A Light In The Darkness

by Polgana

It is after The Raid and Payback. Four of Team Viking have been sent home. Two face very challenging career changes. This is the story of one of them. Pvt William Griner. Third in series. Many thanks to Vicky Jo for editing my work.

A Light In The Darkness

By Polgana

Disclaimer: None of these characters are mine except for Davis, Miller, and the Martin brothers. The rest are from the show Tour Of Duty, which I think ended at least one season too soon.

Author's note and Summary: It was while watching the episode 'Payback' that I decided to try this story. It seemed to me that they just left our boys hanging in the wind, with no clear cut resolution. What tore me up the most was the look on young William's face as he realized that neither his parents, nor the preacher were listening to a single word he said. That he had suddenly become a 'non-person' in their eyes. It broke my heart, and I had to come up with an adventure for this young man that would give him back the confidence to face an uncertain future. Even if it meant turning his back on the people he loved the most. I also felt that Eddie Bell needed more of a history. I hope to follow up on this, if time permits and people show an interest. So, let me know if you like it by e-mailing me at polgana@bellsouth.net.

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A Light In The Darkness

The lone figure sat near the top of the hill, facing the setting sun. His arms were wrapped loosely around his legs, and his chin rested against his knees. Outwardly, he seemed at peace. Just a young man, barely out of his teens, enjoying a beautiful summer day. The truth was not so kind.

The evening breeze stirred his soft, dark brown hair, caressed his sad, angelic face. Tears that he dared not release in front of others left chill tracks down his smooth, boyish cheeks. Muddy green eyes that once gloried at each sunset and greeted the sunrise with a smile and youthful exuberance, now expressed only sorrow. It was all so wrong. Just a few short months ago, his future had been so bright and full of promise. Now, it was dark, without so much as a candle flame to guide him.

In the distance, he could hear the lonesome call of a passing freight train. He knew it was a freight just by the sound. Passenger trains always sounded . . . different, somehow. Just across the way, a herd of cattle let out an occasional low, plaintive cry. Even the way the wind whispered in the nearby trees had a melancholy air to it. The only joyful sound was the snuffling of his dog, a young blue-tick hound, as he searched diligently for strange scents among the undergrowth, and the cheerful music of the creek as it ran past the base of the hill.

Off to his right, the young man heard the distant sound of church bells as they tolled the call to evening service. 'Daddy will be along soon to fetch me,' he mused. Not that he went to services much anymore. It wasn't because he no longer believed in God, or loved him any less. He simply was not encouraged to attend. And William Griner hated to intrude where he felt unwelcome. Lately, that had come to include his own home.

"William! Time to come in boy! It's gettin' dark!"

A sad smile flickered across his youthful features. William was well aware of the time. He had felt the warmth of the evening sun go cold as the flaming orb slipped below the horizon. 'Sometimes,' he thought, 'Daddy forgets it don't matter no more.' Reaching down, his questing hand found the long white, red-tipped cane. With a smooth, fluid motion, William rose to his feet.

"C'mon, Jack," he called softly to the hound. "Time to go in." The young dog obeyed instantly, racing with a youthful enthusiasm that was lost on his young master. Using the cane to search for obstacles his eyes could no longer see, William Griner turned and made his way back up the hill, towards home.

***********

Supper was eaten in silence, as had all their meals been lately. Initially, William had tried to talk to his parents about his day and some of the things he wanted to try doing. They had listened without comment until he was finished. Then had come the inevitable list of reasons why he should not be doing such things. He was still recuperating, still adjusting, still so pale. Still blind. So, he had stopped talking. Which seemed to suit his folks just fine.

That was the one barrier they could not cross. However much they denied it, William knew that his parents, especially his mother, could never accept that he would never see again. In time, he felt that his father might. Harding Griner had been to war in his own youth. He knew the horrors that men faced as they tried to maim and kill each other. But, he had come back practically unscathed. Young William had not been so blessed. Was that why they almost never spoke directly to him anymore? Had he become an embarrassment to them? A burden of shame because he had come back less than perfect?

All these thoughts, and many more ran through young William's mind each night as they ate in chilly silence. Finally, after a few token bites, he excused himself, saying he was feeling a little tired, and went upstairs to his room. Once there, he sprawled across his bed . . . and let the tears flow. It wasn't right! He still had a mind and a heart, a soul that needed nurturing the same as anyone else! Why could they not understand that? Why was he less of a man just because he couldn't see?

That awful day when Mama had the preacher come pray for him kept replaying itself in his mind. He knew she meant well, but the way they had shut him out, spoke about him as if he were too feeble-minded to understand or make decisions for himself had hurt him to the quick. None of them would even acknowledge the fact he was speaking out loud. He might just as well have kept silent.

**********

"William barely touched his food again," Dolly Griner observed. "And he hardly speaks anymore. I'm worried, Harding. The reverend thinks this . . . affliction is his way of dealin' with The War. What if . . . what if something else happens? I don't know that I could handle anything more!"

"The boy's been to hell and back, Dolly," her husband sighed. "The war I fought was bad enough. Men dying in ways too horrible to think about. But, we knew who the enemy was. This one . . ." He sadly shook his head. "He needs time to sort things out. Time to realize that he made it home in one piece."

Dolly almost dropped the dishes she had been clearing from the table. "One piece! Have you gone blind as well?" she exclaimed. Her eyes widened in horror as she realized what she had said. "Lord, forgive me! I didn't . . ."

Harding Griner rounded the table and took his distraught wife into his arms. "That's the first time you've said that word out loud, Dolly," he told her, pulling her close. "Maybe we need a little time, too."

*******************

"Hey, Sarge!"

Master Sergeant Anderson slowed his pace long enough for the blonde-haired spec 4 to catch up. "What can I do for you, Hockenberry?"

The young medic quickened his pace to match Anderson's. "You remember Eddie Bell, don't you? The kid that came in the same batch as Griner?"

"Hell, yes," Anderson sighed. "Kid wasn't even old enough to shave, yet. What about him?"

"Someone's been asking about him," Hock replied. "Asking how he died. Where he died.
When he died."

Anderson stopped abruptly as Hock spoke. His expression was both puzzled and angry. "What does it matter when he died? The boy was homeless. No family for us to send his remains back to. Or care about the medal you guys fought so hard to get him. Who's been asking these questions?"

"A man claiming to be from Senator Grisham's office," the grim-faced young medic told him. "Said his name as Bishop. He claimed he was looking into that 'friendly fire' incident that happened about that time. But, he seemed especially interested in one that was not reported as 'friendly fire'. He wanted to know who his friends were, where he stayed. Who he hung around with. Everything. Hell, the kid was only here a coupla weeks before he died."

The weary sergeant rubbed a hand over his chin as he thought. Eddie Bell had been as good a soldier as you could ask for. On that first mission, when the enemy had overrun their position, he and Griner, the newest members of Team Viking, had stood shoulder to shoulder with himself and two of his most experienced men. And they had prevailed. They had dug in with a total of eighteen men, fifteen of them 'in country' less than a week. When the choppers arrived to search for survivors the next day, they had found just the five of them, three wounded . . . and a lot of dead.

That night Bell had finally admitted to being under-aged. Fifteen. Dear Lord, only fifteen and with a soul already as old as the hills. It had not been until more than a week later, when Anderson had told the boy that he was going home, that Bell confessed that he had no home to go back to. So, why would someone from Washington be interested in one poor, dead orphan?

"Where would I find this Mr. Bishop, Hockenberry?" he asked.

"Last I saw," Hock replied, averting his gaze nervously, "he was headed over to Todo Street. I think he suspects something, Sarge. What, I don't know."

"But, you have a guess. Spit it out."

The blonde southerner shuffled his feet as he considered what he wanted to say. "I think, maybe . . . maybe our 'good deed' is about to come back and bite us."

*****************

ONE WEEK LATER

Dolly Griner was not surprised to find William's bed empty. He had taken to getting up before first light and starting his solitary explorations. He usually stayed out 'til well after dark. She felt a pang of guilt as she straightened his bed. They had not exchanged ten words on any given day since she had asked the preacher over to pray for him. Looking back, she realized that he had been trying to talk to her then, tried to make her understand and accept what had happened to him. And they . . . she . . . had chosen to ignore what she had not wanted to hear. In so doing, she had stopped listening to him at all. When had William stopped trying to talk to her? To her shame, she could not remember the last time the three of them had sat down and really talked.

Someone knocked on the front door, snapping her out of her disturbing reverie. 'Who could it be at this hour?' she wondered. With a weary sigh, Dolly Griner descended the stairs and crossed the room to crack open the front door.

Two young men in shirt and slacks, their jackets slung loosely over their arms, stood on her front porch. One held a battered camera in one hand.

