man had been silenced by his pleas for every bit of ten minutes before his natural exuberance won through. After almost two hours of trudging under the hot sun, the humid air, and the nonstop jocularity, William was ready to pray that 'Charlie' would show up, and put him out of his misery.
William had been raised a proper, God-fearing young man who attended church every Sunday and said Grace before every meal. He had prayed many times in his life, never so much as since he had come to Viet Nam. None of those had been answered so quickly as the one he had yet to make.
"Uh-oh," Lister said in the middle of a bawdy limerick. "We got problems," he added as he lay an arm across William's chest to stop him.
"N-now what," William gasped. Sweat had soaked his thin shirt and was pouring down his face and neck. The damp straps were beginning to chafe his shoulders, and the pain in his head was staggering. He had been on the verge of calling a halt, if only long enough to catch his breath.
"Someone's been smoothing out our tire tracks," the mechanic murmured. "And it couldn't have been that long ago. I think we got us a small minefield here, kid."
William sank to his knees with a groan. It was too much! How was he supposed to drag the litter over a minefield without getting them all killed?
"C-can you tell . . . tell if they did any diggin' off the road? In the fields, maybe?" he huffed. He had to have some idea if there was a way around this!
"Just a sec . . . oh yeah," Lister replied with a muffled curse. "Damned gooks forgot to replace one of their divots. The 'greens keeper' will dock their pay for that! Now, what do we do?"
"We have to check the other side," William sighed. "M-maybe they left that clean as . . . an escape route."
"Gotcha," Lister nodded, forgetting for the moment that William couldn't see the gesture. "Be right back." He left the boy's side, only to come back a minute later with dismal news. "Thank God these guys are sloppy," the corporal murmured. "I just can't tell how far out they went."
"Aw, man," William sighed. "Give me a minute. God, why couldn't we 've found a canteen in that wreck?" He sat with his head down, hands braced on his thighs.
"You okay, kid?"
"Yeah," William nodded. "Just tired. C-could you take a-a look at Matthews? See if he's up to walkin' on his own, yet?"
"Sure thing." Lister stepped back to look at the injured corpsman. To his delight, the man was awake. "Hey, Matt. How ya feelin', guy?"
"Lousy," the medic groaned weakly. "Where are we?"
"About four 'clicks' back toward the base," the corporal reported. "Griner's been draggin' your sorry behind for the last coupla hours, and he's beat. Think you can walk for a while? Give 'im a break?"
"I-I think so," Matthews murmured. "Give me a h . . . um, th-this is awkward," he added, looking pointedly at Lister's hands, and then down at his own injured extremities.
"Tell me about it," Lister grumbled. He looked ahead, to the kneeling form at the head of the stretcher. "He can walk if we . . . if you can help him up."
William just nodded, waving a hand to show that he had heard the other man. God! He was so tired! "W-we gotta . . . gotta find some rocks first," he huffed. "I, um, I'll toss 'em ahead as we go. Try to . . . to set off the mines, clear a path. It's the only way through."
"Won't that attract the guys who planted 'em?" Lister asked.
"Most likely," the boy sighed. "But, what else can we do? Just sit here and wait for 'em? We got no other choice. It's move or die. Besides, we need to warn the base about this. If we can."
Less than an hour later, with the verbal assistance of the other two, William had gathered a sizable pile of rocks. Standing about fifteen feet from the edge of the smoothed area, he tied several rolls of gauze together from the improvised med kit, attaching one end to the largest rock. The other he tied to his left wrist. He had also dry-swallowed a couple of aspirin from the kit. It hadn't helped.
"What's with the tether?" Matthews asked. Once on his feet, he had opted to direct William in preparing, and administering, a small shot of morphine. Not a big one. Just enough to take the edge off his discomfort. It left him with a slight buzz, but better focused than when he was fighting the pain. He now stood off to one side with an equally puzzled Lister as they watched the young private complete his preparations.
"Just throwin' rocks here 'n' there won't give us a clear path," William told him. "Unless our guardian angels are stackin' the deck. If I can get this rock as close to t'other end as possible, I can drag it back. If it hits on a mine . . . well, better the rock than us. Ya'll stand back now."
Keeping his feet firmly planted, facing the direction in which the other two assured him the possible minefield lay, William tried to twirl the weighted 'rope' like a lasso. In his weary, dehydrated condition, the rock had proved too heavy for that option.
"This isn't gonna work," he sighed. "Not like this. I'm gonna have to just throw it, and hope for the best."
"Do it like a shot-put," Lister suggested. "Like in high school. You ever take track and field in high school?"
"I was more into baseball," William grumbled, "but, yeah, I know what you're talkin' about." He took a couple of hesitant steps back. "Just remember, guys, if I run up on a mine, you're on your own." Having said that, he took several running steps forward. When Lister shouted a warning, the boy halted at the edge of the suspicious area. As his left foot hit the ground, he rolled his right shoulder forward, putting everything he had into a powerful thrust! The effort almost over balanced William into the hazard zone! If not for Lister throwing both arms around the boy and pulling back, he would have fallen.
The tethered projectile sailed through the air, finally landing almost to the other end of the suspicious area.
"Wow!" Matthews exclaimed. "Hell of an arm, kid!"
"Thanks," William said, acknowledging the praise. "Did I get it 'over the plate?'"
"And then some," Lister replied. "Two more feet and you would've cleared it!"
"Good," the young private nodded. "You can let go of me, now."
"Huh? Oh! Sorry," Lister murmured, releasing his hold. "Just rattled me a little when I saw you falling like that."
Reaching for the gauze still looped around his wrist, William began to gather it in. The rock slid slowly back, bumping and rolling as it caught on little unseen obstacles. About three feet in, it seemed to snag on something. William gave it a sharp tug, causing it to flip over. Instantly, there was an earsplitting blast, as the rock went soaring skyward! All three men ducked as debris was blown out in a broad pattern. The dust had barely settled when the rock came back down, setting off another blast! This happened twice more before the last blast turned the rock to gravel.
"Jesus!" Lister exclaimed, looking at the four large holes in wide-eyed amazement. They were widely spaced over the area. "I don't believe your luck! Four at one shot! Incredible!" Then he caught the look on William's face. "Hey, you okay, kid?"
"I-I'm fine," William murmured as he gathered in what was left of the gauze. "J-just fine." He saw no need to worry the older man about his 'flashback.' For just a moment, though, he had been back in that POW camp, flat on the ground as artillery thundered all around him!
A few minutes later, he was ready to repeat the process. It took three more rocks to clear what they considered to be a safe enough path. William insisted that they help him find something to probe the ground with before he would proceed, however.
"It'd be my luck to step on the one we missed," he grumbled by way of explanation. He turned to Matthews. "You think you can walk the rest of the way, or should we keep the litter?"
"I think I can make it," the corpsman replied. "Just lead the way."
William wasn't sure if the look he gave the medic was wasted or not. "Just remember to walk in my footsteps," he grumbled. "And be real quiet. I have to be able to listen as well as feel."
Using a broken sapling as a probe, William led them through one slow step at a time. Every time he struck something hard, he paused to listen for the distinctive 'clink' of metal. Or worse, the 'click' of a pressure switch. It was tense work, dreading the least misstep, fearing to move too fast or too slow. Praying that they would make it across before 'Charlie' returned to see what all the noise was about.
"Just one more yard, kid," Lister whispered. "You did it."
"Not 'til we're out," William mumbled in reply. "Just don't rush me."
"Naw," Lister insisted. "It's clear. Let's shake a leg, boy! I'm getting old standin' here!"
"If you wanna get any older," Griner hissed, "be still! The VC don't always play by the rules."
"This is ridiculous!" the mechanic snorted irritably. "You've cleared a path three feet to either side of us and all the way up to the next pothole! You've had us takin' thirty minutes to go twenty feet! It's time to haul a--!" Impatiently, the corporal surged ahead, stepping around William's attempt to restrain him. "God, kid!" he grumbled. "You're turnin' into a mother hen!"
"Better a mother hen than a dead duck!" William snapped. "Now, stop it! For God's sake, Lister! Don't go gettin' us killed now!"
That stopped him. Lister halted in his tracks, right on the edge of the area the youth had yet to clear. He looked over at the sightless young man, taking in the frantic features, the head cocked slightly to one side, listening.
"Please, Lister," William hissed. "You're not that much older than me. Once your hands heal, you've still got a future as a mechanic. Matthews wants to go to med school. I don't know what kind of future I might have, or if I have one at all, but I'll never find out if I'm blown to kingdom come right here. Don't you take that chance away from me!"
Wordlessly, Lister turned and, careful to walk only in his own footprints, returned to his place in line. "Sorry, kid," he murmured. "I guess I'm gettin' antsy. I'll behave."
Heaving a sigh of relief, William just nodded and continued his steady probing. He worked the pole over to the spot where Lister had been standing, then a little beyond. Everyone froze when they heard a distinct metallic sound. Carefully, William probed around the object until he had uncovered an antipersonnel mine.
"I want my mommy," Lister whimpered, staring at the explosive device. "Christ, Griner! If you hadn't stopped me . . .!"
"Makes us even," William replied with a strained smile. "You kept me from falling into the middle of this mess a while ago. Just a few more feet, you said?" He resumed his probing.
***********
The old man shook his head, chattering rapidly to the translator as he pointed off into the jungle. He then made an expansive gesture with both hands, pantomiming something large. Or loud. The Vietnamese soldier nodded, listening carefully to the singsong speech. Finally, he thanked the old man and returned to the chopper.
