disciplinary action.
First though, he’d returned to the Golden Coast. Something about the
setup had not seemed right. That one girl, Number 15, had gotten rid of
the other girls … but then explained they’d all meet later. Something
was wrong there. Howard had heard stories of sailors getting rolled in
strange cities while on liberty. Once Bentley had told the story of a
friend of his who’d woken up in Tijuana to find his companion of the
previous night gone … along with his wallet, shoes, and every stitch
of clothing.
Suppose something had happened to them.
He’d felt embarrassed going into the Golden Coast the first time; it had
felt a thousand times worse going in again later, alone. A smiling That
girl had come up to him, and he’d stuttered as he asked if she knew
Number 21.
“Sure,” the girl said. “She’s on duty now. I get her.”
Howie had felt his blood turn cold. Number 21 was supposed to have gone
after the others. What was she doing here? Quickly, Howard had
scanned the other people in the bar, searching faces. He didn’t see
Bentley or the others, but …
Then he saw Number 15. For a moment, he’d thought perhaps it was a
different girl with the same number, but there was no doubt. Even in
the near darkness, he could see enough to know it was her. She was
wearing the skimpy G-string and bra again and was sitting in the lap of
a customer. A moment later, she turned slightly and her eyes met his,
widening in recognition.
Howard had turned and fled then, certain that something was wrong.
On the street outside, though, he’d changed his mind again. The
likeliest explanation was that Bentley and the others were having some
fun with him. They’d met with 15 and 21 and the others, had their
sanuk, then decided it would be a great gag to go off and leave Howie
waiting in Patpong.
They’d probably boarded the midnight bus and were already halfway back
to the ship.
So Howard had caught his bus and made it back to Sattahip, boarded the
mike boat, and motored back to the Jefferson with a mob of drunken,
story-swapping sailors. It was after 0300 when an exhausted Howard had
tumbled into his rack, promising himself he would have words with the
others when he saw them at breakfast.
But they’d not been at breakfast. At morning department muster they’d
been marked down as AWOL.
Chief Paulsen led Howard into the passageway. “Okay, kid,” he said.
“What’s on your mind?”
Howard swallowed. He was still embarrassed by the events Of last
evening, didn’t even want to admit that he’d been to Patpong, but he was
worried about his friends. “Chief? I think Bentley, Rodriguez, and
Paterowski might be in trouble.”
“Damned straight they’re in trouble. When they go up before the Old
Man, I’ll lay you odds Bentley and Paterowski lose their crows. That’s
trouble, all right.”
“No, Chief. Something worse.” And he began to explain what had
happened.
1040 hours, 18 January
Near the That-Burmese border
Batman had nearly reached the top of the ridge when he heard the clatter
of a helicopter in the distance. The sound brought new strength to legs
aching from the long climb and he quickened his pace. He could see
patches of sky just ahead. There might be a clearing at the top.
He emerged into full sunlight. The crest of the hill was strewn with
house-sized limestone boulders rising from the clay and soft earth of
the slope, and the rock was holding the surrounding forest at bay.
Panting, holding his side where a painful stitch burned with each
breath, Batman stumbled onto the flat surface of one of the rocks. He
fumbled for his SAR radio. “Mayday! Mayday!” he called. “This is
Batman! Does anybody read me?”
The view from the limestone cliff looked out across mile upon green mile
of jungle to the north and west. He could see the helicopters now, two
of them, flying side by side far to the north.
North? He checked the position of the sun at his back. Yes, north.
And far enough away that they had to be over Burma even if he was on the