"Mrs. Griner? We're from 'American Patriots'," the man without the camera said by way of introduction. "It's a new magazine focusing on veterans of the war in Vietnam."

"I don't believe I've heard of it," Dolly Griner coolly replied.

"As I said, it's new," the man she assumed was a reporter reminded her. "We understand your son has recently returned after only a few months overseas duty. Normally, a tour of duty is at least two years. Could you tell us why he was sent home early?"

"Yes," she told him. "If it was any of your concern. Which it isn't. Good day." She started to push the door shut.

"Wait, Mrs. Griner!" he pleaded. "Can we speak to William?"

"He's not here," she told him truthfully. "He left the house before dawn."

"When do you expect him back?"

"I don't. William comes and goes as he pleases," she responded archly. "Now, if you gentlemen will excuse me, I have chores to do. Good day." With that she closed the door over the reporter's continued protest.

*****

The two men walked slowly back to their car, talking low.

"We'll try again this afternoon," the 'reporter' decided. "The boy has to come home sometime. Meanwhile, we need to get in touch Davis and Miller. Find out if they were able to learn anything from the other two."

"Are we sure there's anything to learn?" the 'photographer' asked as he opened the passenger door. "Eddie could've died just as the records say. A hero."

"I've no doubt he was a hero," the other man sighed as he slipped behind the wheel, "but, the timing doesn't make sense. We need to know the truth. Dad needs to know."

He started the car and turned it back the way they had come. They drove in silence for the next few minutes.

"Why Griner?" the 'photographer' finally asked. "Why send the hired help after the other two, and not him? What makes him worth our personal attention, Eric?"

"The other two were over there for three years," Eric replied. "They're hardened veterans. I seriously doubt we'd be able to frighten any answers out of them. Griner, on the other hand, was barely over there long enough to get acclimated. He's still green as grass. Reports have him arriving in the same group as Eddie. They were assigned to the same unit. Odds are that he was right there when Eddie died."

"Why do you think he was sent back so soon? Was he injured?"

"He spent some time in the hospital in Tokyo, then Honolulu," Eric shrugged. "After awhile he was mustered out. Our people still haven't been able to get into his records and find out why. Probably just couldn't handle it over there and got a psych discharge, is my guess. Which just means he'll be that much easier to crack."

****************

Danny Percell slammed the intruder against the wall of his home, knocking the wind from the man. "You broke into the wrong house, friend," he grunted as he twisted his prisoner's arm up between his shoulders. "There ain't that much worth stealin'."

"I'm, unh! I'm not here . . . to steal, Percell," the other man grunted painfully. "Look in my . . . back pocket. Right hand side."

Keeping a tight grip on the intruder's wrist with his left hand, Danny reached into the pocket and withdrew a wallet. Flipping it open, he carefully read the ID inside.

"A private detective?" he asked, surprised. "What would a private eye want with me, Mr. . . . Miller is it? Why have you been bird doggin' me all week? And why would you be wantin' to break into my home in the middle of the night?"

"If you'll quit trying to break my arm," Miller said through gritted teeth, "I'll tell you."

Carefully, the young veteran eased up until the man could breathe a little easier. He still kept a tight grip on the arm, keeping his prisoner pressed against the wall.

"Now talk," he hissed. "And remember, one false move and I'll snap your arm like a twig!"

***************

Alberto Ruiz turned from his 'visitor' as the phone rang. "Hallo?"

"Ru? Danny here. You had any strange visitors lately?"

"Danny! Great to hear your voice, man! Visitors?" the young Hispanic glanced over at the man laying bound on his living room floor. "Sure. We were just about to get down to business. Why?"

Ruiz listened for a moment, his smile fading as Percell relayed what he had learned from his own intruder.

"Only five of us were there, man," he sighed. "You, me, Doc, Taylor, and Griner. Doc and Taylor are still 'in country.' Unreachable. That leaves you, me, and the kid. Have you tried reaching him?"

"First thing," Percell admitted. "He lives way out in the boonies. No phone. They had to get a hold of his parents by telegram to let 'em know he was coming home. Can you get loose? Meet me in . . . Asheville? I can get the next flight out, then we can drive from there."

"Consider it done, mi amigo. You'n me, we can take care of ourselves," he remarked coolly. "But the kid's barely had time to adjust to . . . to being home, let alone to . . ."

"Yeah," Danny sighed. "I know. This sucks, Ru. We should've been keeping a better eye on Bell to begin with. This never should've happened."

"Neither should what happened to Griner. Look, it's gonna take me a day to get loose and another to drive down there. If you can get a flight out for the day after tomorrow, I'll pick you up at the airport."

"No sweat, man" Percell assured his friend. "I'll call as soon as I know which flight. Catch you later."

Ruiz set down the receiver and turned to his prisoner. "Now, you and I are going to have a little 'conversation', my friend," he growled. "You are going to tell me who you are working for, and where I can find them. Then, we can talk to the police about this little matter of breaking and entering."

*******************

"William, you've hardly touched your food," Mrs. Griner complained. "You've barely eat enough to keep a bird alive all week."

"Guess I'm just not hungry, Mama," William sighed as he pushed his plate away. Reaching for his cane, he added, "If'n ya'll don't mind, I think I'll just go sit on the porch for a bit."

Watching her son grope his way to the front door, Dolly felt her own appetite fade. No matter how often she kept telling herself to go to him, to let him know she still loved him, she could not get past that damnable cane and what it meant. Her son was blind. In her mind, she knew this. In her heart . . . Why would a just and loving God inflict such a punishment on a boy as good-hearted as her William? What could he have done in that terrible place that warranted such an affliction?

"You gonna tell him about those reporters?" Harding Griner asked, as he continued to eat. "They were back again this afternoon."

"No, I'm not," she insisted. "And neither are you. Let them pester someone else's son for their magazine. William's been through enough. When he's better . . ."

Harding Griner lay down his fork and gently took his wife's hand. "Dolly," he sighed, "he's not gonna get any better. I know you didn't want to, neither did I. But, we both heard William tell us that this is the way it's gonna be. He will never see again. We have to accept that this is the Lord's will."

"No! We don't!" Dolly snapped, snatching her hand away. "I cannot . . . I will not accept that our boy has done anything so terrible as to deserve this kind of retribution! It's . . . it's a test! A test of his faith, and ours. If we believe, truly believe, he will see again. In my heart, I know this!"

With a sigh, Griner senior pulled back his hand and returned to his meal.

**********

It was a cool night, not chilly yet. The evening breeze felt good against his skin. William sat on the porch swing, his face turned up to let the airy fingers caress his cheeks. For a moment he was tempted to strip off his thin T-shirt and let the wind have more room to play. At first, the only noise was the chirruping of tree frogs and crickets, and the gentle whisper of the wind. Off in the distance, a passenger train gave a jaunty double blast of its whistle as it rattled along the track. Sounded like it was headed east, towards Morganton.

There had been a time when he had sat on this very swing and tried to imagine where each train was going, what kind of people would be on it, and why. Then, it had been his turn to ride that train. And his life was forever changed.

Abruptly, his mother's frantic denial reached his oversensitive ears. Tears welled behind his eyes as he heard every word. Had he done something to deserve this? People had died at his hand. Lots of people. But, it had been war. He had not killed anyone who had not been trying to kill him. That first mission, when they had been 'in country' less than a week, he had seen at least a dozen enemy fall to his gun. Perhaps more. From the outset, he had been determined to make every shot count. When that horrible night was over, out of fifteen 'newbies' and three veterans, only eight had survived to see daylight. The three veterans, three wounded, himself and . . . Eddie.

Suddenly, William felt the need to move. To go someplace, anyplace but here. He scrambled to his feet, forgetting his cane in his haste and despair. Groping his way through more than one kind of darkness, he stumbled from the porch and into the night. How could he have forgotten Eddie? The kid had looked up to him from the moment they had met in boot camp. Had trusted William to help him with the things he couldn't quite grasp on his own. To watch his back. And William had failed him.

William was brought up short by the big oak tree just inside the fence. He leaned into the tree, arms straight, hands digging into the rough bark. He hung his head, feeling sick to his stomach. He forced back a choked sob as the tears finally found release. A part of himself had died with his friend that night. He had turned away, sickened by the finality of Doc's words. And that very night, they had made their plans to send Eddie home a hero. Was that so wrong? They knew he had no family, no friends who even cared to claim the body. But, it mattered to them! William had been the one chosen to fire the round into Eddie's stiffening body, to make it look like he had died from a sniper's fire. Thank God it had never come to that. To this day, William was not certain he could've gone through with it. How could he have pushed that so far to the back of his mind? How could he have forgotten poor Eddie Bell?