"He says the ambulance turned off the main road about mid morning," he reported. "Sometime less than an hour later, he heard a loud noise over that way." He pointed to the right of the road. "A couple of hours ago, he heard several more loud noises. Same direction, only louder."
"Then that's where we'll look," Lt. Goldman replied, stepping back into the 'copter.
"Do you really expect to find them alive?" the translator asked.
"If there'd been only one blast," Sgt. Anderson answered, "no. But the others mean that someone was alive to set 'em off. They may've been clearing away mines. We can hope to find one, or all three. It's a good bet we ain't findin' anyone sittin' here."
*************
William finally led them several feet past the questionable area. It had been slow going, but the others made no more complaints after Lister's near miss.
"Think one of ya'll can lead, now?" William asked, leaning wearily on the sapling.
"Sure thing, kid," Matthews replied. "Let's take a little break, first. Okay? We're all beat."
The young private couldn't argue with that. Gingerly, he helped both men ease themselves to the ground, then joined them. They sat in the ditch, their backs braced against the roadside.
"Unless 'Charlie's' been real busy," Griner sighed, "we should be okay. At least as far as the main road, anyhow. Any idea how much farther we got? Anyone?"
"Just a coupla more 'clicks,'" Matthews replied. "Man! Can it get any hotter? Must be a hundred and ten, easy. And all this rigmarole you've got me wrapped up in doesn't help."
"Think how you'd feel with both arms floppin' at your sides," Lister reminded him. "Just remember how we got into this mess. How come you couldn't 've just gone around those villagers, anyway?"
"They had those big ol' oxcarts all over the road," Matthews grumbled. "One of 'em looked like he'd loaded half the village on it. Only way to go around would've been to knock down about fifty yards of scrub and tear out the undercarriage. No way was I gonna explain that to the motor pool! They got me on their short list, as it is."
William had to nod silently at that. The whole camp had heard the motor pool complaining about drivers going off the road to get around bands of refugees or other slow moving obstacles. Their biggest gripe had been having to replace damaged or missing oil pans.
They sat there for another half hour, trying to get their strength back for the long march ahead. Matthews and Lister had gotten into a heated discussion of what they wanted most to do when they got back. Matthews wanted to drink all the beer he could find. Or could get someone to pour into him. Lister was all for having the nurses give him a cool sponge bath and an alcohol rub. William just wanted to get back in one piece.
The sightless young man froze, waving the other two to silence. He had heard something in the brush. A faint, discreet crack. Turning his head slightly, he strained to listen. There! A faint muttering and a sharp hiss. As if someone had warned a companion to 'hush!' It was coming from the opposite side of the road. At the same moment, off in the distance, he was sure he could hear the rapid 'whup-whup-whup' of a helicopter.
"We got company," he hissed as he motioned for them to lay flat. "I think they're waitin' for that chopper t' find us." Lowering himself to the ground, he eased the gun from its holster. "Be real quiet," he warned them. "I'm gonna hafta shoot for sound."
"Can you do that?" Matthews hissed as he rolled onto his belly.
"My daddy would skin me alive," William murmured, "but yeah. Now, hush!" Keeping his head down, only the barrel of the pistol showing over the rim of the ditch, William listened intently. He could almost swear he heard the stealthy whispers of the men concealed less than twenty feet away. Sweat dripped from his forehead, causing him to blink reflexively as the salty moisture stung his eyes. Still, the gun never wavered. How long would they wait? Would they start firing as soon as the chopper came into range? Or would they hold off until the skids actually touched the ground? Would they wait and pick off the first man to step off to help them? By that time, the noise of the big 'copter would drown out any sound the enemy made, short of gunfire. By then, it would be too late for someone! Cautiously, William rose to his knees.
"Don't move," he hissed. "Lister, how far to the mine field from here?"
"About six feet to your left," the mechanic whispered. "Why?"
"I need to shake these guys up," William replied. "Get 'em rattled enough to tip their hand. One of those mines oughta do it."
"Are you crazy!" Matthews hissed. "It'll blow up in your face!"
"Not if I'm careful," the young farm boy murmured. 'Or real lucky,' he added to himself. Slowly, he inched his way to the left until he figured he had covered close to six feet. He then crawled over the edge of the road, feeling his way cautiously. There, he could feel the torn earth of one of the craters. He swept the area carefully with his fingertips. The mine he had uncovered earlier should be less than three feet into . . . there! His questing fingers softly brushed the metal housing of the mine. He prayed that this was one of those with a pressure switch, and not motion sensitive. If it was the latter . . . Easing his free hand under the circular object, he finished working it loose from its shallow concealment. The moment it was free, he brought it close to his chest, then flung it with all his might toward the area he was sure the enemy was hiding. The instant the explosive device left his hand, William buried his face in the dirt, wrapped both arms over his head, and prayed!
His prayer was answered as the resulting blast was closely followed by loud cries of pain, fear, and anger! William kept his head down as bullets zipped by close enough that he felt the breeze of their passing! Keeping the barrel of the pistol level with the ground, he fired off a couple of rounds, gratified to hear one pained exclamation. He had hit someone! That ought to make them keep their heads down! Easing backwards, he had intended to rejoin the others. His plans changed, however, when he felt his foot brush against something. Something that gave off a faint, metallic ting. Freezing in place, William tried very hard not to move that foot!
************
"Did you see that?" Sgt. Anderson asked excitedly. "There! That dust cloud just off the road!"
"I see it." Lt. Goldman replied, shouting to be heard over the noise of the engines. "Let's take a look." He tapped the pilot on the shoulder, pointing toward the area of interest. "I think I see muzzle flashes, too! Looks like they're being fired on! What the . . . Is that Griner?"
Sgt. Anderson leaned halfway out of the doorway for a better look. Doc Hockenberry, hanging onto a strap, leaned even farther out, trying to see what they were so worked up about. He saw his young teammate sprawled in a section of road pitted by blast holes. He was firing a handgun in the general direction of half a dozen men in tattered uniforms. Two more lay writhing on the ground next to another blast hole.
"Damned if that boy ain't lyin' in a mine field!" Anderson shouted.
"Say what?" Sgt. Taylor cried. "Are you joking?"
"I'm afraid not," Doc hollered back. He leaned back in, surrendering his place in the doorway. "Look for yourself!"
Puzzled, certain that someone had lost his mind, the tall black soldier grabbed the webbed strap and leaned out for a good look. Someone had lost his mind, all right, he decided. Griner.
************
The sound of the chopper was close enough that William could no longer hear the sound of the enemy gunfire. They had to have seen the enemy by now! Twitching the barrel to one side just a fraction of an inch, William fired off another round. A pained curse informed him that he had scored again! The young soldier had no illusions as to how much damage he might be causing the VC. He just wanted to make them keep their heads down until help arrived!
A cloud of dust and debris kicked up around him as the 'copter hovered overhead. The loud chatter of the fifty calibers gave William a bad moment as he once again found his mind trapped in that POW camp, hugging the dirt as he prayed for a miracle! A strong, callused hand seized his arm, jerking him to his feet! William cried out a warning, suddenly remembering the mine! His fears proved groundless. Clinging to the other soldier's arm, the young man allowed himself to be led from the hazardous area. Eager hands grabbed him, pulling him up and into the safety of the big war bird!
"Lister? Matthews?" he cried. "Are they . . .?"
"We're here, Griner," Matthews called out. "We're okay!"
"Thank God," he murmured, sinking back with a sigh. He found he was still clutching the arm of the man who had dragged him from the minefield. "T-Taylor?" he asked, his sightless eyes turning toward his rescuer.
"This is getting old, Griner," the lanky sergeant growled. "I can't keep followin' you around an' haulin' your scrawny white butt outta trouble!"
"Just glad you could make it this time," William replied with a shaky grin. God, he was tired! And his head was throbbing to the beat of the chopper blades! He released his hold on Taylor's arm to rub at his temples, trying to ease the pain. The dryness in his mouth and throat didn't help a bit. If the pain didn't ease up soon, he feared that he was going to be very, very sick!
Something was pressed against his dry, cracked lips and water trickled into his mouth. It was warm, with a faint taste of chlorine. At the moment, though, it was sweeter than the finest wine! William brought both hands up, keeping the canteen in place as he drank greedily. Finally, his raging thirst appeased for the moment, he relinquished possession of the liquid treasure. As his body absorbed the vital element, the throbbing in his temples began to ease up. He suddenly felt as if he might just make it after all.
Doc Hockenberry looked up from checking the splint on Matthews' broken arm. Griner had laid his head back once more, his eyes drifting shut even as the medic watched. The kid was exhausted. No wonder! From what Matthews and Lister were telling him, the younger man had pretty much shouldered full responsibility for getting the three of them back alive! Doc looked up at where Lt. Goldman was holding his mouth close to Sgt. Anderson's ear. He was trying to talk quietly, yet still be heard over the noise of the chopper. They kept casting furtive glances Griner's way.
Taylor was also watching the sleeping young man, an unreadable expression on his face. Doc couldn't help but recall how antagonistic the older black man had been against this young, white southerner when they'd first met. William had not said one harsh word to the veteran soldier, yet just the sound of the boy's voice had rubbed Taylor the wrong way. It looked, at first, as if Griner would have to be transferred in order to keep the peace. Something had happened during their first mission together that had caused a radical change in Taylor's opinion of the young farm boy. What it was, Taylor wouldn't say, and Griner never seemed to have a clue. Afterwards, Taylor had more or less told the 'friends' who had been feeding him a load of racist crap where they could stick it. He had even, on occasion, run interference when those same 'friends' would single the naïve young southerner out for some . . . fun.
