Ride the Tiger (12 page)

* * *

“You
dare
to come here?” Binh Duc snarled from where he sat behind a wobbly wooden desk.

Dany remained grimly silent. At the edge of Villard property she had located one of the VC soldiers and ordered him to bring her to Duc. She had been blindfolded and led for nearly an hour, stumbling, along a jungle path. Now she stood in a damp tunnel barely six feet in height, the dank smell of stale earth combined with unwashed bodies assailing her sensitive nostrils. A number of black-clad men formed a crescent behind Duc.

“Well, answer me!” Duc hissed furiously. “You dare to show your face to me after consorting with our enemy?”

Dany moved forward and so did her two escorts. “I dare to come because I
haven't
broken our word to you, Duc!” she snapped angrily. “Was it you who placed the mine in our driveway that killed my mother?”

Duc sat back, his eyes narrowing. “What mine?”

“You damn well know what mine!” Dany placed her hands flat on the desk and glared down at Duc. He was a short, lean man in his early forties. During the 1950s he'd fought with the Vietminh, and half his face was horribly scarred from being caught in a French bombing raid. The disfigurement made Duc look more like a monster than a human being. Swallowing against her dry throat, Dany knew Duc respected only strength, not weakness. “Well, did you plant it there? Did you kill my mother?”

Duc glared back at her with his one good eye, the other having been destroyed in that long-ago bombing. “I had no reason to plant a mine there,” he muttered defiantly. “Why don't you ask your American friends? They plant land mines, too.”

“They had no reason to plant anything near the plantation! They have teams of men running mine detectors up and down Highway 14 at least three times a day!”

With a slight shrug, Duc said, “It wasn't the Vietcong.”

Dany straightened, not believing him, but having no recourse. “And now you planted a second mine. This time in my trees. A child, Hanh Vinh, lost an arm earlier today.”

Duc leaned forward, a snarl lifting his upper lip. “That mine should serve as a warning, Miss Villard. Twice an American marine has visited you. Did you think me a fool?” He snorted violently. “Even in civilian clothes, anyone could see he was in the military.”

“Do you know
why
he's come to the plantation twice, Duc? He's the investigation officer on my mother's death. I haven't broken our treaty. I can't just throw him off the property, or he'd get suspicious. That would invite further American curiosity.”

Duc leaned back in his chair and studied her. “I told you before: no Americans, no ARVN on the Villard property. That was our agreement. You've broken your neutrality.”

“No,” Dany said harshly. “Someone has broken it, but it wasn't me! I didn't plant that mine at the end of the driveway. If you're so interested in who broke our treaty, then send your men to find out who did it. There's no way I can stop this marine investigator from coming to the plantation when he wants to, Duc.”

“You must do something, then, to prove your loyalty to me,” Duc whispered. “I will allow this one American bastard on your property until this silly investigation is over—on one condition.”

Sweat popped out on Dany's upper lip. The tunnel air was stale and stifling. She was trembling inwardly, her stomach tied in an aching knot. The tunnel was poorly lit, by candles placed here and there to drive back the shadowy gloom. “What condition?” she grated.

He smiled suddenly, the good half of his face twisting upward. “You get me two cases of antibiotics. I need penicillin for my soldiers.” He scowled. “Someone, I don't know who, has been stealing from our tunnel supplies. When I find out who's responsible, I'll chop off his hands! Until then, I need antibiotics. You will get them for me as proof of your neutrality. If you don't,” Duc warned her with a growl, “I will attack your plantation. I will plant so many mines that you'll be forced to leave our country.”

Shaken, Dany straightened and backed away from the table, her eyes huge. Duc had never asked her to feed, clothe, or in any way help his army. “That,” she whispered, “isn't in our agreement, Duc. My father made sure when he made peace with all parties that we would never openly support any specific political group. We never have.”

“You're supporting Americans right now.”

“I am not! I can't help it if they're investigating my mother's death. I'm not aiding them, I'm not giving them information, food or anything else!”

Duc stood up and planted his hands on his hips. “You have broken the treaty, not I.” He jabbed his finger at her. “Either you get me two cases of antibiotics as a show of renewed loyalty to our treaty, or I will make war upon your plantation.”