With a stuttering sigh, William turned his back to the tree and slid down until he was sitting at the base, arms wrapped tightly around his knees. 'Maybe I do deserve this,' he thought as he wiped at the moisture leaving warm tracks down his face. "Lord, I'm so sorry," he whispered out loud. "If I could take back just one day . . . just one, it would be that one. Even if I still . . . if I never . . .Just that one day. That one . . . one moment! Lord, please forgive . ."

William never finished his heartfelt prayer as a hand clamped itself around his mouth, slamming his head back against the tree. He felt only a brief flash of pain, then . . . nothing.

*************

William was first aware of a throbbing pain in the back of his head. Then a feeling like his stomach was about to turn inside out. Someone had knocked him out. Why? Who would want to hurt him? His right arm was numb from where he had been lying on it. With a low, soft moan, he rolled onto his back, trying to ease the pressure on his arm. He was not really surprised to find that his hands were tightly bound and a thick gag was stuffed into his dry mouth. What did puzzle him, however, was why someone would feel the need for a blindfold.

Remaining calm, the young veteran began flexing his arms back and forth until he felt a little slack in the ropes. Twisting his wrists gave him just a little more. Whoever had tied him up needed lessons in knot tying. With just a little more effort, he was able to slip out of the ropes. Taking a moment to rub circulation back into his aching arms, he quickly loosened the gag and spit it out. Without water, there wasn't much he could do about the sandpaper feel of his mouth. The blindfold he removed and pressed gingerly to the tender spot at the back of his head. He felt a knot the size of a hen's egg near the top of his head that was crusted over with dried blood.

After a moment to let his rebellious stomach settle down, William began to explore his new environment. His hands first encountered the cold, bare, earth floor that he had been laying on. Further explorations turned up empty boxes, bits and pieces of what could have been broken furniture, and a few rusty bits of metal. Listening carefully, William was sure he heard rats scurrying in the corners.

So, he was either in a shed, or someone's basement. Either one would have a door leading outside. William continued his groping exploration until he found a set of dilapidated steps leading up. A basement, then. Moving carefully, quietly, he climbed the stairs on all fours until he encountered a door. The knob turned easily in his hand, leading him to wonder about his kidnappers. They seemed pretty sure that he had little chance of escape.

Carefully, William eased the door open just enough to slip his slender body through. He paused, then, to listen. Almost directly above him, he could hear muffled voices. Two men from the sound of it, he figured. One of them sounded angry. Their voices grew louder as they approached the stairs.

"At least let me bring him up to one of the bedrooms, Eric," one man pleaded. "He's just a kid, for Christ's sake. We can't leave him down among the rats!"

"Why not, Richard?" the other man snapped. "Because of them, our brother lies among the worms! Why shouldn't we leave him down there to rot? If I could manage it, I'd have his whole squad down there with him. A couple of days down there, no food or water, he'll tell us anything we want to know."

William was tempted to step out and ask just what they were talking about.. Training, however, told him that his best course was to try and escape. Slipping quietly from his place under what felt like a stairwell, William found another door directly across the hall. It proved to be a small, empty closet. Perfect. He slid in silently, closing the door without a sound. Just in time. He could hear them coming down the steps.

"A couple of days!" the voice he identified as belonging to 'Richard' rose in protest. "In a couple of days, this place could be crawling with cops! And we go to jail for kidnapping! Have you even bothered to think of the consequences of what we've done? What did you think was going to happen when we have to turn him . . .?" Both sets of footsteps froze about halfway down the stairs. "My God!" Richard exclaimed in a stunned whisper. "You intend to kill him!"

"No! Not even if . . .! Hell, I don't know what I was thinking! But, I'll do whatever it takes to make him talk," Eric replied coldly. "If Dad's right, they murdered our brother. Or at least covered up how he really died. Which makes him just as guilty. I may never get the proof we need to make all of them pay, so I'll just have to settle for what we have on hand."

Stunned, William held his breath as they continued on down the stairs, Richard arguing against Eric's proposal all the way. They planned to torture him? Or, rather, the one called Eric seemed to have something like that in mind. The other one sounded just as shocked as he felt. Why? What could he have done to these men? Who was he, or someone, supposed to have killed? He kept his silence as he heard them open the door he had just left and descend into the basement. Should he try to escape now, he wondered? Or would it be better to let them think he was long gone? William had no illusions about his chances of outrunning them. His lack of sight would work against him. But, if he let them believe that he had escaped, and they went looking for him . . .?

The decision was made for him as they came bounding back up the stairs.

"He can't have gone far," Eric was saying. "The blood on that rag was still fresh. He'll probably make for the road."

"Are you sure, big brother?" Richard queried anxiously. "He grew up around here. Griner probably cut across country and went straight home."

"Maybe," Eric conceded. "If he knew just where he was. Which I doubt. Hell, I'm not even sure where we are! The way these roads twist and turn, we could be less than a mile from his house. Besides, I doubt even Daniel Boone could get very far without a flashlight tonight. It's pitch black out there." The two voices fell silent for a moment, then, "You go towards the road. I'll check over that ridge above the house. Whoever finds him brings him back here. If we haven't found any sign of him in, say, an hour we meet back here and take off. Got it?"

There was a long moment of silence, then the sound of footsteps fading off towards both ends of the hallway. Apparently, Richard had agreed. After he heard the sound of both doors closing, William did a slow count to one hundred in his head, intending to give them plenty of time. He wanted them to put as much distance between themselves and him as possible.

Finally, William felt it was safe to leave his refuge. The fact that it was still dark was something that would work in his favor. They would be just as blind as he was. He carefully made his way to what he thought must be the back door. In the process, he literally stumbled over an old mop whose strings had long ago rotted away. It may not have been able to serve its original purpose anymore, but it could still be useful as a cane.

Moving as quickly and quietly as possible, William slipped out the door and into the yard. He paused to listen and get his bearings. When he had been on the porch at home, the wind had been from the south. So, unless the wind had shifted, south was to his left. Without knowing exactly where he was, did that knowledge really help him? He needed more information! This had to be an abandoned homestead, or they couldn't have brought him here. Where was the nearest . . . the old Flanders' place, maybe? That was just a couple of miles southwest of his nearest neighbors, the Blessings. So, if he kept the wind coming over his right shoulder, he would be heading northeast. He hoped.

Deciding that the only thing he had to gain by standing still was another trip to the basement, if he was lucky, William turned until he was facing what he prayed was the right direction, and started groping his way forward. He soon decided that he was going uphill, and that felt right somehow. As he proceeded, he wondered just who it was they thought he had killed. During his entire time 'in country', he had never gotten into anything more serious than a couple of brawls while not on patrol. None of them had ended with anything worse than a few black eyes and bloody noses. Again, for some reason, his mind latched onto the memory of Eddie Bell.

That made no sense. What could Eddie have been to these people? The kid had told them that night that he had no home to go back to. No home. No family. Nothing. Just one hobo jungle after another. Until he had managed to fool a recruiter into letting him enlist. Five bucks to a wino to sign the parental consent, and he finally had a home and, eventually, a family.

So, if it wasn't Eddie, who was he supposed to have killed?

The snap of a twig off to his left was like the crack of a rifle. William froze. How far? Was it the murderous Eric making his way back towards the house? Was he close enough to see William? Slowly, he lowered himself to the ground. His questing hands met the leafy branches of a low growing clump of bushes. With an absence of noise that would have made Sgt Anderson proud, Griner slid into the scant concealment. Seconds later, he heard the faint crunch of approaching footsteps. With bated breath, he waited and listened. The man, he assumed it was the blood thirsty Eric, paused just even with his refuge. Slight scuffling noises told William that he was searching the ground. Would his tracks be visible by flashlight?

"I know you're around here somewhere, Griner," Eric said into the darkness. "It won't do you any good to hide. C'mon out now, and we'll just go on back like nothing's happened."

'Does he think I was hatched yesterday?' William wondered. He stayed perfectly still, the length of his body pressed into the cold ground.

"Come out of there, you stupid hick," the other man growled. "Don't make me start dragging the bushes for you."

Refusing to rise to the bait, William put all his energy into listening. Eventually, he once again heard footsteps. They were moving away, this time, back the way he had come. The young veteran lay still for a count of twenty, then began to extricate himself from his leafy concealment.

He froze when he heard the distinct sound of running feet coming his way. Eric had doubled back! William again ducked into the bushes, only to have the heavier form of Eric come crashing in on top of him. He jabbed an elbow back and was rewarded with a muffled grunt as he connected with ribs. Taking advantage of the brief respite, William pushed upwards, forcing the other man back.

Eric hung on tightly, surprised at the younger man's strength. As they began to roll on the leaf strewn ground, Eric began to realize how fortunate he had been to catch Griner by surprise earlier that night. He knew that he was heavier than the skinny farm boy, but the lad had a wiry strength that he was finding it hard to match.