It was Taylor who had braved enemy fire to drag a panicked, sightless Griner back to the chopper that fateful night. It had seemed fitting, somehow, that it should be Taylor who led him from the minefield today. Doc had a feeling that it would also be Taylor who led the boy's faltering steps onto the plane that would fly him to Honolulu and, ultimately, home.
**********
Rather than fly the injured men back to base, Lt. Goldman instructed the pilot to take them straight to the hospital in Saigon. Doctors there could set Matthews' arm and decide if he had earned a ticket home. They could also assess Griner and Lister before preparing them for departure.
William had to be awakened from a sound sleep when the helicopter finally touched down. It was bad, at first. Doc had expected it would be, which was why he had the others unloaded first. Only he and Taylor were there to see the look of sheer panic on the boy's dirt smeared face. The only ones to hear his choked cry as he realized, once again, that he couldn't see.
"Is it always gonna be like that for 'im, Doc?" Taylor asked later, when they were alone. "I mean, is he gonna hafta go through that . . . nightmare the rest of his life?"
Doc could only shake his head with a weary sigh. "Honestly?" he replied. "I don't know. Some people adjust, given enough time. Others . . . William is young, and he's strong. In time, the nightmares will fade and he'll find some way to get on with his life. I just hope his family is strong enough to give him the support he'll need."
But that was later.
As soon as William realized where he was, and that he was safe, they led him into the relatively cool interior of the hospital. Once inside, he was turned over to the 'tender mercies' of the nurses who quickly had him stripped, bathed, and dressed in clean pajamas and a robe. Only then was he led to a cot. He sat there, listening to the activity around him. The moans of men so badly injured, they would never fight again. The clink and clatter of carts being pushed up and down between the rows of beds as nurses dispensed medicine and fluids. The murmur of voices as those that could talk conversed with the staff or a friend from their old unit.
"How ya doin', kid?"
"Lister?" William asked, instantly recognizing the jaunty tone. He turned on his cot to face where he believed the other man to be. "I-I'm fine. Hardly a scratch on me. Are you 'n' Matthews okay?"
"A little sunburned," the corporal shrugged as he sat next to the boy, "but okay. Matthews won't be going home with us. They say he'll be stuck to a desk for a coupla months, but he'll be back to tearing up the roads before you know it. So! What's next for you?"
"Tripler Army Hospital," William murmured. "They're gonna teach me how to be blind," he added bitterly. "Then they're gonna send me home."
"To do what?" Lister asked seriously. "Are they gonna train you for something? To be a teacher, maybe?"
"Are you kiddin'?" Griner snorted derisively. "Who'd trust their kids to an ignorant hick like me? I don't think they know what to do with me. All I know is farmin' and the army. Now, I ain't fit for either one. I usta think I'd like to get with the Park Service. Give guided tours through some of the caves in our area. I know most of 'em b-blindfolded," he added, his voice trailing off at the end. "Not much hope o' that, now."
"So, what are you gonna do?" Lister asked kindly.
"The best I can," William sighed. "And pray."
**********
Doc stepped back from the door with a sigh, not liking what he had just heard. William had little hope for his own future. With only a limited education, and no skills other than what he had needed for survival or farming, there really didn't seem to be anywhere for him to go!
"That's depressing," Taylor sighed. He had been listening in at Doc's shoulder. "That kid would've made a hell of a 'career man.' Now look at 'im. What're they gonna teach him at Tripler? How to walk with a cane? How to read with his fingers? Is he gonna have to learn how to write his own name all over again? How's he supposed to make a living? They gonna put him to work runnin' the concession stand over at the local courthouse? The man was a soldier, for Christ's sake! He gave his eyes for his country! Laid down his life to give a bunch of longhaired peace freaks the right to protest the very war we're over here fighting! Is he gonna be forced to take . . . charity work? Man, he mighta been better off dead!"
"I wish I had some answers for you," Doc sighed. "The truth is, as Pop Scarlet once told us, the army is a harsh mistress. Once she has no more use for you . . ." He turned away with a shrug. "We can only hope that someone can help him find a better way. Um, what were LT and Sarge whisperin' about, do ya know?"
"They want to put the kid up for another medal," the young NCO told him. "A Bronze Star, if they can wangle it. Something along the line of 'persevering in the face of insurmountable odds,' or some such." He peered through the glass panel to see Griner smiling at something the corporal had said. And wasn't that the third nurse to check his pulse in the last twenty minutes? Was she actually flirting with him? Talk about 'insurmountable odds!' Nodding at the scene, he had to chuckle. "I think I hear a little voice tellin' me he's gonna do alright."
***********
The next morning found William checking through his kit one last time before being escorted to the plane. The lieutenant had sent the chopper and a team to salvage what they could from the ambulance, finding that it had remained untouched by scavengers. The young soldier had been pleased to have his meager belongings returned to him. True, it mostly consisted of his uniforms and fatigues, but he also had one set of civilian clothing, and a few items he had picked up locally as curiosities.
"All set?" Taylor asked.
"I think so," William murmured, clipping the carabineer through the metal loop at the top of the bag. He rose to his feet, smoothing the wrinkles from his khakis and shouldering his duffel. He took a hesitant step forward, his left hand held out before him, probing for obstacles
Stepping forward, Taylor adjusted the private's insignia on William's collar. He then took the boy's left hand and wrapped it around his right arm.
"Walk with pride, Griner," he told the younger man. "Let them know you were one of the best."
William heaved a deep sigh as he straightened his shoulders, giving Taylor a nod to show that he was ready. Starting out slowly, he matched his step with the sergeant's as they walked to the door. He smiled nervously as several of the other patients called out encouragements to him, letting them know that he had heard. Word of his adventurous little side trip had spread quickly, earning him more than a few admirers. Even among some of the older veterans. Once outside, he paused to slip on his soft cap, which Taylor again adjusted, turning it so that the insignia showed.
"Nervous?" Taylor asked as they continued.
"Hell, yes," William mumbled softly. "I still have to tell my folks what happened. This is gonna tear Momma apart."
"So call 'em when you get to Tripler," the lanky sergeant suggested. He paused to help William into the jeep. "Get the cryin' done before you get home."
"We ain't got no phone," William sighed. "'Sides, I couldn't do that to her. Or him. This ain't gonna set too well with Daddy, either." He settled into the seat as Taylor placed the duffel bag in the back. "No, it'll have to wait 'til I c'n say it to their faces."
Settling behind the wheel, Taylor started the jeep for the short drive to the airstrip. He had been pleased to see a couple of familiar faces in a local bar the night before, thinking that Griner would at least have company for his long flight to Honolulu. Someone besides the incessantly chattering Lister, at least.
Doc, Sarge, and LT were standing at the foot of the steps leading to the hatch, talking with two other khaki-clad figures. They all turned at the sound of the jeep driving up, their nervous smiles becoming even more strained as they spied their sightless companion.
"You doin' okay, son?" Sgt. Anderson asked.
"I'm fine, Sarge," William replied, his face split in a genuine smile. "Who else is here? Doc, LT?"
"Present and accounted for," Goldman chuckled. "Couldn't let you guys go without a proper sendoff. Don't be surprised if we take a little R&R while you're stuck at Tripler. Any excuse to visit the islands."
"I may hold you to that, sir," Griner promised. He held his hand out to shake with his . . . former teammates, he reminded himself, and was pulled into a brusque embrace.
"You do that," LT told him, before letting him go. "Take care, Griner."
"That goes double for me," Sgt. Anderson said, taking the proffered hand in a strong grip. "Don't let me come home to find you've gone an' gotten yourself killed in a stupid accident. I'll be kickin' your sorry butt clear across the Hereafter."
"Wouldn't wanna put you to that much trouble, Sarge," William replied. "Doc, you take care of yourself, hear? Don't let this place drag you down so low you forget which way is up."
"I'll do my best, William," Doc promised. "The same can be said of you. Make the most of what you've got, son, and don't go takin' anybody's word for what your limits are. Find out for your own self."
"May have to fight my folks on that one," William replied, his smile faltering just the tiniest bit. "I'll keep tryin', though." He stepped back, holding his hand out in Taylor's direction. "I guess this it, then," he sighed. "In case I hadn't said it, yet, thanks for saving my butt. Twice."
"Yeah," Taylor grumbled, taking his hand in a firm grasp. "Well, that just puts me one up on you. You can have your momma send me a batch of those homemade cookies like she sent you last month and we'll call it even."
"She'll be more 'n' happy to, I'm sure," William told him. He cocked his head toward the plane. "Is someone else here?"
"Oh, I forgot to mention that you and Lister will be having company," LT commented dryly. "We found a couple of 'short-timers' waiting for a ride home. You three should have a lot to talk about."
"Th-that's good," William stammered, wondering if he knew them. He heaved a sigh as he thought of his two teammates who had left while he was still in the hospital immediately after the mission. "No offense, fellas," he said, "but I'm kinda wishin' you were a coupla friends I didn't get a chance to say goodbye to."
"Be careful what you wish for, mi amigo," a familiar voice spoke up.
"Yeah. You never know who'll come crawlin' outta the bushes," a second voice drawled.
William couldn't believe his ears! "Ru?" he exclaimed. "D-Danny?" He found himself in a three-way hug as both men competed to see who could squeeze the life out of him the quickest. "Guys. Guys. G-gotta breathe, guys," he wheezed.
