Ride the Tiger (14 page)

Tess was in constant danger, too, as far as Gib was concerned. The villagers of Cam Na refused to leave their homes for a safer, more secure area the marines had set up for them. Tess continued to argue with a marine major who insisted her people were in real jeopardy. She remained at Cam Na overnight all the time now, and though he wanted to be supportive of her, Gib wasn't at all comfortable with his sister's stubborn refusal to help persuade the villagers to leave. The two women who held his heart, Dany and Tess, were far from safe, and Gib's helpless frustration with the situation ate at him.

Pete Mallory joined Gib as he walked toward the operations tent to fill out his debriefing forms.

“Hell, this isn't as much fun as it used to be,” Pete griped, wiping his watering, bloodshot eyes.

“I can't say I ever saw it that way in the first place,” Gib said drily. Every bone in his body ached. His bird had taken a lot of ground fire. Gib knew he and his crew had walked away lucky today. Sometime in the future, they might not. His shoulders and back muscles were in knots and felt as if they were on fire. Suddenly Dany popped into his thoughts, as she often did at unexpected moments. Gib wondered what it would be like to be massaged by her strong, slender hands. She'd be good at massage, he thought as he and Pete walked toward the group of tents in the distance.

Gib had respected Dany's request and left her alone. Completely alone. He liked her too much to make her life any more miserable than it already had become. At least there was one bright spot: Vinh had recuperated beautifully after the operation and was now back at the plantation with his family. Gib cherished the note that Dany had sent to him via Ma Ling last week.

Dear Gib,

I took the liberty of having your briefcase returned. In the confusion, you forgot about it. Thank you for respecting the neutrality of the Villard plantation and its people. I'm sending Ma Ling with this note to give to you. I received the investigation papers last week, and I'm sorry that no culprit was found. Thanks for trying.

I find myself worrying about you every time I see a helicopter fly overhead. The last two weeks there's been such terrible fighting around us that not a day went by that I didn't wonder how you're doing, how much you were flying and if you were staying safe. I hate war. I hate what it does to people. It all seems so unnecessary.

I'm doing well. Things are quieter around here now and back on track, so to speak. Please take care. You're in my nightly prayers.

Dany.

“Gib? Hey, where'd you fly off to?” Pete teased.

Gib flushed. “Sorry. What did you say?”

Pete halted at the door to the flight shack, opening it for Gib. “I said, I'm gonna go over to Da Nang and wrangle some supplies for us in about an hour. Do I have your permission to leave?”

Grinning belatedly, Gib entered the partially air-conditioned building with its long plywood counter, flight desk and meteorology equipment. Evidently Pete was out on one of his scrounging tours again. “Sure. Just be careful you don't get caught.”

Pete grinned widely. “You bet. I'll be gone before those gyrenes know I've been there.”

Laughter helped ease the terrible strain Gib felt inwardly. Pete Mallory was a blessing to the squadron in so many ways. The marine sergeant on duty approached Gib.

“Sir, Colonel Parsons asked to see you after you're done filling out the paperwork.”

Frowning, Gib nodded. “Thanks, sergeant, I'll do that.” What was up? It was 1700, and all Gib wanted to do was drag himself over to his tent, take a shower and fall into the cot to sleep for twelve heavenly, uninterrupted hours—although he knew the idea was mere fantasy. VC sappers regularly tested the defenses surrounding Marble Mountain, and sporadic firefights broke out along the concertina and mined perimeter off and on all night.

“A squadron commander's work is never done,” Pete whispered conspiratorially.

“All I want is to shower and hit that rack,” Gib muttered.

“No can do.”

Gib eyed Pete jealously. “Where the hell do you get all that spunk? You've flown as many missions as I have the past few weeks.”

Grinning, Pete signed off the discrepancy sheet and handed it to the maintenance sergeant behind the counter. “Man, I keep telling you—you just don't live right. It's women that keep my blood pumping, my eyes bright and my exhaustion at bay. Didn't you know that?” He clapped Gib on the shoulder. “Now, if you had some good-looking filly to chase, you'd be alert, too.”

Scowling, Gib continued to fill in the necessary paperwork.

“I'm going to head on over to Da Nang,” Pete said, lifting his hand in farewell. “See you later.”