The two men rolled and tumbled on the ground, neither gaining a clear advantage, for several seconds. Abruptly, the earth seemed to open up beneath them! There was a brief moment of free-fall, then William felt a glancing blow to his right shoulder that set him spinning just a split second before he found himself rolling down a steep incline. Muffled grunts and curses told him he was not alone in his wild ride. Eric was right behind him.

After what felt like forever, the slope began to level out. In reality, William figured that he had tumbled less than fifty feet when he finally came to an abrupt halt. Before he could get his breath, the other man landed on right on top of him.

"Look," he grunted as soon as he could get in enough air, "I know ya'll are gonna . . . kill me. But, 'til you do, do ya reckon . . . you could get . . . your elbow outta my kidney?"

Dazed, Eric rolled off the younger man before the full impact of his situation had hit him. Looking around, he realized that he could not see. Wherever they were, it was even darker than the overcast sky had been. Somewhere, either during the fight or the fall, his flashlight had disappeared.

"What happened?" Eric asked of his intended victim. "Where are we?" His voice raised faint, distant echoes.

"From the sound of it," William replied calmly, "we found us a cave. These hills are full of 'em. Are ya hurt anywheres?"

A minute of silence broken only by faint rustling noises, then, "I seem to be in one piece," the other man replied. "You?"

"A few bumps 'n' bruises," William responded tiredly. "Nothin' major. Now, do you mind tellin' me who you are and why yo're so hell-bent on killin' me? What 've I ever done to ya'll?"

"My name is Eric Martin, and I never intended to kill anyone. I'm just looking for some answers. There was a young man in your unit," Eric told him, his voice growing tight with anger. "He arrived the same day you did. Was over there less than two weeks, and then he was dead! They claim he died in action, but the records don't support that."

Puzzled, William tried to make sense of the other man's claim. A lot of people died after being 'in country' less than a week. It was only those who learned real fast, or were real lucky who lasted a full tour.

"What records?" he asked.

"Graves Registration. He was logged in almost half a day before he was supposed to have died."

Suddenly, William found it hard to breathe. Eddie. It had to be. This was why he had been plagued with the memory of that night ever since he had overheard his mother talking about divine punishment.

"Eddie," he whispered. "Eddie Bell was kin to you?" he asked a little louder.

"My baby brother," the man he knew only as Eric replied grimly. "He was only fifteen. Why did you have to kill him?"

Pushing himself to his feet, William tried to sort out his feelings before he gave an answer.

"We'd best be tryin' to find our way out," he said with a sigh. He searched about with his feet until he encountered the slope they had rolled down. At the base, his questing foot kicked against the mop handle he had been using above. By some divine good fortune, it had landed less than five feet from him. "Unless that other fella happens on that hole we fell through, no ones gonna find us if'n we stay here."

"You never answered my question," Eric persisted. "Why did you kill Eddie?"

"I didn't," William told him. "But, that don't make it any less my fault." He grasped his makeshift cane and made his way toward the sound of Eric's voice. "With any luck at all, I think I can get us out of here. Just promise not to kill me 'til you see daylight."

Eric stepped back at William's hesitant touch. "How can I trust you?" he asked gruffly. "You've just admitted to having a hand in my brother's death."

"No, I said I share the blame," young Griner reminded him softly. "There's a difference. 'Sides, I'm takin' just as big a risk as you. Yo're the ones who knocked me out, kidnapped me, and tossed me in a cold, damp cellar. I'm not gonna hold that agin ya, cause ya'll were lookin' out for kinfolk. But, I will take exception if'n ya'll keep tryin' to do me harm. Now, are ya so set on that yo're willin' to die with me? Or would ya like to put your hand on my shoulder and let me lead you out of here?"

"Do you really think you can find a way out?" Eric asked guardedly. "It's too dark to see anything!"

"I've roamed caves like this since I was a boy," William replied. "If there's a way, I'll find it."

"Then why take me along? Wouldn't it be easier on your own? You could just . . . take off and leave me."

William stepped closer to the sound of Eric's voice. "Maybe you could," he told him honestly. "I can't. I can't leave anyone to die in the dark . . . alone. Now, do you want out, or not?"

After a long moment of silence, William felt a hesitant touch on his left shoulder. With a sigh of relief, he turned until he faced the direction from which the echoes were the longest. That, he hoped, would be the most likely way out. Keeping his right hand in contact with the rock wall, and the mop handle probing the darkness before him, William set out.

******************

Dolly Griner became worried that her son had not come in by the time she was ready for bed. It had been quite some time since he had gone outside. She had stepped out a little while ago to call him in, only to find the porch empty. Probably, he had gone for a walk. He had become more and more withdrawn, especially after the preacher had come to lead them in prayer. Usually, however, he let them know his whereabouts so as not to worry them. She checked his room, first, to make sure he had not slipped upstairs without telling them. His room was empty, the bed undisturbed.

Concerned, she descended the stairs once more. Perhaps he was back from his walk. She prayed that he had not wandered far. It was one of her biggest fears that he might be lying somewhere, hurt and alone, too far out for his cries for help to be heard. If he was even able to cry out!

Stepping to the edge of the front porch, she peered out into the darkness. No sign of her son. Her concern growing with each passing minute, she called out his name several times. Her only answer was the barking of the dog. Where could he be? She turned back to the house, thinking that she would get a lantern and go looking for him. As her gaze fell across the porch swing once more, her concern escalated to full blown alarm. There, just under the swing, was William's white cane.

******************

They walked in silence for more than an hour, a silence broken only by the rhythmic tap-tap of the wooden stick against the stone floor. They had to backtrack once to go around a pit too deep to hear a stone hit the bottom, but otherwise seemed to be going along a fairly straight path.

After a while, William called for their first rest stop. For a brief moment, they sat in the oppressive darkness in total silence. Young Griner used the respite to let his remaining senses expand, getting a 'feel' for their surroundings.

"You feel like talking?" Eric asked nervously.

"Not really," William shrugged. "Don't have that much to say."

"Well, say something, anything," his former captor sighed. "This silence is . . . unnerving."

The young farm boy chuckled at the other man's obvious discomfort.

"You're from a pretty large city, aren't you?" he ventured to guess. "Lots of noise and such goin' on all the time?"

"The suburbs, actually," Eric admitted. "It's usually pretty quiet. Not like this, though. This is . . . Other than us, I don't think there's another living thing down here."

"You are so wrong," William replied in a reverent tone. "There's life all around us. Just listen. I've heard insects, rats, mice, and bats. Hear that? That 'plop, plop, plop' to our left? That's water dripping from the ceiling. It's hitting the top of a pillar at least six feet tall. Maybe a little taller. That means we're in a fairly large chamber. If we could . . . if we could see . . . you'd probably find things like 'cave bacon', 'curtains', stalactites and stalagmites. Maybe even a few columns where they've run together. And color. Lord, would you see color! People think that, because sunlight never reaches a place, that it's all drab and ugly. But, sometimes, there's color in these places to rival a fairytale castle! Living caves are beautiful, Mr. Martin. You just . . . you just have to eyes to see it," he finished glumly.

"You must have explored a lot of caves as a child," Eric observed. "You sound like a tour guide. Is that what you plan on doing, now that you're no longer in the Army?"

William shook his head sadly, forgetting that, at the moment, Martin was as blind as he was. "No, sir," he sighed. "I checked into something like that, with the National Park Service. They . . . their guides have to be . . . I don't meet their standards anymore."

There followed an awkward moment of silence. Then . . .

"Why were you sent home?" Eric asked in a more gentle tone than he had intended. Something about the boy's sad admission disturbed him.

"What?"

"We checked you over thoroughly while you were unconscious," Eric confessed. "You don't have any scars or marks. Nothing to indicate a wound severe enough for a medical discharge. Was it . . . a psychological problem?"

"You mean did the war make me a little crazy?" William chuckled softly. "Nothin' like that. And I took no joy in killin' anyone, if that's what yo're getting' at. Not even the enemy. It was just somethin' we all had to do. I never ran from a fight, neither. How come Eddie never knew he had a family?"

Eric took so long to answer, William began to wonder if he was going to. Finally, the older man let out a long sigh.

"When he was four, Eddie was kidnapped," he replied. "Along with our mother. Dad paid the ransom, but we never heard from the kidnappers again. Mom . . . Mom was found a few months later. What was left of her. I was fifteen at the time." They walked a bit further. "You never answered my question, Griner. Why were you sent home?"

"Answer this first, just how 'thoroughly' did you check me over?" William asked, fearing that he would not like the answer. When his only response was a long moment of silence, he stopped and turned toward the other man. "You didn't!"

"I'm a med student," Eric replied with a verbal shrug. "I've seen naked bodies before."