About that time, the pilot stuck his head out the door and told them it was time to go. "Hate to break up your little 'love fest,'" he commented dryly, "but I've got a schedule to keep."
This kicked off another round of hugs and handshakes as the former teammates renewed their farewells. Then Danny and Ru helped William onto the plane, getting him safely buckled in. The last thing he heard, as the gangway was being raised, was Danny's voice assuring the others that they would 'look after him.'
When, William had to wonder, would he ever again be able to look after himself?
*finito*
Send all feedback to Polgana54@cs.com
But what of William Griner?
This is my concept of that missing scene, and the events that may have ensued shortly after. I tried to keep the language at least as clean as the show did, and I hope my characterizations are fairly close. Be warned, I am an action/adventure junkie, so there is some violence. No gory details, though. It should be safe for the younger set. I would give it, at worst, a PG-13.
Disclaimer: None of these characters belong to me, with the exceptions of Lister and Matthews who are entirely figments of a severe case of jet lag. (I wrote most of this while working in Alaska. That's three time zones west of home for me.) Everyone else belongs to the creators and developers of Tour Of Duty. William will always be my favorite, though.
Shattered Dreams
By Polgana
"Colonel! Colonel! I-I cain't see! Colonel!" Groping his way through the blackness, the young soldier found himself on a set of metal stairs leading down. "Colonel! I cain't see!" Frightened, confused, he stumbled through unfamiliar corridors, trying to find something, someone, anyone who could help him! Just another voice so he wouldn't be alone in this nightmare! "Colonel!"
Stumbling and groping, he turned toward the sound of gunfire. That had to be where he would find his teammates! "Sarge! Taylor! Oh, God! Please, help me!" he groaned. "Percell, Ruiz, Pop, anybody! Please!"
He tripped, sprawling full length onto the dusty floor. Moving cautiously, he felt around until he encountered the object that had felled him. His questing fingers touched rough cloth, then smooth, still warm skin. William fell back with a choked cry as he felt the warm stickiness of fresh blood. Was it one of his teammates? How could he tell? Gathering his courage, William searched for the face of the lifeless corpse. He traced his fingers over the broad face, the thick epicanthic folds of the eyes. He tried to picture the face as it would have been in life. Deciding it was no one he knew, and therefore must be the enemy, he struggled to his feet and continued his search for help.
An open doorway, the sound of gunfire so loud, it was deafening! A loud explosion, knocking him into something! Sandbags! He was almost there! He could hear the sound of the choppers; hear the whine of their engines over the din, in the all too brief silences! Where were they?
He was flat on the ground, afraid to move! Arms covering his head, he could only cower there, unable to hear anything, now, but the artillery and the gunfire! Where were the choppers?
A strong, rough hand grabbed his harness, dragged him to his feet! The same hand pulled him forward, fighting to keep him on his feet.
"C'mon, Griner! Move you're a--!"
"Taylor? Taylor, I cain't see!" he cried, stumbling, grasping onto the other man's equipment harness. "I cain't see!"
Grasping hands, pulling him up and in. The rising whine as the chopper lifts into the air. He's safe! Alive! He's made it! But at what cost?
"I cain't see! Oh, God! Oh, God! I cain't see!"
********
"I cain't see!" He was sitting straight up on what felt like a cot, his heart pounding, but he couldn't remember how he got there! "Sarge! Colonel! I-I cain't . . .!"
"Griner! Ease up, man," a familiar voice tried to soothe him. "It's all over. You're safe. Ya hear me? You're safe! You're just havin' a bad dream!"
"Doc?" Private William Griner groped blindly until he felt another hand take his. "Oh, God, I cain't see! Wh-why cain't I see?" he asked in a faint, frightened voice. "What's wrong with me?"
Gingerly, 'Doc' Hockenberry eased down on the bed next to the distraught young man, slipping an arm around his shoulders. He dreaded this part. The doctors had left it to him, as he'd been on several missions with the younger man, and gotten to know him quite well. They felt that the boy might take the news better from someone he knew. Doc wasn't so sure.
"William," he sighed, "when that shell exploded, and knocked you and Colonel Brewster off your feet, you were the closest to it. The . . . the concussion from the blast, it put a lot of pressure on your brain and caused some of the blood vessels in the back of your head t-to break."
"B-but it'll heal, right? How . . . how long before . . . before I'll see again?" the young private stammered hopefully as he reached a trembling hand up to the bandage covering a tiny scalp wound, his only outward sign of injury.
The arm around his shoulders tightened in a rough hug. William felt a tightness in his throat as Doc murmured the words he most dreaded to hear.
"I'm sorry, William," he sighed. "The kind of damage you've suffered . . . it's likely to be permanent. They're gonna send you to Honolulu, to Tripler Hospital, for more tests. But I'm afraid you're never . . . never gonna see again."
Doc watched helplessly as the young man fought not to cry. His youthful, boyish features twisted in pain as he struggled to hold back a flood that refused to be denied. William struggled to his feet, staggering a few steps as conflicting emotions warred across his normally pleasant face. His muddy green eyes flickered back and forth, as if searching for just a glimmer of light. Head pounding, he groped around for something, anything to orient himself, trying to breathe past the constriction in his chest as he fought to come to terms with what he had just been told. Worried that he might hurt himself, Doc grabbed onto the younger man to steady him. William gave the medic a rough shove as his face twisted in anger.
"Why!" he hissed. "Why'd you wanna go 'n' tell me somethin' like that, Doc? I-I know we've been rough on ya since . . . since . . . But this is . . .! It ain't funny!"
"No," Doc replied evenly. "It's not. And I'm not saying this to be cruel, William. I'm just trying to lay it all out, so you'll know what to expect. You'll have to go through rehab, learn how to get around with a cane. It won't be easy . . ."
"Cut it out, Doc," William demanded in a half pleading whisper. "Th-the joke's over. Now, please, tell me . . . tell me I'll see again! Tell me! I've gotta hear you say it! I-I've g-gotta . . . gotta see." His voice broke as the truth finally won out over hope. "Oh, God! God, please!"
Doc pulled the sobbing boy into a rough embrace, letting the hot tears soak into his fatigues. Rather than push him away again, William clung to him like a lifeline, his slender frame wracked by heart breaking sounds of grief and despair.
"S'okay, William," Doc crooned, fighting back his own tears. "S'okay. Just . . . just let it go."
***********
"How'd he take it?" Lt. Goldman asked kindly.
"How did you expect him to take it, sir," Doc grumbled. "He's just been told he's never gonna see again. He's a kid, with his whole life ahead of him, and I had to tell 'im he's gonna have to grope his way through it with a cane! Poor guy didn't wanna believe it, naturally. When he did . . . it was . . . I don't ever wanna have to be in that position again. God, LT, he's just a kid!"
They were sitting in Lt. Goldman's quarters sharing a drink as Doc reported on his conversation with Pvt. Griner. Sergeant Anderson was also present. Later, one of them would have to break the news to the rest of the team, although they had probably guessed the worst by this time.
"I know," Sergeant Anderson sighed. "I've got suits older than he is." He looked over at his lieutenant. "Fontaine's gonna pay for this one," he promised. "It was his faulty intell that sent us on that mission. Now, we've got one dead, and four wounded countin' Colonel Brewster and Lt. McKay. Col. Brewster's gonna recover, but Pop Scarlet may never walk again. McKay's gonna be lucky if he can walk with a cane. And that kid is never gonna see another sunrise! For what? For a bunch of empty cells? For Fontaine to get another notch on his belt?"
"For a chance to do something that mattered," Lt. Goldman sighed. "That's why most of us volunteered, remember? It was a chance to take something in this crazy war that we didn't have to give back. A chance to make a difference. I agree, Fontaine should've checked his information somehow. Given us something a little more up-to-date. But we all volunteered."
"Tell that to Griner and Zemke," Anderson growled. "Seems to me, they paid the highest price."
"Well, you'll have to wait on Griner," Doc told them. "He finally cried himself to sleep. That's the part that kills me. That boy looked Death square in the eye on his very first mission, and never blinked. He's faced it a hundred times since then, and the only time I've seen it get to him was when Eddie Bell died. He told me, that night, that they'd been friends since basic. He had trouble sleepin' for a while, but he never . . . shed . . . a tear. This . . . this is a nightmare he can't wake up from. He's gonna have to face it for the rest of his life!"
"What happens to 'im now?" Sarge asked.
"He gets an ambulance ride to Saigon in the mornin'," Doc sighed. "From there, he starts the first leg of his trip to Honolulu for a bunch of testing, then rehab. When they're satisfied he can get around on his own, they send him home."
"To do what? The boy lives on a farm," Sarge reminded them. "How's he supposed to live? Can he go out and help his daddy dig postholes? Can he drive a tractor or till a field? Hell, the best he could do is feed the livestock!"
"Don't sell 'im short, Sarge," LT spoke up. "Griner's always struck me as a resourceful young man. I have a feeling that, given time and a decent opportunity, he can make it."
***********
"Here you go, William," Corpsman Matthews said as he guided the sightless man toward the back of the ambulance. "A big step up, here. Nice and easy. Now, reach to your right. You'll find a cot. You can stretch out on that, if you like."
William gingerly eased himself onto the flimsy support. "I'd like to sit up," he murmured. "Am I the only one takin' this trip?"
"Griner? What's up with you man?"
"Cpl. Lister?" William turned toward the sound of the other man's voice. "I-I've got a . . . a little problem with my eyes. What're you doin' here?"
"Tried to catch a falling tranny with my hands," the corporal chuckled. "I'm on my way to Tokyo so they can fit all the pieces back together."
