The Cover of War Read Free Page A

dead; her pale corpse opened-up by the blast's
full impact. She had been pregnant; the tiny fetus lying beside her in a
greenish bed of intestines.
    Danny looked
away; back to the girl. He focused on the girl.
    Her eyes clamped
onto his; wide; arched in fear. Fear in its purest form. Her mouth hung open;
panting; her face white.
    Danny could
smell the mother's insides and smoking oil from the scooter's ruptured engine.
His hands gripped the Honda's frame, sending ringlets of shock up his arms. He
lifted the twisted metal off the girl. Her left leg had been blown off at the
knee; splintered bone and ripped meat gaped from the stump. The mother's body
had protected her child from most of the blast, but the leg had been exposed.
    Danny heard
himself yell for an ambulance. A bystander said she'd called one.
    He took off his
shirt and knotted the sleeves around her upper thigh. He tightened the knot and
her stump squirted warmth onto his chest. He looked down and realized that he
was drenched in her blood.
    The girl babbled
in a high-pitched voice that he couldn't understand.
    He stroked her
forehead. 'You poor little soul.'
    Her thin arms
went around his neck. Danny held her frail body to his. 'Its okay. It'll be
okay. The ambulance is coming.' He said it more to comfort himself than
her. 
    What a mess.
What a damn mess.
    The child began
shaking. She had seen her mother and let out a disturbingly hollow sound - a
sound that he knew would haunt his mind until the day of his own death.
    Without warning
a blow struck him hard in the face. His vision blurred. Another blow struck the
side of his head.
    The attacker was
a Vietnamese man.
    The Trung
Hoa?
    The girl was
ripped from his arms. Danny jumped to his feet; but his attacker, with the girl
in his arms, dropped to his knees beside the mother's corpse.
    The father.
    A military
ambulance stopped beside Danny. A medic went to the girl. Black plastic was
draped over the mother.
    Danny backed
away. He didn't know where to go or what to do - he turned and started walking.
He walked fast.
    Then he
remembered General Westmoreland. The Grand, he thought. I've got to
get cleaned up.
    * * *
    Fully aware of the danger he was about to
put himself in, John Golota strode past the ambulance and entered the Trung Hoa
Club.
    Just shit
killing shit, he thought.
    The Trung Hoa
reeked of VC - VC and cockroaches and stale booze.
    Switch on, he thought.
    Like a
rock-star, Golota removed his ray-bans, smoothed his spiked blonde hair, and
squinted through the cigarette smoke. He went to bar, aware that a male gook
had blocked the door behind him.
    Golota was not
here to make trouble; he was here for his drugs - his payment.
    He put both
hands on the dusty counter, and eyeballed the barman. 'I'm looking for Amai.'
    'Never heard of
her.'
    'She's expecting
me.'
    ' Never heard
of her.'
    Golota propped
an elbow on the bar. 'I'll take bourbon on ice.'
    Eyeing him
warily, the bartender poured bourbon into an iceless glass and pushed it toward
him. Golota internalized his laughter; it reminded him of a scene from a
low-budget western. He put a ten dollar note on the bar, drained the glass, and
said: 'Hit me again, hold the ice.'
    Mindful that he
was in VC country, Golota took his drink and crossed the cheaply carpeted
floor, where two drunks bickered in Vietnamese.
    If the shit-hits-the-fan, Golota thought. I'm dead.
    He had not
wanted to come here, but it was the only place that Amai would meet. He had
decided the risk was worth the reward. He needed his 'speed'.
    The club was
small. The filthy bar covered the back wall. Behind the bar was a padlocked
door, brush-painted in faded orange. The room had no obvious ventilation, and
thin layers of smoke floated between the floor and ceiling. At the room's
centre, several sluty girls took turns at frotting a chrome pole. They paid him
no attention; they were for local benefit only.
    VC scum.
    Five small,
round tables surrounded the pole. Golota sat at one of the