"Not mine, you hadn't!" the younger man exclaimed. "What gives you the right to do somethin' like that to a stranger? And don't give me no bull about lookin' for a killer. You don't even know, yet, how he died! And you for sure didn't know then!"

"If it's any consolation," Eric commented dryly, "I didn't find anything physically wrong with you, other than being undernourished. When was the last time you ate?"

'So we're back to thinkin' I'm crazy,' William thought wearily. "Once we're outta here, you can go to hell," he said bitterly. "Eddie's death was an accident."

He turned on his heel and continued the way they had been going. Feeling angry and . . . violated, William refused to answer anymore of Eric's questions, not trusting himself to even speak to the older man.

Eric was persistent, however and kept battering at the silence with a stream of questions. Eventually, William found himself trying to answer the ones he felt mattered. The ones about Eddie.

During one rest period, Eric asked one that, William felt, should have been the first one out of the older man's mouth.

"What was he like? Eddie, I mean. I know he was brave and . . ."

"You don't know anything," William grumbled. "Oh, yes. He was brave, alright. That first night in the field, we were all brave. That didn't mean a thing, 'cause the brave died right along with the cowards, the weak with the strong. We learned something important that night. That the only family we had that mattered was right there, rubbing elbows in a hole just deep enough, and wide enough to serve as our grave, if we failed. Eddie was so scared he couldn't quit shakin'. That didn't matter, tho, 'cause he doubted we were gonna last the night. He was almost right. That didn't stop him from doin' his part. "

Urged on by Eric's probing questions, William went on to describe the horrors of that night in grisly detail. The sneak attacks under the cover of darkness, the derisive cries of, "You die, GI!" Reaching over to shake someone awake, only to have them fall over in a lifeless heap. Praying to be one of the lucky few to see the sunrise.

Then, at Eric's urging, he went on to describe Eddie. What he looked like, the kind of person he was, his naiveté, and world-weary air. An old soul in a young man's body. He recalled how nervous Eddie had been, and how green. A little boy forced to be a man.

There was no way to tell how much time had passed when they heard the tinkling chuckle of running water. Until that moment, William hadn't realized how tired and thirsty he was. How long had he lay unconscious in that rat hole of a cellar? Long enough for his captors to strip him, examine every inch of his body, and redress him, he thought bitterly. That made it a long time since supper. A meal that he had barely touched. When was the last time he had eaten more than a bite or two? He couldn't recall.

William followed the sound until his probe warned him of a sharp drop off. Gingerly, he lowered himself until he was lying flat. Reaching down, his hand was quickly immersed up to the elbow in ice cold water. He scooped up a handful and drank greedily. Next to him, he heard Eric doing the same.

"Too bad we don't have a canteen or somethin'," William sighed, shaking the moisture off his arm.

"Why?" Eric asked. "Why not just follow the stream? Won't it lead us out?"

"Probably not," the young guide told him. "This could dive deeper underground without ever seein' daylight. So drink your fill now, while you got the chance. Like as not, we'll part ways from it further down."

He followed his own advice and drank as much as he dared. Which proved fortunate an hour or so later, when the chuckling stream became a rushing torrent, then a crashing cascade as it poured into a deep chasm. The young mountain man cautiously probed the floor in all directions, knowing that this gallery might very well end at the chasm. For a while it seemed as if that must be the case, as his makeshift cane kept slipping off the edge of a wide shelf. Finally, he found what appeared to be a wide stone bridge. Did it go all the way across, he wondered? Only one way to find out.

"You'd best wait here," he told Eric. "I need to find out how far this goes. Don't worry, I'll come back for ya."

"How can I be sure?"

"You can't," William sighed, tired of the suspicion. "This is one of those times yo're gonna have to trust me. The waterfall's puttin' out a lot of spray, so this thing is like to be slippery. Do ya'll want to try turnin' around on it and comin' back if'n it dead-ends?" Reluctantly, Eric's hand slipped away. "Thanks. Now just stand right where you are until I get back."

Cautiously, William edged forward on his hands and knees, keeping up a steady, rhythmic scraping with his probe, relying on touch more than sound. He could barely hear above the noise of the cascade. The stone bridge seemed to be about four feet at the widest part, which was good, and covered with moisture, which was not. Several times, a hand or leg threatened to slip out from under the young man. Finally, he found himself on another wide ledge. After a few minutes to get his shaky limbs under control, he searched around until he found another tunnel leading away from the waterfall. From the sound of the echoes, it appeared to be fairly long. Even better, there was a faint breeze coming in from the opening.

For just a moment, William was tempted to follow the tunnel, forgetting about the man who was responsible for him being there. For a moment. In truth, he reluctantly admitted to himself, he was scared to cross that chasm again. It would be even worse the second time. The places where he had skidded before would be even more slippery now. Still, he had more or less promised his abductor he would return. Resolutely, William turned his back on the opening and returned to the bridge.

As he feared, the wet stone was even more treacherous on the return trip. About halfway across, his right leg slipped over the edge completely, leaving him sprawled half across the narrowest part of the bridge. Fingernails digging desperately into the rough stone, legs dangling off the side, the young man listened as his 'cane' tumbled into the emptiness beneath him, with only an occasional, fading 'clack' to mark its passage. William strained his hearing until he could no longer make out the diminishing sound. He never did hear it hit bottom. Sweat bathed him, even in the chill, moisture laden chamber as his mind tried to picture just how far 'down' was. Digging his fingers into a tiny crack, William put all his strength into pulling himself back onto the questionable safety of the bridge.

For several minutes, all he could do was lay there and shake. 'That was too close,' he thought. 'Way too close.'

"Griner! Are you alright?"

"Just dandy," he called back. At least now he knew which direction was back to Eric. Carefully turning his body so that he faced the right way , William began pulling himself along the narrow span by his hands and feet. An eternity later, he was safely back on solid ground. He quickly scrambled away from the edge and just sat there, his head on his knees, letting Eric find him as he caught his breath.

"Did you find a way out?" were the first words out of the older man's mouth.

"Yup," William responded briefly. "At least, it . . . it looks . . . hopeful."

Something about the sound of the boy's voice worried Eric. He moved forward cautiously until he could make out his ragged breathing.

"Are you alright?" he asked. His questing hand found William's back. "My God! You're shaking! What happened?"

"It's a little . . . little slick . . . in spots," William told him. "I kinda . . . kinda found one. Lost my stick. Sounds like it's a looong, long way down."

Eric sank to the stone floor next to the trembling youth. His mouth suddenly felt dry as fear turned his own knees to jelly. To cross that narrow span in total darkness once, let alone twice, must have taken an incredible amount of courage! Was he wrong in thinking the boy had been mustered out for cowardice? Or mental instability? He seemed sane enough to recognize the danger they faced. That he had already faced. In spite of his suspicions about Eddie, Eric found he was beginning to like and admire this young country boy.

"There must be another way," he ventured.

"There ain't," William told him with certainty. "I'd know if there was."

"How can you be sure? I haven't been able to see my nose in front of my face since we fell down that hole. How do you know we didn't pass a safer route out of here?"

"Because I would've heard it," William assured him. "There would've been a . . . a difference in the echoes. Why do you think I kept tapping that dang stick? And tellin' you to hush? There weren't no other tunnels! Just a few nooks and hidey holes. With nary a breeze stirrin' in any of 'em. On t'other side o' that there bridge is a tunnel. And they's fresh air a-stirrin' in it. Now, it could be this chamber we're in is actin' like a big ol' flue, an drawing air out of that hole. But, the air still has to come from somewhere." With an effort, he pushed himself to his feet. "Now, I came back to lead ya out, like I promised," he said. "Ya'll can either follow me across or stay here 'n' die. Which is it?"

"Can you cross that again?"

"Yes," the younger man replied with such conviction, Eric had no choice but to believe he would try. "As I tol' ya, it's slick in spots, but, if'n we crawl on our bellies most of the way, we can make it. Just keep feelin' for the edges, an' try not to crawl over me." He eased himself down until he was lying flat, instructing Eric to do the same. "Just follow my voice," he added. "It's not much more'n thirty feet."

Gingerly, Eric followed William's advice. Staying so close to the boy, he kept getting an occasional boot in the nose, he inched his way across. At one point, he dislodged a small rock. It bounced a few times, but he never heard it hit bottom. Eric almost froze at that point, but the steady drone of William's cajoling voice egged him on. Finally, they reached the other side. Eric immediately scooted as far from that yawning chasm as the ledge would allow. How on earth had the boy crossed that once? Never mind three times!

"We'll rest here a bit," William suggested, unable to conceal the weariness in his voice. "That tunnel 'll wait on us."

"Amen to that," Eric sighed. "I don't think I can stand right now, anyway." He slumped gratefully against the chamber wall. They sat in there for several minutes, the silence broken only by the sounds of the waterfall and their labored breathing. Finally, Eric spoke. "Tell me how he died?"