"You always were a clumsy sonovagun," William replied with a hesitant grin. "They gonna send you home after that?"
"Yeah," Lister sighed. "They say I'll be months in rehab, getting my . . . what'd they call it? My dexterity! Yeah! They said it'd be awhile before I'll be able to hold a wrench again. You?"
"I can still hold a wrench with the best of them," Pvt. Griner replied, forcing a smile. He knew what the other man was really asking.
"No, you hick!" Lister chuckled. "Your eyes, man! How long before . . ." There was a pause as both of their duffels were tossed into the back. The mechanic looked from the bags to the boy sitting across from him. "Aw, Christ. I'm sorry man. I didn't know."
"No way you could," William replied evenly. "I'm on to Tripler for a while, then back to Old Fort. My tour's done."
***********
Normally, it just took a few hours to drive to Saigon. Unless one was unlucky enough to get caught behind a large crowd of refugees. Corpsman Matthews slowed the ambulance until he was crawling along six feet behind the last ox-drawn cart. Cursing vehemently, he counted almost two-dozen families moving at less than four miles an hour.
"We're gonna have to take a little detour, guys," he called back to his two patients. "Strap down, if you can. It's gonna get bumpy!"
William reached over and, following Lister's directions, fastened a couple of webbed straps over the other man. He then sat back on his own cot, grabbing a hanging strap that brushed his ear.
Matthews turned onto a little used side road a few minutes later. For a while, they made pretty good time, although William figured that the motor pool would have to overhaul the shocks when Matthews returned to base. The narrow trail seemed nothing more than a long series of bumps and potholes. So much so, that Matthews should have been instantly suspicious to spy a relatively smooth, flat stretch of road. But he had a three-day pass burning a hole in his pocket and he didn't want to waste a minute getting started on it.
He should have been more patient.
William clutched convulsively at the strap as a loud explosion split the air and the bottom of the van came up to meet him! There was a moment of confusion as everything tumbled wildly, only to finally settle down with a crash!
Panting in fear and confusion, William found himself dangling from the strap, with no idea where the floor was. For a wild moment, he had been back in that prison camp, sprawling over the body of that dead NVA!
"William! William! Snap out of it, man! Get me out of these damned straps!"
"L-Lister?" William gasped. "Where's the floor? I-I can't feel it!"
"That's cause this thing is all cock-eyed," Lister told him. "Reach out with your right hand. You should be able to feel the cot you were sitting on. A little farther. That's it, stretch . . . Atta boy! Now, get me outta here before all the blood goes to my head."
Holding tightly to the cot, William felt his way to Lister's side, quickly undoing the straps and helping the other man to his feet. With his verbal guidance, the young soldier was able to get them both out of the ambulance.
"Musta hit a mine," Lister grumbled as he eyed the wreck. "If that's the case, we're luckier than we have right to be. Hunka junk's nose down in a ditch, tilted to the left. Can you check on Matthews?"
"I-I think so," William replied uncertainly. Probing his way carefully, he found where the passenger door used to be and leaned inside. "Matthews? Can you hear me?"
"Y-yeah," a strained voice murmured. "Oh, man! What'd we hit?"
"Lister thinks it was a land mine," William reported. "Give me your hand and I'll pull you out," he added, stretching his arm down as far as he could.
"Can't," Matthews gasped. "B-both arms . . . man, I think I broke the left and dislocated the right. I'm royally screwed here, man. I can't move."
Now what? William asked himself with a mental sigh. He had to get Matthews out of the wrecked vehicle. He didn't know for sure that the fuel line had ruptured, but it would be another miracle if it hadn't. It was also a chance he didn't want to take. With two broken hands, Lister would be no help, and neither would Matthews. It was all up to him.
Groping his way into the back of the ambulance, William managed to find a blanket. This he pushed through the communicating window and draped over the injured driver. Climbing back out, he made his way to the front and kicked out the rest of the windshield. Getting both arms around him was tricky, and awkward, but William was finally able to worm Matthews out of the vehicle. By which time the corpsman had passed out.
It took William longer than it would a sighted man, but he retrieved the medical supplies and managed to splint Matthews broken left arm. The right had popped back in place during the extraction. Nonetheless, William strapped it to the injured man's chest to immobilize it.
When he was done, William slid the unconscious man onto the blanket and dragged him to where Lister was sitting, being careful to stay off the road.
"This a fine mess," he sighed. "I can't see, you can't use your hands, Matthews can't use his arms, and the road is mined. Have I left anything out?"
"Well," Lister shrugged, "we're off the main road. A search party won't know where to look for us. You need to get on the radio . . ." he looked over at the wreck, noticing, for the first time, that half the engine and part of the cab was gone. Matthews was lucky to be alive! "Never mind," he sighed. "You'd better check the cab for a rifle or a handgun, and any spare ammo you can find."
"Why?" William asked bitterly.
"Because whoever planted that mine might still be around somewhere," Lister growled. "Did you think of that, plowboy? We need it for protection!"
The sightless young soldier turned to the corporal with a dry chuckle. "And who's gonna shoot it?" he asked.
"You . . ." Then it hit him. "Oh, sh--. We're screwed."
************
Doc Hockenberry knocked tentatively on the door of Lt. Goldman's quarters. It seemed he was fated to be the bearer of bad news for the rest of his tour. At the muffled invitation, he opened the door to step inside.
"We've got a problem, sir," he reported, hoping it wouldn't hurt as much if he said it quickly. "The airfield just radioed that the ambulance never arrived. It's now five hours overdue. They sent someone to back track and ran into a band of refugees blocking the road. Th-they're tryin' to find out what alternate route they might've taken, but there's been some NVA activity reported in the area." Doc hesitated as he considered what he wanted to say next. "They think we should also start a search from our end. They, um, they think that either the VC has them, or the ambulance hit a mine and . . . and they're all dead."
Goldman sat back into his chair, wiping both hands over his face with a sigh. "I'll talk to the commander and see how quick we can get a chopper in the air," he said. "You go find Taylor and Anderson, bring them up to speed on this. Until he gets on that plane, Griner is still one of us. We're not going to abandon 'im now."
************
William had gone into the wreck once more to remove one of the stretchers from its restraining clamps. Using Matthews' knife, he cut the canvas from the other cot and tore it into strips. This he used to fashion a crude harness for the one he was going to use to transport the injured man. It was Lister's plan to go back the way they had come, being fairly sure they would encounter no more mines on a route they had already been over. It was also the only way either man knew of to get back to the main road, where they were more likely to find help.
Lister was unable to assist him as Griner shifted Matthews onto the stretcher and strapped him in. With two broken hands, he was almost as much a liability as the semi-conscious corpsman. The best he could do was walk on his own, and serve as William's eyes.
Strapping the corpsman's automatic onto his hip, William couldn't help but feel like an idiot. How was he supposed to hit what he couldn't see? From the moment he had first laid hands on a rifle, his father had impressed on William how irresponsible, and dangerous, it was to 'shoot for sound.' Now, that was the only option left for the sightless young soldier.
With a sigh of frustration, William secured the pouch containing the extra clips to his belt, and then shrugged into the makeshift harness. He had strapped a pouch containing as much medical supplies as he could pack into it onto Lister's back. He'd considered giving Matthews a dose of morphine, but had passed on the idea as being too risky. He would not be able to tell if he were in a vein or not, and could end up killing the man.
"You ready, Lister?" he asked.
"Yo," the corporal replied. "Just follow the sound of my footsteps, Billy Boy, and I'll lead you to salvation!"
"Not if you keep callin' me 'Billy Boy,' you won't," William grumbled. "A Billy's a goat, not a proper name."
"Lighten up, Griner," Lister chuckled. "It's a 'term of endearment,' as my ol' man usta say. Just somethin' to show how much I love ya, brother!"
"What kinda painkiller you on, Lister?" William asked as he trudged forward, towing his burden. "And how long does it last?"
"Don't know," Lister responded jovially. "Don't care. Just glad it works. Why?"
"'Cause, if you don't tone it down some, the VCs what planted that mine 're gonna be all over us," William responded. "An', if they don't kill ya, I will."
"Why, William! Is that any way to talk to one of your superiors?" the corporal snorted. "You should have more respect, son!"
"I'll show lots of respect at your funeral," Griner sighed in resignation. "Unless they bury me right next to you. Now, please hush an' let me listen. We're more likely to hear 'em than t-to see 'em."
Looking back at the slender youth being forced to shoulder all the responsibility for their safety, Lister no longer felt in such a jovial mood. William was just a skinny kid compared to the brawny corporal, but he was also the only one with two good hands. It wasn't fair, and it wasn't right to put so much on him at a time when he had such large problems of his own, but their only other choice had been to sit by the ambulance and pray. Lister wasn't big on prayer.
It had still been fairly early in the day when the wreck had occurred. By the time they were ready to start back, it was almost noon. If they had been able to work together, the three would have been halfway home. Of course, if they had been in any shape to work together, most of the preparations would have been unnecessary.
As William struggled under his burden, he was under the additional onus of having to listen to the corporal's endless chatter, and a throbbing headache. The older man had been silenced by his pleas for every bit of ten minutes before his natural exuberance won through. After almost two hours of trudging under the hot sun, the humid air, and the nonstop jocularity, William was ready to pray that 'Charlie' would show up, and put him out of his misery.
William had been raised a proper, God-fearing young man who attended church every Sunday and said Grace before every meal. He had prayed many times in his life, never so much as since he had come to Viet Nam. None of those had been answered so quickly as the one he had yet to make.