Trembling with anger, Dany glared across the desk at Duc. “All right,” she rattled, “I'll get those antibiotics. But it's a one-shot deal, Duc. I'll
never
do it again. Do we understand each other?”

Again he smiled his gruesome smile. “You are a wise Frenchwoman, Miss Villard. I will have my men escort you back to your property line. I expect those antibiotics by tomorrow night. Do we understand each other?” he asked, mocking her words and tone.

“Perfectly,” Dany rasped, and spun around on her heel. Her mind tumbled with options. She could get anything she wanted on the black market, because she knew the system. Vietnam operated almost solely on bribery and black-market trade. As she left the tunnel, blindfolded once again, Dany's conscience railed at her for what she'd just agreed to do.

What would Gib think if he ever found out that she'd furnished medical supplies to the enemy he fought daily? Choking back a deluge of anger and frustration, Dany forced herself to think clearly about the situation. If she didn't do as Duc demanded, her plantation and people would become VC targets. She had no doubt that Duc would fulfill his promise.

It was for the peasants, the people she had grown up with, that Dany decided to get the antibiotics for Duc. If it had been only herself and the plantation involved, she'd have refused. But she couldn't continue to allow innocent people to fall victim. Vinh had already paid the price for Gib's visits. Fighting back a sob, Dany stumbled along the unseen jungle trail that would lead her back home—back to the shaky peace that surrounded it.

F
inding an excuse to land at Da Nang to visit Vinh, seven days after the mine explosion, Gib set his craft down on one of the many landing aprons. Giving his three-man crew orders to go find the nearest enlisted men's or officer's Club, Gib wiped the sweat from his face. His one-piece uniform clinging damply to his body, he took a small parcel tightly wrapped with twine from beneath his seat, and left his helicopter.

The day was sunny, and he felt like he was wearing a sponge as he made his way to the line shack. Gib didn't waste much time filling out his flight report and eventual destination, Marble Mountain. A lot of crews coming back from missions stopped at Da Nang for a respite. His crew had been working hard since Vinh's injury, and they deserved an hour of sanity from the war. So did he.

As Gib walked off the airfield, he hitched a ride with a jeep going north toward the MASH unit where Vinh was recuperating. The wind cooled him slightly, and Gib closed his eyes. Dany's face wavered there, as always. This past week had been the toughest in his life to come to grips with. He didn't want Dany to throw away what they shared. How could she?

He opened his eyes. He knew why. Dany would never leave Vietnam, and he couldn't stay here. Besides, he was a GI—a bad risk in a relationship from her perspective.

Thanking the driver, Gib hopped out of the jeep and walked into the hospital—a series of hard-backed canvas tents. Locating a navy corpsman at the admittance desk, Gib asked for Vinh.

“Right down this aisle, sir,” the corpsman directed. He smiled. “Vinh's pretty depressed. His family only visited him once, four days ago. He's one lonely, bored kid.”

“How about Dany Villard? Has she been to visit him?”

“She came with his parents. Cute kid, you know? Cryin' shame he lost his arm.”

“Yeah,” Gib muttered bitterly, “it is.”

Walking down the aisle, Gib glanced at the marines in the cots. Some had IVs in their arms, others were swathed in bandages. Several nurses walked around, clipboards in hand, smiles on their faces for the injured men. Gib's spirits rose unaccountably as he spotted Vinh sitting cross-legged on top of his cot. The boy was staring down at his feet, playing with his bare toes. His right arm was bandaged and in a sling against his chest.

“Hey, how's my favorite kid?” Gib teased.

Vinh's head shot up. His dark brown eyes widened enormously. “Major Gib!”

Gib grinned and carefully sat down on the cot. He ruffled Vinh's hair and watched color flood back into the boy's pale golden skin. “I'm sorry I couldn't drop by sooner, Vinh.”

Vinh rose to his knees and threw his one arm around Gib's neck. “You came!” he said, his voice choked.

Gib wrapped his arms around Vinh and held him gently for fear of hurting his injured arm. Rubbing the boy's back, he whispered, “It's been kinda lonely around here for you, hasn't it?”

Sniffing, Vinh nodded, still clinging tightly to Gib.