"What does it matter?" William sighed. "We made sure he was sent home a hero. Why can't ya'll let it go at that?"

"Because you keep saying that!" the older man snapped. "Why? What were you covering up?" He let out a frustrated sigh. "Our father had been looking for Eddie since he disappeared," he went on in a calmer voice. "Not one day would passed that he wasn't absolutely sure his baby boy was coming home. He put so much of himself into that search, that he didn't leave anything left for himself. Not that he ever failed to let the rest of us know how much he loved us, too. Last year, he was diagnosed with cancer," he added softly. "Soon after that, we got word that a boy about the age Eddie would be, who looked just like I did at that age, was seen in a small west Texas town. By the time any of our people could get out there, he was gone again. Then we tracked him to a recruiting office. Again, we were too late. When they sent his body home, and we were able to identify a family birthmark, Dad was . . . He had to know everything. How he died. When, where, and with whom. He wanted everything pinned down to the minute. And we got just as caught up in it as he was. Time is critical, now. Dad only has a few more months. So, tell me the truth. What happened to Eddie?"

William lay his head back against the cold stone wall, wishing that the others were here to help him make this decision. The cover-up had been planned by the more seasoned members of Team Viking. He had merely gone along with it. At the time, he had been too numb to do anything else. When he had drawn the notched round . . . Could he have gone through with it? Could he have put a round into his friend's stiffening body? He was glad it hadn't come to that.

Hesitantly, at first, then with more certainty of the rightness of his decision, William began to talk. First, he recounted that first mission. How they had been sent to set up a position to observe an enemy advance. Only to find that it was a full scale offensive strike. How eighteen of them had dug in that afternoon, to be overrun by almost two hundred VC. Finally, when McKay's chopper returned the next morning, they felt it safe to come out of concealment. Out of eighteen, only five had walked out on their own. He and Eddie had been among them.

He then went on to describe how they had gone out to celebrate, only to let things get a little out of hand. That had been the night Sarge had told them how young Eddie really was. They had suspected before then, but now . . .

"Then they told us they was gonna give us all medals," he sighed. "Everyone but Eddie, 'cause he was too young to've been there in the first place. So, we went'n got drunk again. Just some good ol' boys out to unwind. Guess he felt he still had somethin' to prove. We should've watched 'im better! Should've known . . . The next thing I knew, he wasn't beside me any more. I hollered for 'im, but couldn't . . . Then we heard 'im callin' at us. He was staggerin' along this overpass, sayin' somethin' about a hand-stand. We was yellin' back, tellin' 'im . . . tellin' 'im to get down offa there, beggin' 'im not to do anything st-stupid. And yellin' at these other guys to quit eggin' 'im on. Then . . . he was . . . it was so quick! Doc said he broke . . . broke his neck. Died instantly. No pain."

He swallowed convulsively past the dryness in his throat. "Eddie deserved that medal," he finally said. "We couldn't . . . couldn't let the brass send 'im home without it. So we cooked up this idea to make it look like he died in action. Only, nothin' went the way we planned it. First, the sarge found out an' made us take . . . take Eddie to Graves Registration. Later, when we tried agin, the enemy overran the camp. We'd left poor Eddie leanin' up agin the shed where they kept the . . . the bodies, and some VC shot him, givin' one of the other's the chance to shoot back. So, Eddie died all over agin. Only, this time, they had to give him what he was due."

William pushed himself to his feet. "We'd best be goin'," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "We pro'bly been down here the best part of a day as it is. My folks 'll be worried sick, by now."

"Just one more . . ."

"No!" William snapped. "I've told you ever'thing you wanted to know. Now, we got to get goin' or we might not get out a'tall." Suiting action to words, he dragged Eric up and guided the other man's hand to his shoulder once more. "I suppose we'll have to keep talkin' some to make echoes," William sighed. "If'n you hit on another stick, though, sing out."

"Please," Eric entreated him. "What's the deal with your mother? Why won't she talk to anyone about you? I've come to know a lot of parents who have sons that came home from the war . . . different. They usually can't stop talking about how brave their boys were, how happy they were to have them home, safe and sound. Or complaining that the Army has abandoned them, etc. Point is, they love to talk about their sons. Even your closest neighbors don't know why you were sent home! While I was posing as a reporter, we 'interviewed' a guy who said he was your best friend. He didn't even know you were home!"

William walked in silence for a while as he tried to think of a way to explain his mother's behavior. Something he found difficult to understand, himself.

"I guess it's because of me being born so late in her life," he surmised. "She was in her forties when she finally found herself with child, and I think it scared her. A lot of babies born so late are . . . different. A friend of Mama's once told me that she was so thankful I was born healthy, that she couldn't stop cryin' and musta counted my fingers and toes a hundred times." He stopped talking for a moment, as he paused to check out a side tunnel. Clapping his hands, he listened intently to the echoes, which bounced back much too quickly. He led the way past the dead-end as he continued to speak.

"I think she put too much stock in my bein' 'perfect'," he sighed. "Of havin' a proper heir for the farm, grandchildren, whatever. Then, when I came home, I wasn't . . . wasn't so 'perfect' anymore. And she can't . . . can't accept it. Suddenly, its like I don't have sense enough to tie my own shoe laces. I talk . . . and nobody listens."

"Must be hard," Eric murmured. "I can't imagine what it must feel like to feel so . . . shut out . . . alone."

"Then don't try," William advised him. "It's not a fun place to go."

He led the way down the gently sloping tunnel. Forced to rely on touch more than hearing, William feared they might miss the way out. Feeling more tired than he wanted to admit, it was getting to be all he could do to keep his feet moving.

A fact he could not entirely hide from Eric. How much longer could the boy keep up this pace, Eric wondered?

"So, when are you going to tell me?" the older man asked. "What is it that's so wrong with you that your mother can't face it? Or your father, for that matter."

"You'll know soon enough," the youth sighed wearily. "Almost the minute we step outside. It happened when a shell went off too close to me, and I caught concussion. Things . . . well, I just wasn't the same after that." He paused to sniff the faint breeze. "You smell that?"

"Smell what?" Eric inhaled deeply through his nostrils. "Oh, wait . . . It does smell . . . different. Cleaner. What is it?"

"That's fresh air," William told him, unable to suppress a grin. "It's blowin' in off somebody's wheat field. We should be just about out. You'll be seein' daylight in just a bit."

Less than an hour after leaving the cascade chamber, they came to a side tunnel from which issued a much stronger breeze. Minutes later, Eric exclaimed, "Thank God! We made it!"

"What is it? What do you see?" William asked.

"Daylight, of course!" Eric exclaimed happily. "Bright, beautiful, daylight! What's the matter? Are you . . .?" Click. All the pieces were now in place. "Oh, my God," he breathed. "Are you . . .?"

"As a bat," William replied to the unfinished question. "Well, you wanted to know what was 'wrong' with me, why I was discharged. Now ya do. Happy?" He made no effort to keep the bitterness from his voice. "It's your turn to lead, now. Think you can find a road?"

It was a much subdued Eric who responded. "I'll do my best."

They emerged from a narrow crack halfway up the side of a bluff. Eric paused to relish the feel of the warm morning sun on his skin. The cool breeze dried the sweat and dirt into a filmy crust. Finally, at William's urging, he looked around. A ledge almost as wide as a goat track led upwards across the sheer face of the cliff. In places, it was little more than a series of toe-holds.

"Looks risky," Eric told his companion. "We'll have to hug the cliff in spots. Or I can go alone and bring back help," he suggested kindly.

"I'll make it," William replied grimly. "It can't be no worse than that bridge."

"I still don't know how you crossed that thing three times," Eric confessed. "Just once was almost too much for me." He gingerly slid his foot out onto the narrow ledge.

"With my eyes closed," William joked as he, too, inched out onto the ledge. "Can you see a road from here?"

"You want me to look down?" the older man asked. "Are you crazy? I get dizzy on stepladders!"

"Not down," William chuckled. "Out. Look out and bring your eyes down. Just don't look straight down. You'll be okay. I'm right beside you."

"Isn't that what I'm supposed to be telling you?" Eric quipped. Slowly, he brought his gaze down from the horizon, until he saw a dirt track winding around some low hillocks. He quickly described what he saw to the sightless youth at his side. "It comes right past the foot of this bluff," he reported nervously. "There's a place where we can try climbing down. It's narrow, though . . ."

"Don't worry 'bout me," William assured him. "Just make sure I set my feet right. How far down is the bottom?"

There was a moment of silence as Eric brought his eyes downward once more. "About fifty, sixty feet," he replied. "Far enough to break a few bones, or your neck."

"Eric, if'n yo're still set on bein' a healer," the young veteran mumbled, "you might want to work on that bedside manner."