"Uh-oh," Lister said in the middle of a bawdy limerick. "We got problems," he added as he lay an arm across William's chest to stop him.
"N-now what," William gasped. Sweat had soaked his thin shirt and was pouring down his face and neck. The damp straps were beginning to chafe his shoulders, and the pain in his head was staggering. He had been on the verge of calling a halt, if only long enough to catch his breath.
"Someone's been smoothing out our tire tracks," the mechanic murmured. "And it couldn't have been that long ago. I think we got us a small minefield here, kid."
William sank to his knees with a groan. It was too much! How was he supposed to drag the litter over a minefield without getting them all killed?
"C-can you tell . . . tell if they did any diggin' off the road? In the fields, maybe?" he huffed. He had to have some idea if there was a way around this!
"Just a sec . . . oh yeah," Lister replied with a muffled curse. "Damned gooks forgot to replace one of their divots. The 'greens keeper' will dock their pay for that! Now, what do we do?"
"We have to check the other side," William sighed. "M-maybe they left that clean as . . . an escape route."
"Gotcha," Lister nodded, forgetting for the moment that William couldn't see the gesture. "Be right back." He left the boy's side, only to come back a minute later with dismal news. "Thank God these guys are sloppy," the corporal murmured. "I just can't tell how far out they went."
"Aw, man," William sighed. "Give me a minute. God, why couldn't we 've found a canteen in that wreck?" He sat with his head down, hands braced on his thighs.
"You okay, kid?"
"Yeah," William nodded. "Just tired. C-could you take a-a look at Matthews? See if he's up to walkin' on his own, yet?"
"Sure thing." Lister stepped back to look at the injured corpsman. To his delight, the man was awake. "Hey, Matt. How ya feelin', guy?"
"Lousy," the medic groaned weakly. "Where are we?"
"About four 'clicks' back toward the base," the corporal reported. "Griner's been draggin' your sorry behind for the last coupla hours, and he's beat. Think you can walk for a while? Give 'im a break?"
"I-I think so," Matthews murmured. "Give me a h . . . um, th-this is awkward," he added, looking pointedly at Lister's hands, and then down at his own injured extremities.
"Tell me about it," Lister grumbled. He looked ahead, to the kneeling form at the head of the stretcher. "He can walk if we . . . if you can help him up."
William just nodded, waving a hand to show that he had heard the other man. God! He was so tired! "W-we gotta . . . gotta find some rocks first," he huffed. "I, um, I'll toss 'em ahead as we go. Try to . . . to set off the mines, clear a path. It's the only way through."
"Won't that attract the guys who planted 'em?" Lister asked.
"Most likely," the boy sighed. "But, what else can we do? Just sit here and wait for 'em? We got no other choice. It's move or die. Besides, we need to warn the base about this. If we can."
Less than an hour later, with the verbal assistance of the other two, William had gathered a sizable pile of rocks. Standing about fifteen feet from the edge of the smoothed area, he tied several rolls of gauze together from the improvised med kit, attaching one end to the largest rock. The other he tied to his left wrist. He had also dry-swallowed a couple of aspirin from the kit. It hadn't helped.
"What's with the tether?" Matthews asked. Once on his feet, he had opted to direct William in preparing, and administering, a small shot of morphine. Not a big one. Just enough to take the edge off his discomfort. It left him with a slight buzz, but better focused than when he was fighting the pain. He now stood off to one side with an equally puzzled Lister as they watched the young private complete his preparations.
"Just throwin' rocks here 'n' there won't give us a clear path," William told him. "Unless our guardian angels are stackin' the deck. If I can get this rock as close to t'other end as possible, I can drag it back. If it hits on a mine . . . well, better the rock than us. Ya'll stand back now."
Keeping his feet firmly planted, facing the direction in which the other two assured him the possible minefield lay, William tried to twirl the weighted 'rope' like a lasso. In his weary, dehydrated condition, the rock had proved too heavy for that option.
"This isn't gonna work," he sighed. "Not like this. I'm gonna have to just throw it, and hope for the best."
"Do it like a shot-put," Lister suggested. "Like in high school. You ever take track and field in high school?"
"I was more into baseball," William grumbled, "but, yeah, I know what you're talkin' about." He took a couple of hesitant steps back. "Just remember, guys, if I run up on a mine, you're on your own." Having said that, he took several running steps forward. When Lister shouted a warning, the boy halted at the edge of the suspicious area. As his left foot hit the ground, he rolled his right shoulder forward, putting everything he had into a powerful thrust! The effort almost over balanced William into the hazard zone! If not for Lister throwing both arms around the boy and pulling back, he would have fallen.
The tethered projectile sailed through the air, finally landing almost to the other end of the suspicious area.
"Wow!" Matthews exclaimed. "Hell of an arm, kid!"
"Thanks," William said, acknowledging the praise. "Did I get it 'over the plate?'"
"And then some," Lister replied. "Two more feet and you would've cleared it!"
"Good," the young private nodded. "You can let go of me, now."
"Huh? Oh! Sorry," Lister murmured, releasing his hold. "Just rattled me a little when I saw you falling like that."
Reaching for the gauze still looped around his wrist, William began to gather it in. The rock slid slowly back, bumping and rolling as it caught on little unseen obstacles. About three feet in, it seemed to snag on something. William gave it a sharp tug, causing it to flip over. Instantly, there was an earsplitting blast, as the rock went soaring skyward! All three men ducked as debris was blown out in a broad pattern. The dust had barely settled when the rock came back down, setting off another blast! This happened twice more before the last blast turned the rock to gravel.
"Jesus!" Lister exclaimed, looking at the four large holes in wide-eyed amazement. They were widely spaced over the area. "I don't believe your luck! Four at one shot! Incredible!" Then he caught the look on William's face. "Hey, you okay, kid?"
"I-I'm fine," William murmured as he gathered in what was left of the gauze. "J-just fine." He saw no need to worry the older man about his 'flashback.' For just a moment, though, he had been back in that POW camp, flat on the ground as artillery thundered all around him!
A few minutes later, he was ready to repeat the process. It took three more rocks to clear what they considered to be a safe enough path. William insisted that they help him find something to probe the ground with before he would proceed, however.
"It'd be my luck to step on the one we missed," he grumbled by way of explanation. He turned to Matthews. "You think you can walk the rest of the way, or should we keep the litter?"
"I think I can make it," the corpsman replied. "Just lead the way."
William wasn't sure if the look he gave the medic was wasted or not. "Just remember to walk in my footsteps," he grumbled. "And be real quiet. I have to be able to listen as well as feel."
Using a broken sapling as a probe, William led them through one slow step at a time. Every time he struck something hard, he paused to listen for the distinctive 'clink' of metal. Or worse, the 'click' of a pressure switch. It was tense work, dreading the least misstep, fearing to move too fast or too slow. Praying that they would make it across before 'Charlie' returned to see what all the noise was about.
"Just one more yard, kid," Lister whispered. "You did it."
"Not 'til we're out," William mumbled in reply. "Just don't rush me."
"Naw," Lister insisted. "It's clear. Let's shake a leg, boy! I'm getting old standin' here!"
"If you wanna get any older," Griner hissed, "be still! The VC don't always play by the rules."
"This is ridiculous!" the mechanic snorted irritably. "You've cleared a path three feet to either side of us and all the way up to the next pothole! You've had us takin' thirty minutes to go twenty feet! It's time to haul a--!" Impatiently, the corporal surged ahead, stepping around William's attempt to restrain him. "God, kid!" he grumbled. "You're turnin' into a mother hen!"
"Better a mother hen than a dead duck!" William snapped. "Now, stop it! For God's sake, Lister! Don't go gettin' us killed now!"
That stopped him. Lister halted in his tracks, right on the edge of the area the youth had yet to clear. He looked over at the sightless young man, taking in the frantic features, the head cocked slightly to one side, listening.
"Please, Lister," William hissed. "You're not that much older than me. Once your hands heal, you've still got a future as a mechanic. Matthews wants to go to med school. I don't know what kind of future I might have, or if I have one at all, but I'll never find out if I'm blown to kingdom come right here. Don't you take that chance away from me!"
Wordlessly, Lister turned and, careful to walk only in his own footprints, returned to his place in line. "Sorry, kid," he murmured. "I guess I'm gettin' antsy. I'll behave."
Heaving a sigh of relief, William just nodded and continued his steady probing. He worked the pole over to the spot where Lister had been standing, then a little beyond. Everyone froze when they heard a distinct metallic sound. Carefully, William probed around the object until he had uncovered an antipersonnel mine.
"I want my mommy," Lister whimpered, staring at the explosive device. "Christ, Griner! If you hadn't stopped me . . .!"
"Makes us even," William replied with a strained smile. "You kept me from falling into the middle of this mess a while ago. Just a few more feet, you said?" He resumed his probing.
***********
The old man shook his head, chattering rapidly to the translator as he pointed off into the jungle. He then made an expansive gesture with both hands, pantomiming something large. Or loud. The Vietnamese soldier nodded, listening carefully to the singsong speech. Finally, he thanked the old man and returned to the chopper.
"He says the ambulance turned off the main road about mid morning," he reported. "Sometime less than an hour later, he heard a loud noise over that way." He pointed to the right of the road. "A couple of hours ago, he heard several more loud noises. Same direction, only louder."
"Then that's where we'll look," Lt. Goldman replied, stepping back into the 'copter.
"Do you really expect to find them alive?" the translator asked.