“Yeah.”

Gib returned to his paperwork after Pete had left. When he'd completed the routine signing of squadron flight reports, he retrieved his utility cap and headed on over to Parsons's office. As he made his way between the long, neat rows of tents, he admitted to himself that his deepest concern revolved around Dany. The weeks had turned into a depression-laden mire for Gib. Were the pressures of war making him feel this way? Maybe taking on a second tour hadn't been so smart. Maybe he was burned out, and Dany symbolized the kind of normalcy, peace and sanity he needed.

Gib shook his head. He'd never know. They hadn't been given the chance to explore what they could be to each other. In spite of his attempts, Gib couldn't ignore his feelings for Dany any more than he could stop breathing. Was it just a crazy infatuation? Was he acting like this because he couldn't have her? She was a fever in his blood—beautiful, white-hot heat that sizzled through his nightly dreams, taunting him.

His steps slowed as he neared the HQ tent. In spite of the heat, Gib had to appreciate the incredible beauty of the late afternoon. He turned and looked toward the mirrorlike ocean in the distance. The air around him was filled with sounds of aircraft taking off and landing, of helicopters winding up, their engines shrieking to a higher pitch, breaking the stillness he knew would exist if they weren't here. The peach-tinted sky had deepened to a tangerine color, as brilliant as it was delicate. The wispy clouds reminded him of the soft strands of hair that blew across Dany's face. Drawing in a deep, shaky breath, Gib stared up at the sky, absorbing its inherent beauty.

In a way, Dany seemed clean and pristine to him—she existed outside the life-and-death dance he was forced to perform every day as he flew into battle. Dany represented a gentle nurturing he was starving for. The war was bleeding every decent and fragile emotion out of him. Somehow, Dany revitalized him, made him feel alive again, reassuring him that his ravaged emotions had been numbed rather than truly destroyed.

Gib didn't want to interface with the military anymore today. He wanted only to hear Dany's soft contralto voice on the phone. The urge to call her was excruciating. But as quickly as the thought arose, he squelched it. As he opened the door and entered the HQ tent, Gib knew he had to resist his own selfish urge for Dany's sake.

Colonel Parsons looked up. “There you are.”

Gib halted in front of his desk, came to attention, and at the colonel's nod, relaxed again and asked, “What's up, sir?”

Parsons leaned forward and took a file from his In basket. “Got a job for you, Gib.” He grinned and gestured to Gib to take a seat. “Not that you need any more responsibility than you already got, but the Logistics boys down in Saigon decided to call in the chip on you.”

Stymied, Gib set his duffel bag on the floor, sat down and opened up the file Parsons handed him. It was labeled Villard Estate Purchase. “What's this, sir?”

“Remember when Saigon dubbed you liaison officer to Miss Villard?”

“Yes.”

Parsons punched his finger toward the file. “The powers that be want to expand our helicopter facilities in the Da Nang area. They have authorized you to negotiate for purchase of Miss Villard's estate so that it can be turned into a heliport facility.”

Gib's eyes narrowed. “They want to buy her out?”

“That's right, and they've chosen you to get it done as expeditiously as possible. Of course, we have to work with local ARVN officials on this.” Parsons grimaced. “Their palms have to be greased, or they'll feel left out of the action.” Parsons folded his hands. “Now, you read over that file tonight. Tomorrow morning, come back over here, and if you've got any questions, I'll get them answered. Officially, I'm pulling you off the duty roster tomorrow so you can go visit Miss Villard and make her a fair offer.”

“But—”

“Gib, this has to be done quickly. We're going to be receiving a hundred and fifty more helicopters in the next four months, and there's nowhere to put them. Logistics has chosen the Villard plantation as the ideal location—its close to the base, easily defended and south of us, where most of the action is taking place.”

Gib sat stunned for a long minute.
My God, Dany will come unhinged over this,
he thought. And worse, he was to be the messenger. What would she think of him? His mouth suddenly dry, Gib croaked, “What if she refuses the offer?”

“Then up the ante money within the range given in the file.”

“No, sir, I mean, what if she absolutely refuses to sell to us at any price?”