Something old and hurting broke in Gib's chest. Vinh's spontaneous gesture shattered all his usual protective walls against feeling anything. He pressed a kiss to Vinh's shiny black hair. “You know, when I was your age, I broke my leg,” Gib told him softly. “My daddy was on the tractor and we were disking a section of field. I was sitting up on the fender of the tractor just enjoying the day and being with him. The tractor bogged down in a damp area and I got thrown off. I landed in the middle of that disking equipment.”

Vinh eased back just enough to look up into his eyes. “You hurt yourself?”

Gib chuckled. “Yeah. My daddy stopped the tractor and was frantic with worry for me. He lifted me up and out of all that machinery. That's when we found out I'd busted up my left leg.” Gib patted that leg and pointed to his ankle. “Down here is where I broke it. I was on crutches for eight weeks and wore a huge plaster cast.” He grinned, thinking back to that time. “I was one of the most unhappy boys in the state of Texas. I didn't like being hog-tied and put out to pasture.”

Vinh tilted his head, his eyes burning with curiosity. “What is a hog-tie?”

Smiling broadly, Gib eased the boy back to the bed. “It means I couldn't go with my friends. I just had to sit around and rest a lot. I hated it.” He gestured to Vinh. “You're hog-tied right now, and I bet you're just as unhappy as I was.”

Sadly, Vinh nodded. “It is lonely. I miss my mother and father...my family. Most of all, I miss the cookies Grandma makes me.”

“Ma Ling?”

“Yes. Missy Dany lets me come in every afternoon and have a cup of tea with Grandma.”

Gib nodded. “Well, maybe you can leave pretty soon, Vinh. How's that injury coming along?”

Vinh shrugged carefully. “I miss my hand. It's different without it.”

After unknotting the twine around the brown parcel he'd brought, he held the child's sad stare.

Gib ached for Vinh. “I can't imagine what it must be like, Vinh,” he said. “I'm sorry it happened.”

“Grandma says that I won't miss my hand very much after a while.”

“I hope she's right,” Gib murmured. He forced a smile, because if he didn't, he was going to cry. The boy didn't need his pity. “You in much pain?”

“Only when the nurse doesn't give me the pain pill on time.”

“Otherwise, you're doing okay?”

Vinh nodded, all his attention on Gib slowly unwrapping the parcel. “What is this? A surprise?”

“Yup. Just for you. Here, you finish opening it.”

Vinh awkwardly used his left hand to tear away the brown paper. His excitement melted into puzzlement. There in front of him was a box of crayons, a tablet of paper, some pencils and pens.

“What—what are these for?”

Gib heard the hurt in Vinh's strained voice. “Well,” he told him gently, “I made some inquiries with the doctor, and he said that drawing, coloring and sketching with your left hand would help you learn to use it better.” Gib held Vinh's tear-filled gaze. “You're a good artist, pardner. I know that someday, if you'll sketch and draw every day, you'll be just as good at drawing that helicopter you did for me with your left hand.”

Vinh stared down at the items. Slowly, almost hesitantly, he touched the box of crayons. “Are there many colors in here?”

“I don't know. Why don't you open it and find out?”

It took every ounce of control Gib had to allow Vinh to struggle with the box on his own, and it took the boy a good minute before he was able to situate the box of crayons against his leg and open it with his clumsy fingers.

“That wasn't bad,” Gib praised him.

Vinh was flushed with embarrassment. “Not so good. Not very fast.”

“But you opened it. That's the first step, Vinh. Don't look at what you don't do, look at what you do right. Okay?”

With a nod, Vinh reverently touched the crayons one by one.

“The next step is to draw something,” Gib said lightly as he opened up the small sketch pad. “What's your favorite subject to draw?”

“Helicopters.”

Gib placed the sketch pad across Vinh's lap. “I had a feeling it would be,” he said with a grin. “What color you want to use?”

Vinh chewed on his lower lip, his brows drawn into a painful frown. “I—I can't draw.”

“Sure you can.” Gib chose the green crayon and placed it between the thumb and index finger of Vinh's left hand. “Go on,” he urged gently, “give it a try. Now, the first time it's going to look a little sloppy, but every time you try, it will be better. Go on....”