"If there'd been only one blast," Sgt. Anderson answered, "no. But the others mean that someone was alive to set 'em off. They may've been clearing away mines. We can hope to find one, or all three. It's a good bet we ain't findin' anyone sittin' here."
*************
William finally led them several feet past the questionable area. It had been slow going, but the others made no more complaints after Lister's near miss.
"Think one of ya'll can lead, now?" William asked, leaning wearily on the sapling.
"Sure thing, kid," Matthews replied. "Let's take a little break, first. Okay? We're all beat."
The young private couldn't argue with that. Gingerly, he helped both men ease themselves to the ground, then joined them. They sat in the ditch, their backs braced against the roadside.
"Unless 'Charlie's' been real busy," Griner sighed, "we should be okay. At least as far as the main road, anyhow. Any idea how much farther we got? Anyone?"
"Just a coupla more 'clicks,'" Matthews replied. "Man! Can it get any hotter? Must be a hundred and ten, easy. And all this rigmarole you've got me wrapped up in doesn't help."
"Think how you'd feel with both arms floppin' at your sides," Lister reminded him. "Just remember how we got into this mess. How come you couldn't 've just gone around those villagers, anyway?"
"They had those big ol' oxcarts all over the road," Matthews grumbled. "One of 'em looked like he'd loaded half the village on it. Only way to go around would've been to knock down about fifty yards of scrub and tear out the undercarriage. No way was I gonna explain that to the motor pool! They got me on their short list, as it is."
William had to nod silently at that. The whole camp had heard the motor pool complaining about drivers going off the road to get around bands of refugees or other slow moving obstacles. Their biggest gripe had been having to replace damaged or missing oil pans.
They sat there for another half hour, trying to get their strength back for the long march ahead. Matthews and Lister had gotten into a heated discussion of what they wanted most to do when they got back. Matthews wanted to drink all the beer he could find. Or could get someone to pour into him. Lister was all for having the nurses give him a cool sponge bath and an alcohol rub. William just wanted to get back in one piece.
The sightless young man froze, waving the other two to silence. He had heard something in the brush. A faint, discreet crack. Turning his head slightly, he strained to listen. There! A faint muttering and a sharp hiss. As if someone had warned a companion to 'hush!' It was coming from the opposite side of the road. At the same moment, off in the distance, he was sure he could hear the rapid 'whup-whup-whup' of a helicopter.
"We got company," he hissed as he motioned for them to lay flat. "I think they're waitin' for that chopper t' find us." Lowering himself to the ground, he eased the gun from its holster. "Be real quiet," he warned them. "I'm gonna hafta shoot for sound."
"Can you do that?" Matthews hissed as he rolled onto his belly.
"My daddy would skin me alive," William murmured, "but yeah. Now, hush!" Keeping his head down, only the barrel of the pistol showing over the rim of the ditch, William listened intently. He could almost swear he heard the stealthy whispers of the men concealed less than twenty feet away. Sweat dripped from his forehead, causing him to blink reflexively as the salty moisture stung his eyes. Still, the gun never wavered. How long would they wait? Would they start firing as soon as the chopper came into range? Or would they hold off until the skids actually touched the ground? Would they wait and pick off the first man to step off to help them? By that time, the noise of the big 'copter would drown out any sound the enemy made, short of gunfire. By then, it would be too late for someone! Cautiously, William rose to his knees.
"Don't move," he hissed. "Lister, how far to the mine field from here?"
"About six feet to your left," the mechanic whispered. "Why?"
"I need to shake these guys up," William replied. "Get 'em rattled enough to tip their hand. One of those mines oughta do it."
"Are you crazy!" Matthews hissed. "It'll blow up in your face!"
"Not if I'm careful," the young farm boy murmured. 'Or real lucky,' he added to himself. Slowly, he inched his way to the left until he figured he had covered close to six feet. He then crawled over the edge of the road, feeling his way cautiously. There, he could feel the torn earth of one of the craters. He swept the area carefully with his fingertips. The mine he had uncovered earlier should be less than three feet into . . . there! His questing fingers softly brushed the metal housing of the mine. He prayed that this was one of those with a pressure switch, and not motion sensitive. If it was the latter . . . Easing his free hand under the circular object, he finished working it loose from its shallow concealment. The moment it was free, he brought it close to his chest, then flung it with all his might toward the area he was sure the enemy was hiding. The instant the explosive device left his hand, William buried his face in the dirt, wrapped both arms over his head, and prayed!
His prayer was answered as the resulting blast was closely followed by loud cries of pain, fear, and anger! William kept his head down as bullets zipped by close enough that he felt the breeze of their passing! Keeping the barrel of the pistol level with the ground, he fired off a couple of rounds, gratified to hear one pained exclamation. He had hit someone! That ought to make them keep their heads down! Easing backwards, he had intended to rejoin the others. His plans changed, however, when he felt his foot brush against something. Something that gave off a faint, metallic ting. Freezing in place, William tried very hard not to move that foot!
************
"Did you see that?" Sgt. Anderson asked excitedly. "There! That dust cloud just off the road!"
"I see it." Lt. Goldman replied, shouting to be heard over the noise of the engines. "Let's take a look." He tapped the pilot on the shoulder, pointing toward the area of interest. "I think I see muzzle flashes, too! Looks like they're being fired on! What the . . . Is that Griner?"
Sgt. Anderson leaned halfway out of the doorway for a better look. Doc Hockenberry, hanging onto a strap, leaned even farther out, trying to see what they were so worked up about. He saw his young teammate sprawled in a section of road pitted by blast holes. He was firing a handgun in the general direction of half a dozen men in tattered uniforms. Two more lay writhing on the ground next to another blast hole.
"Damned if that boy ain't lyin' in a mine field!" Anderson shouted.
"Say what?" Sgt. Taylor cried. "Are you joking?"
"I'm afraid not," Doc hollered back. He leaned back in, surrendering his place in the doorway. "Look for yourself!"
Puzzled, certain that someone had lost his mind, the tall black soldier grabbed the webbed strap and leaned out for a good look. Someone had lost his mind, all right, he decided. Griner.
************
The sound of the chopper was close enough that William could no longer hear the sound of the enemy gunfire. They had to have seen the enemy by now! Twitching the barrel to one side just a fraction of an inch, William fired off another round. A pained curse informed him that he had scored again! The young soldier had no illusions as to how much damage he might be causing the VC. He just wanted to make them keep their heads down until help arrived!
A cloud of dust and debris kicked up around him as the 'copter hovered overhead. The loud chatter of the fifty calibers gave William a bad moment as he once again found his mind trapped in that POW camp, hugging the dirt as he prayed for a miracle! A strong, callused hand seized his arm, jerking him to his feet! William cried out a warning, suddenly remembering the mine! His fears proved groundless. Clinging to the other soldier's arm, the young man allowed himself to be led from the hazardous area. Eager hands grabbed him, pulling him up and into the safety of the big war bird!
"Lister? Matthews?" he cried. "Are they . . .?"
"We're here, Griner," Matthews called out. "We're okay!"
"Thank God," he murmured, sinking back with a sigh. He found he was still clutching the arm of the man who had dragged him from the minefield. "T-Taylor?" he asked, his sightless eyes turning toward his rescuer.
"This is getting old, Griner," the lanky sergeant growled. "I can't keep followin' you around an' haulin' your scrawny white butt outta trouble!"
"Just glad you could make it this time," William replied with a shaky grin. God, he was tired! And his head was throbbing to the beat of the chopper blades! He released his hold on Taylor's arm to rub at his temples, trying to ease the pain. The dryness in his mouth and throat didn't help a bit. If the pain didn't ease up soon, he feared that he was going to be very, very sick!
Something was pressed against his dry, cracked lips and water trickled into his mouth. It was warm, with a faint taste of chlorine. At the moment, though, it was sweeter than the finest wine! William brought both hands up, keeping the canteen in place as he drank greedily. Finally, his raging thirst appeased for the moment, he relinquished possession of the liquid treasure. As his body absorbed the vital element, the throbbing in his temples began to ease up. He suddenly felt as if he might just make it after all.
Doc Hockenberry looked up from checking the splint on Matthews' broken arm. Griner had laid his head back once more, his eyes drifting shut even as the medic watched. The kid was exhausted. No wonder! From what Matthews and Lister were telling him, the younger man had pretty much shouldered full responsibility for getting the three of them back alive! Doc looked up at where Lt. Goldman was holding his mouth close to Sgt. Anderson's ear. He was trying to talk quietly, yet still be heard over the noise of the chopper. They kept casting furtive glances Griner's way.
Taylor was also watching the sleeping young man, an unreadable expression on his face. Doc couldn't help but recall how antagonistic the older black man had been against this young, white southerner when they'd first met. William had not said one harsh word to the veteran soldier, yet just the sound of the boy's voice had rubbed Taylor the wrong way. It looked, at first, as if Griner would have to be transferred in order to keep the peace. Something had happened during their first mission together that had caused a radical change in Taylor's opinion of the young farm boy. What it was, Taylor wouldn't say, and Griner never seemed to have a clue. Afterwards, Taylor had more or less told the 'friends' who had been feeding him a load of racist crap where they could stick it. He had even, on occasion, run interference when those same 'friends' would single the naïve young southerner out for some . . . fun.
It was Taylor who had braved enemy fire to drag a panicked, sightless Griner back to the chopper that fateful night. It had seemed fitting, somehow, that it should be Taylor who led him from the minefield today. Doc had a feeling that it would also be Taylor who led the boy's faltering steps onto the plane that would fly him to Honolulu and, ultimately, home.