"Pardon?"

"Nothing," William sighed. "Let's get this done."

Inching along at little more than a snail's pace, Eric led the way down to a wide spot where a finger of rock created a slightly more gentle slope. Moving cautiously, he turned until he was able to lie on his belly and slide his feet out over the edge. Feeling as helpless as he thought Griner did, Eric eased down, groping blindly for toe holds. All the while he was acutely aware of the kid standing helplessly on the ledge above him, depending on him for guidance. Had he really considered tormenting this boy?

They had one bad moment as William was getting into position to begin his descent. The narrow ledge crumbled under his foot, sending him over the edge! A desperate grab snagged the lip of the stone path, saving him from a crippling injury, or death. He hung there, clinging by the fingertips of one hand, until Eric was able to climb back up and help him swing over to the outcrop.

William clung there, almost too afraid to move. All he could do for several seconds was just cling there and shake.

"Griner," Eric called gently. "We can't stay here forever. We have to get moving."

"I know that," William gasped. "I know. I'm okay." He cautiously slid his left foot down until he encountered the next foothold Eric described. Keeping most of his weight on his shaky arms, he felt around with his right foot for the next one. Forced to put his faith in a man whom he had absolutely no reason to trust, and every reason not to, William nonetheless followed his every direction. In this manner, they slowly made their way down the steep slope.

Twice more, they suffered close calls, but finally made it to the bottom. They sat there, backs to the cliff, as they caught their breath.

"I think I'm ready to go home now," William sighed, head and arms resting on his knees.

"Me, too," Eric replied, also unmoving.

"How far to the road?"

"Not far," Eric sighed. "A few yards. You okay?"

"Just dandy," William replied with a tremulous sigh. He pushed himself to his feet, one hand on the rock wall. "I still need a guide, though. Would ya . . . would ya mind?"

Eric could see the boy was just about on his last legs. He stood there on trembling knees, gamely placing his trust in the man responsible for putting his life at risk

"Let's rest a little longer," Eric urged. "That road will still be there ten minutes from now. Sit down." He watched as William complied with a sigh. Of relief, possibly. The younger man had to be the most stubborn individual Eric had ever run across. "So, your parents are having a harder time adjusting to your blindness than you are."

"Well, it's not like I have much choice in the matter," William shrugged. "There's no place I can go to escape it. Mama, she even had the preacher over to pray for me. He . . . he thinks it's all in my head. That I couldn't handle all the 'evil' I was seein' over there. So I quit seein' anything a'tall. I tried to tell 'em what the doctors told me, about the blood vessels in the back of my brain getting busted up, but they weren't listenin' no more. They, Mama and the preacher, they think that I can see again if'n I believe strong enough. Daddy, well, he's comin' around to acceptin' it, I think, but it's not easy for him, either. I hate that I'm such a burden to 'em, now."

"Then do something about it," Eric advised. "Did they teach you to read Braille at the hospital?"

William actually grinned at that, little more than a twitch of the lips. Still, it brightened his grimy features like a ray of sunshine peeking out through a cloudy sky.

"I have three books of poetry in my duffel bag," he replied. "It was all they had. I think I'm startin' to like 'em. I'd give anything for a good adventure story, though. Like 'Treasure Island' or 'Twenty Thousand Leagues Under The Sea.' I don't know if'n I want to ever read 'The Red Badge Of Courage' again. Not after livin' it."

"Have you thought of going back to school?" Eric asked. "To university, I mean. Get you a degree in something. Show everyone that you're more than just a blind ex-soldier."

William didn't answer, at first, as he considered Eric's suggestion. If he could go for more schooling, what could he learn that he could make a living at? Also, was that all he wanted to do with his life? Just make a living? No, he wanted to do something that mattered. What could he do that might be of help to someone else? Someone like . . . like almost anyone who had survived their tour in 'Nam.

"At the hospital," William murmured, "they had this doctor I had to talk to right . . . right after it happened. She helped me to understand what was happening to me, and that it wasn't some kind of . . . punishment. Help me to put the nightmares behind me, for a while, anyways."

"What kind of nightmares?"

"Of bein' lost in the dark," William told him. "Alone. Not knowin' which way to go. Loud noises, explosions, gunfire, men screamin'. . . and dyin'. Of bein' more scared than I've ever been in my life. Because I couldn't see!" He hugged his knees, rocking back and forth slightly as the memories came flooding back. "What made it worse," he sighed, "was not bein' able to wake up from it. Being home, I thought all that was put behind me, but . . . Anyways, that's . . . that's what I'd like to do. Learn how to help people get all the bad things out of their heads and lay the nightmares to rest."

"A psychiatrist?" Eric mused, as an idea began percolating in his mind. "It's a tough field," he warned. "And some people you just can't help. People with actual diseases that affect the mind."

"But, I can help some," William insisted. "Specially veterans, because we have common ground." He braced one hand against the rock wall and rose to his feet. "I'm feelin' some better. Let's go."

"So which way should we go?" he asked, making no move to rise.

"Did ya see any houses or . . . or buildings of any kind?" William asked.

"What? Yes! Yes I did!" Eric rose to his feet, finding that his own legs were none too steady. Moving slowly, he walked over and took the boy's arm. "This way." William obediently allowed the other man to lead him to the dirt track. Eric wasn't certain how much longer the boy could go on. He'd had more harrowing experiences in one night than most men went through in their entire lives. All because he and his teammates had wanted his estranged brother to be buried a hero.

"So, whatcha gonna tell your dad?" William asked after they had been walking awhile. "Ya gonna tell 'im the truth?"

"Any reason why I shouldn't?"

"Depends," the boy replied. "Will he think less of Eddie for dyin' the way he did? Or will he take pride in how he lived?"

"Does it really matter to you what he thinks? You don't know him, or any of us. Why do you care what we think?"

"B-because Eddie was my . . . my friend." William staggered, putting a hand to his head as a wave of dizziness overcame him. "Sorry. Li'l woozy there . . ."

Eric caught William just as his knees buckled, easing the younger man to the ground. Quickly snatching off his wind-breaker, he stuffed it under the boy's head as a makeshift pillow. Cursing himself for not insisting they rest longer, he felt along William's jaw-line for a pulse. Encouraged by a weak, but steady rhythm, Eric sat back with a sigh. The boy was simply overcome with exhaustion. Come to think of it, he was close to the edge himself. And he had rested while William had risked his life on that narrow strip of rock . . . twice! When he thought of Griner possibly passing out on that tiny ledge they had so recently descended from, his own knees felt a little too flexible.

********************

"It's got to be around here somewhere," Ruiz grumbled. "How far out can they live and still be in the same state?"

"You've done got used to city life again, Ru," Percell chuckled. "Out here, folks feel a might crowded if they don't have a few hundred acres to rattle around on. Try this next road. I thought I saw a house up that way."

"You call this a road, man?" Ru exclaimed, as he turned the car onto the dirt track. "We walked better trails than this in 'Nam!" He was forced to drive slower as the wheels fought for traction on the dusty track. The winding road led past the base of a high bluff, then in and out among some low, rolling hillocks. Ruiz had just sighted the house that Danny had spotted earlier, when his companion let out a startled cry. Alberto slammed on the brakes, skidding to a halt just inches from the man standing in the middle of the road, waving his arms.

"Thank God!" the stranger exclaimed as they got out of the car. "We need to get this boy to a doctor," he told them, leading the two men to the boy lying motionless on the side of the road. "It's mostly exhaustion, but I don't think he's been eating right for some time. He's way too thin." He knelt by the still figure, bending over as if to pick him up, only to be caught by Ruiz as his own knees threatened to give way. Danny, meanwhile knelt by the boy, a stunned look on his face.

"We'll get him," Ruiz told the stranger. "You go sit in the car." He turned to find Danny had scooped the slender body up and was already halfway to the car with him.

"It's Griner!" he hissed. "What the hell did they do to 'im? He's nothin' but skin and bones!" He slid into the spacious back seat with his burden, leaving the stranger to sit up front with Ruiz.

"Want to tell us what happened?" Ru asked the stranger as he turned the car back towards the nearest town.

"I'm afraid that's between the boy and myself," the stranger sighed. "I'd rather he be able to tell his story first."

"That's mighty white of you," Percell commented as he tried to make his young friend as comfortable as possible. "Trouble is, this is a buddy of ours. We were on our way to warn him of some trouble we been havin' with people nosin' around an' breakin' into our homes. You wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you?"

The stranger lay his head back with a sigh. "My name is Eric Martin," he said wearily. "The young man you knew as Eddie Bell was my youngest brother." Eric went on to repeat everything he had told William. He went even further, describing the kidnapping, the fall and the long, perilous trek through the caverns. "I never intended any harm to come to anyone," he finished. "I just wanted the truth about my brother. And justice for those responsible for his death."