Parsons shrugged. “Then, unfortunately, the Vietnamese government—with the help of hefty bribes—will intervene. She'll be forced to sell.”

“How?”

“They have their ways, Gib, don't worry about it.”

Anger stirred within him. “Colonel, I know she won't sell. Her tie with this land is special. For God's sake, she buried her mother on it less than a month ago. She wouldn't leave it for anything—or anyone. Especially not for us.”

“I'm sorry to hear that, Gib. Look, you have a lot of charm, and you're very good in diplomatic negotiations. That's why you were chosen for this assignment. Command doesn't want to upset Miss Villard, and they're willing to pay a fair market price for her estate, but they will get that land.”

Gib's hand trembled on the file as he slowly rose to his feet. Nausea stalked him. “Sir, isn't there some other way? Some piece of land bordering her plantation that might do just as well? Have the high-command boys looked at
all
alternatives?”

“Major,” Parsons said abruptly, “your orders are to get her to sell. I don't intend to tell high command their job. I'm sorry this has to happen to Miss Villard, but that's the way the chips fall.”

Gib read between the lines of Parsons's warning. Despair gut-punched him. “I'll see you at 0800, sir,” he said resignedly.

Brightening, Parsons smiled. “Fine, Gib. Just look at it this way: with the amount of land involved, Miss Villard will end up becoming a very rich young lady. She can go back to France and start another farm or business with no problem at all. Have her look at this as an opportunity. God knows why anyone would want to stay in this country in the first place.”

Gib knew he had to leave before he allowed his anger to get the better of him. Parsons wasn't at all interested in Dany's emotional tie to the land. The colonel didn't understand that sort of thing. Reeling emotionally, Gib left headquarters and walked toward the barracks in the growing dusk. His mind spun with shock and disgust. How could he handle this? How would Dany react? He knew she would fight. She would refuse any offer. And if he were in her shoes, he'd do the same thing.

Still, come tomorrow, Gib would have to deliver the most fatal blow Dany had ever received. Bitterness coated the inside of his mouth, and for the first time he felt ashamed of the Marine Corps and of the uniform he'd always worn so proudly. This war was coldly going to smash Dany after all her struggles to remain neutral. And what did that make him?

* * *

“Missy Dany, Missy Dany,” one of the children called, running up to her and pulling on the tail of her white overblouse, “a man is here! Ma Ling said to come quickly!”

Dany knelt down and hugged the anxious six-year-old girl. “Thank you,” she whispered. “Tell Ma Ling I'll be there right away.”

Frowning, Dany watched as the little girl, dressed in a dark green blouse and pajamas, her hair pulled into perky pigtails, ran off toward the house. Dany was working a good quarter-mile inside the rubber-tree grove. Turning, she dropped her machete and gloves beside the trunk of one of the huge trees and asked her foreman to carry on. Who was here?

Perhaps it was Dr. Perot, the French homeopathic physician, dropping by unexpectedly to check Vinh's progress. Vinh was recuperating in the main house at Dany's insistence. He was coming along wonderfully and would soon have an artificial limb fitted to his arm. Thinking it must be Perot, come to take measurements of Vinh's injured extremity, Dany walked back to the house in a leisurely fashion instead of hurrying.

Ma Ling met her at the back door, her brow wrinkled.

“Major Ramsey is here,” she said flatly. “This is not good.”

Dany stood rooted to the spot, stunned by the news. Instantly, her pulse bounded and her heart squeezed, so that she couldn't find her voice for a moment. Finally she whispered, “Gib's here?”

“Yes. I took him into the drawing room where he might not be seen by Duc's spies. I don't know, they may have seen him anyway. This isn't good, my daughter.”

Patting Ma Ling's darkly tanned and wrinkled arm, Dany said, “I know it isn't. Let me go see why he's here.” Dany was filthy from working, her dark blue pajamas and overblouse damp with sweat even at ten in the morning. She handed Ma Ling her bamboo hat and went into the kitchen to wash her hands, neck, face and arms with a cool cloth.

“Is he in uniform, Ma Ling?”

Ma Ling rolled her eyes. “No! At least he respected you that much.”

“Thank God.” Hurriedly Dany dried herself. Hanging up the damp towel, she said, “Bring us iced tea, please.”