WIREMAN Read Free Page B

smelled the scent of the enemy once again, the scent of death riding on the breeze.
    Nick did not hesitate for a second. He boldly entered the tunnel. Daley hung back, swallowed, wiped a line of perspiration from his upper lip, then stepped inside.
    He was momentarily blinded. He could not see his hand, his brother, or the walls on either side of him.
    ''Nick?" Daley whispered.
    There was a sharp war cry. The dark boomed with the sounds of human battle. Vietnamese curses tore through the air.
    Daley waited, shivering with fear. "Nick!" he called more loudly.
    The chilling gurgle of a man being strangled bounced off the damp walls of the cave.
    Daley could not wait any longer. The man being strangled could not be Nick. It could not be! If It was, then he had to save his brother, save him somehow…
    Daley stumbled forward, his hands outstretched to feel for the shape of a man. Something hot splashed over him and he knew it was blood.
    He screamed.
    A cigarette lighter flicked on. Daley stopped in mid-stride, his mouth still open from the scream that was fading away with tinny echoes to the back of the cave. Nick stood over the corpse of the last Vietnamese, the garrote dangling from one hand. He looked mad in the tuckering flame. He was covered with blood. Rubies of it nestled in his fine blond hair. Streaks of it ran down both cheeks.
    The front of his uniform was darkly soaked, and at his feet the severed neck of a black-suited Viet Cong continued to pump rivers of red over his boots. I'm right here. little brother." Nick's voice was calm. His stained lips curved into a gentle smile. He looked like a grim circus clown, chalk-white patches of skin and lipstick-smeared lips. "You don't have to be afraid anymore, Daley, I'll always take care of you."
    Daley could not help himself. He collapsed against the damp cave wall and began to sob. The cigarette lighter flame hissed and threw giant, bobbing shadows behind the two soldiers. They stood that way for a long time: one brother weeping, one brother smiling and holding his light up high against the darkness.

Chapter 3

THE TROPICAL SUN was aflame. The temperature and humidity were both in the nineties, making any physical activity a laborious task. Vietnam was the armpit of the world, and the vast armies sweeping across its interior were merely parasites looking for a more comfortable host.
    Daley and Nick stumbled forward through green grass that topped their boots. It had taken Daley two grueling days to bring his older brother sixteen miles through rough terrain. All morning they had waded through fields of watery land that had once been planted with rice. Far off to their right they could see a burned and demolished village. Ahead was the ragged edge of another forest Daley thought he remembered. If he was correct, the rear echelon of their platoon was on the other side. They might reach it by sundown.
    At first glance the two brothers looked similar because of the American uniforms and their build, but on closer inspection no one would believe they were relatives. Leading the way to the blessed relief of the forest shade was Daley, six feet tall, broad-shouldered, and ruggedly handsome.
    During the last months in Vietnam he had let his raven black hair grow long and shaggy. It had a natural wave and curled on the ends in the center of his thick neck. He was the sort of man who would never be teased about the length of his hair by either the other soldiers or his immediate commanders. He had too much self-control ever to come to blows over snide remarks, but no one had the bad judgment to chance any kind of criticism of Daley Ringer.
    On the other hand, Nick was blond and fair. From repeated exposure to the sun his skin was peeling layer after layer. Where his brother was swarthy, Nick favored their mother, a lily-white woman who always looked anemic. Nick also did not command as much power of presence as his brother. Only when a joking heckler happened to look into Nick's