"Did you get what you came for?" Ruiz asked, his voice cold and bitter.

"All that," Eric admitted, "and a lot more."

"Such as?" Danny asked, shifting slightly under his burden.

"Such as my brother didn't die alone in some Godforsaken dump or hobo jungle," was the sad reply. "He had friends, a home of sorts, and he was respected for who he was, not what club he belonged to. He had people who cared enough to put their own careers and reputations on the line to see to it that he was remembered with honor, and not for dying in a stupid accident that could've happened just as easily in our own home." He turned so that he could look back at the feebly stirring form in Percell's arms. "And that a lack of sight doesn't make you less of a man. Griner must've been hell on wheels when he could see."

"Not so's you'd notice," Percell sighed. "He never talked much. At least, not as much as the rest of us. Kinda quiet, shy until you got to know 'im. Then he'd hold his own in a conversation. And, man, could he shoot! Knock the wings off a house fly at fifty yards. That first mission, the one we all got medals for, he never wasted a shot. Just flipped the brim of his hat back, took aim, and another VC bit the dust. Best tracker in the whole outfit, too. I swear, he could read sign the rest of us couldn't even . . . even . . ."

"Go ahead and say it," a drowsy voice mumble from Danny's lap. "Everything I was to the Army, to anyone, was because of how sharp my eyes were." Griner pushed his former teammate's hands away and pulled himself upright. "I'm okay, just a little tired s'all. What're ya'll doin' way out here?"

"We thought you were in trouble," Percell told him. "And don't give me 'tired', boy. I just carried you to this car by myself! You had more weight on you after two weeks on patrol! Now, talk to me. What's goin' on? What did this yahoo do to ya?"

"Nothin'," William sighed, leaning back into the seat. "Just took a little walk, is all. Did us some talkin'. Nothin' t'raise a ruckus over. Thanks for comin', though."

They drove in silence until they reached the tiny cluster of buildings that made up the nearest town. As Ruiz pulled up in front of one with a doctor's shingle over the door, he saw an elderly couple coming out of the bus depot accompanied by a man wearing a badge. The woman was carrying a white cane with a red tip. Ruiz crossed around to help William to his feet. His young teammate found that he needed it as his knees refused to support him.

"How'd you get in such sorry shape, kid?" Ru asked. "Danny-man's right, you're down to nothin'!"

Before William could answer, he heard familiar voices chorus his name. A moment later, his mother had him in a hug so tight he could hardly breathe. Everyone started talking at once after that. His parents were demanding to know where he had been, who these men were, and what had happened to him. Danny, Ru, and Eric were all trying to explain. And William was still trying to get his mother to loosen her hold long enough to get a breath in.

Finally, the young veteran had been taken into the office, where the doctor shooed everyone else out. Turning to his patient, he proceeded to give him a thorough going over.

"I've heard the term 'rode hard and put up wet' many times in my life," the elderly physician commented. "Yo're the first I ever saw that fit it. How long were you in those caves, boy?"

"Since late last night," William replied wearily. "Took a while to get out."

"Used to be we couldn't shut you up. Now it's like pullin' teeth," the doctor grumbled. "Well, you seem ta be in one piece, although you've got a wheezy sound in that right lung. And you've lost quite a bit of weight since you been back. A lot more than one night can account for. Care to talk about it?"

"People I need to talk to are right outside that door," William told him. "I think I'll be alright onct we get a few things settled."

The doctor patted him on the shoulder as he rose to let them in. "I tried to tell them it was just your eyes that was afflicted," he said, "not your mind. I'm gonna write out a prescription for something to fight off infection. Take every bit of it. I'm also writin' out a diet to give it to your Ma. It'll be mostly soups for a few days, but we'll have you eatin' like a horse soon enough."

"Could you ask Ru and Danny to come in first?" he asked. "There's somethin' I need to know before I talk to muh folks."

"Sure thing." The doctor stayed out in his waiting room after sending the two veterans in. He used the time well, outlining a careful diet regimen to bring William back up to his optimum weight. As well as an exercise program to build up his strength. By the time he was finished, Ruiz and Percell had come back out saying that William was wanting to know when he could go home. "As soon as he's had that chat with his folks," the doctor replied. "And I want you two to listen to what he has to say, this time. Don't treat 'im like a child just 'cause he can't see. "

"But, he's so helpless!" Dolly Griner protested.

"What in the . . . Pardon me, ma'am," Eric Martin quickly apologized. "But, whatever gave you that idea?"

"He's blind, Mr. Martin," Dolly replied archly. "He needs help just to get around."

"By help, you mean that cane, right? He doesn't need someone leading him by the hand and making his decisions for him," Martin told her gently. "I was just as blind as he was in that cavern, and had to depend on him for my life. Does the fact that I'm standing here tell you anything?"

"He has a disability, Mrs. Griner," Percell spoke up. "But, it's of his eyes, not his mind. Ru and I came rushin' out here to the rescue because we felt like you. That he couldn't handle himself, bein' blind and all. We were wrong, too. Listen to what your son has to say. You might be surprised to find you agree with us."

With some trepidation, the elder Griners went in to see their son. They found him sitting on the side of the examination table, pulling his boots back on. He looked up at the sound of their hesitant footsteps, homing in on them with uncanny accuracy.

"Mama? Daddy?"

"Right here, son," Harding Griner responded. "Doc said you wanted to talk before goin' home." He and his wife stepped quickly to the boy's side. Dolly automatically grabbed a washcloth and started to scrub some of the dirt from his face.

"Mama! Please! I know how to clean myself," he protested. "Would ya'll just take a seat and listen? Just this once? Please?"

Hesitantly, they did as he asked. William took a moment to gather his rapidly failing courage, and to think of a way to word what he wanted to say without offending the two people he loved most in the world.

"I-I know ya'll want what's best for me," he finally said. "But, sometimes, what you think is . . . is right . . . isn't. At least not for me. I can't take over the farm. Not like this," he added, waving a hand at his eyes. "And there's a whole bunch of other things I can't do. But, I can talk, and I can listen. And they's people out there that need to be heard. People who've been through the same kinda . . . pain and . . . and terror that I went through that night when this . . . happened." He stood and walked almost straight to his mother, reaching out blindly to grasp her hand. "I know you think this is some kinda punishment, Mama," he went on, kneeling before her. "But, what if it isn't? Wh-what if it's His way of settin' my feet on a different path? I talked with Ruiz and Percell, and they tell me that the Army will pay for me to go to back to school. They'll pay! I may have to work for them for a few years when I get out, but then I can start out on my own."

"Doin' what, William?" Harding Griner asked when his wife couldn't find her voice. "What is it you want schoolin' for?"

"To become a healer," was his surprising answer. "Not of the body," he added quickly. "Of the mind. I can get the schoolin' I need to get people to talk out their problems and help sort 'em out. I can still be useful, Mama . . .Daddy. I know I can! I already know what they're goin' through!"

"Are you askin' our permission?" Dolly asked tremulously. "You want us to agree to you goin' away agin? How can we look after you if . . .?"

"No, Mama," William sighed, shaking his head in frustration. "I'm askin' your blessin', not your leave. I am goin' to do this, Mama. Like it or no. 'Sides, it'll give me a chance to look after myself for a change. To see if'n . . . if'n I can still call myself a man. Ya'll can't do for me the rest of my life. I have to be able to do for myself. I have to!"

Dolly Griner looked at her husband, then into the sightless, pleading eyes of her only child. Any fool could see this meant so much to him. To be able to count himself as an adult, and as a man. How could she deny him his heart's desire? She turned back to meet the understanding gaze of William's father, and knew what she had to say.

"If this is what you truly want, son," she sighed, "then, of course you have our blessing."

William let out a huge sigh of relief. This had gone so much better than he had hoped. He stood and wrapped his arms around both his parents. An embrace they shared with enthusiasm, not caring that he was still covered in sweat and grime.

"Course, we have to get you fattened up first," Harding Griner told his son. "We can't send you off to school lookin' like a beanpole. They'll think we couldn't afford to feed you proper!"

"No, sir," William replied with a grin. "We can't be letting' 'em think we're too poor to eat right. Truth be told, I'm hungry enough to eat the hind leg off'n a Billy goat."

"Well," Dolly joined in, wiping at a tear she was glad her son could not see, "tonight you're goin' to have to settle for chicken broth. Doctor's orders."

"Mama!"

"Don't you 'mama' me, young man," she scolded, giving his ribs a gentle squeeze. "That's what you get for just pickin' at your plate for two weeks! Clear soup today and tomorrow, then we can let you have crackers with it."

"Where's Doc," William protested playfully. "They's got to be some meat in that diet somewhere! Gimme that washcloth. I'll chew on it!"

"William!"

*fin*

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