**********
Rather than fly the injured men back to base, Lt. Goldman instructed the pilot to take them straight to the hospital in Saigon. Doctors there could set Matthews' arm and decide if he had earned a ticket home. They could also assess Griner and Lister before preparing them for departure.
William had to be awakened from a sound sleep when the helicopter finally touched down. It was bad, at first. Doc had expected it would be, which was why he had the others unloaded first. Only he and Taylor were there to see the look of sheer panic on the boy's dirt smeared face. The only ones to hear his choked cry as he realized, once again, that he couldn't see.
"Is it always gonna be like that for 'im, Doc?" Taylor asked later, when they were alone. "I mean, is he gonna hafta go through that . . . nightmare the rest of his life?"
Doc could only shake his head with a weary sigh. "Honestly?" he replied. "I don't know. Some people adjust, given enough time. Others . . . William is young, and he's strong. In time, the nightmares will fade and he'll find some way to get on with his life. I just hope his family is strong enough to give him the support he'll need."
But that was later.
As soon as William realized where he was, and that he was safe, they led him into the relatively cool interior of the hospital. Once inside, he was turned over to the 'tender mercies' of the nurses who quickly had him stripped, bathed, and dressed in clean pajamas and a robe. Only then was he led to a cot. He sat there, listening to the activity around him. The moans of men so badly injured, they would never fight again. The clink and clatter of carts being pushed up and down between the rows of beds as nurses dispensed medicine and fluids. The murmur of voices as those that could talk conversed with the staff or a friend from their old unit.
"How ya doin', kid?"
"Lister?" William asked, instantly recognizing the jaunty tone. He turned on his cot to face where he believed the other man to be. "I-I'm fine. Hardly a scratch on me. Are you 'n' Matthews okay?"
"A little sunburned," the corporal shrugged as he sat next to the boy, "but okay. Matthews won't be going home with us. They say he'll be stuck to a desk for a coupla months, but he'll be back to tearing up the roads before you know it. So! What's next for you?"
"Tripler Army Hospital," William murmured. "They're gonna teach me how to be blind," he added bitterly. "Then they're gonna send me home."
"To do what?" Lister asked seriously. "Are they gonna train you for something? To be a teacher, maybe?"
"Are you kiddin'?" Griner snorted derisively. "Who'd trust their kids to an ignorant hick like me? I don't think they know what to do with me. All I know is farmin' and the army. Now, I ain't fit for either one. I usta think I'd like to get with the Park Service. Give guided tours through some of the caves in our area. I know most of 'em b-blindfolded," he added, his voice trailing off at the end. "Not much hope o' that, now."
"So, what are you gonna do?" Lister asked kindly.
"The best I can," William sighed. "And pray."
**********
Doc stepped back from the door with a sigh, not liking what he had just heard. William had little hope for his own future. With only a limited education, and no skills other than what he had needed for survival or farming, there really didn't seem to be anywhere for him to go!
"That's depressing," Taylor sighed. He had been listening in at Doc's shoulder. "That kid would've made a hell of a 'career man.' Now look at 'im. What're they gonna teach him at Tripler? How to walk with a cane? How to read with his fingers? Is he gonna have to learn how to write his own name all over again? How's he supposed to make a living? They gonna put him to work runnin' the concession stand over at the local courthouse? The man was a soldier, for Christ's sake! He gave his eyes for his country! Laid down his life to give a bunch of longhaired peace freaks the right to protest the very war we're over here fighting! Is he gonna be forced to take . . . charity work? Man, he mighta been better off dead!"
"I wish I had some answers for you," Doc sighed. "The truth is, as Pop Scarlet once told us, the army is a harsh mistress. Once she has no more use for you . . ." He turned away with a shrug. "We can only hope that someone can help him find a better way. Um, what were LT and Sarge whisperin' about, do ya know?"
"They want to put the kid up for another medal," the young NCO told him. "A Bronze Star, if they can wangle it. Something along the line of 'persevering in the face of insurmountable odds,' or some such." He peered through the glass panel to see Griner smiling at something the corporal had said. And wasn't that the third nurse to check his pulse in the last twenty minutes? Was she actually flirting with him? Talk about 'insurmountable odds!' Nodding at the scene, he had to chuckle. "I think I hear a little voice tellin' me he's gonna do alright."
***********
The next morning found William checking through his kit one last time before being escorted to the plane. The lieutenant had sent the chopper and a team to salvage what they could from the ambulance, finding that it had remained untouched by scavengers. The young soldier had been pleased to have his meager belongings returned to him. True, it mostly consisted of his uniforms and fatigues, but he also had one set of civilian clothing, and a few items he had picked up locally as curiosities.
"All set?" Taylor asked.
"I think so," William murmured, clipping the carabineer through the metal loop at the top of the bag. He rose to his feet, smoothing the wrinkles from his khakis and shouldering his duffel. He took a hesitant step forward, his left hand held out before him, probing for obstacles
Stepping forward, Taylor adjusted the private's insignia on William's collar. He then took the boy's left hand and wrapped it around his right arm.
"Walk with pride, Griner," he told the younger man. "Let them know you were one of the best."
William heaved a deep sigh as he straightened his shoulders, giving Taylor a nod to show that he was ready. Starting out slowly, he matched his step with the sergeant's as they walked to the door. He smiled nervously as several of the other patients called out encouragements to him, letting them know that he had heard. Word of his adventurous little side trip had spread quickly, earning him more than a few admirers. Even among some of the older veterans. Once outside, he paused to slip on his soft cap, which Taylor again adjusted, turning it so that the insignia showed.
"Nervous?" Taylor asked as they continued.
"Hell, yes," William mumbled softly. "I still have to tell my folks what happened. This is gonna tear Momma apart."
"So call 'em when you get to Tripler," the lanky sergeant suggested. He paused to help William into the jeep. "Get the cryin' done before you get home."
"We ain't got no phone," William sighed. "'Sides, I couldn't do that to her. Or him. This ain't gonna set too well with Daddy, either." He settled into the seat as Taylor placed the duffel bag in the back. "No, it'll have to wait 'til I c'n say it to their faces."
Settling behind the wheel, Taylor started the jeep for the short drive to the airstrip. He had been pleased to see a couple of familiar faces in a local bar the night before, thinking that Griner would at least have company for his long flight to Honolulu. Someone besides the incessantly chattering Lister, at least.
Doc, Sarge, and LT were standing at the foot of the steps leading to the hatch, talking with two other khaki-clad figures. They all turned at the sound of the jeep driving up, their nervous smiles becoming even more strained as they spied their sightless companion.
"You doin' okay, son?" Sgt. Anderson asked.
"I'm fine, Sarge," William replied, his face split in a genuine smile. "Who else is here? Doc, LT?"
"Present and accounted for," Goldman chuckled. "Couldn't let you guys go without a proper sendoff. Don't be surprised if we take a little R&R while you're stuck at Tripler. Any excuse to visit the islands."
"I may hold you to that, sir," Griner promised. He held his hand out to shake with his . . . former teammates, he reminded himself, and was pulled into a brusque embrace.
"You do that," LT told him, before letting him go. "Take care, Griner."
"That goes double for me," Sgt. Anderson said, taking the proffered hand in a strong grip. "Don't let me come home to find you've gone an' gotten yourself killed in a stupid accident. I'll be kickin' your sorry butt clear across the Hereafter."
"Wouldn't wanna put you to that much trouble, Sarge," William replied. "Doc, you take care of yourself, hear? Don't let this place drag you down so low you forget which way is up."
"I'll do my best, William," Doc promised. "The same can be said of you. Make the most of what you've got, son, and don't go takin' anybody's word for what your limits are. Find out for your own self."
"May have to fight my folks on that one," William replied, his smile faltering just the tiniest bit. "I'll keep tryin', though." He stepped back, holding his hand out in Taylor's direction. "I guess this it, then," he sighed. "In case I hadn't said it, yet, thanks for saving my butt. Twice."
"Yeah," Taylor grumbled, taking his hand in a firm grasp. "Well, that just puts me one up on you. You can have your momma send me a batch of those homemade cookies like she sent you last month and we'll call it even."
"She'll be more 'n' happy to, I'm sure," William told him. He cocked his head toward the plane. "Is someone else here?"
"Oh, I forgot to mention that you and Lister will be having company," LT commented dryly. "We found a couple of 'short-timers' waiting for a ride home. You three should have a lot to talk about."
"Th-that's good," William stammered, wondering if he knew them. He heaved a sigh as he thought of his two teammates who had left while he was still in the hospital immediately after the mission. "No offense, fellas," he said, "but I'm kinda wishin' you were a coupla friends I didn't get a chance to say goodbye to."
"Be careful what you wish for, mi amigo," a familiar voice spoke up.
"Yeah. You never know who'll come crawlin' outta the bushes," a second voice drawled.
William couldn't believe his ears! "Ru?" he exclaimed. "D-Danny?" He found himself in a three-way hug as both men competed to see who could squeeze the life out of him the quickest. "Guys. Guys. G-gotta breathe, guys," he wheezed.
About that time, the pilot stuck his head out the door and told them it was time to go. "Hate to break up your little 'love fest,'" he commented dryly, "but I've got a schedule to keep."
This kicked off another round of hugs and handshakes as the former teammates renewed their farewells. Then Danny and Ru helped William onto the plane, getting him safely buckled in. The last thing he heard, as the gangway was being raised, was Danny's voice assuring the others that they would 'look after him.'
When, William had to wonder, would he ever again be able to look after himself?
*finito*
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