The Needs of One…

Author: Jaz, © January, 2003 Rating: PG-13 (mild language and violence)

Disclaimer: Tour of Duty and the characters herein are the property of Zev Braun Productions. No copyright infringement is intended, and no money is being made from this story.

Summary: A mission goes wrong, leaving Lieutenant Goldman in the position of deciding if the needs of the one outweigh the needs of the many. Time frame is second season, circa the episode Promised Land.

**************

Part Three: The Moment of Truth

The noises of the jungle sounded deafening, even from inside the small hut. They could hear the constant low hum of the insects, the occasional shriek of a nearby monkey, and the unique sound made by one of the local lizards that sounded almost as if it were speaking profanities. On another night, the men would have joked about it.

But not tonight.

Tonight, they waited.

Waited to see if the enemy would return. Waited to see if the sun would still rise in the morning. And waited to see if death would visit them in the night.

The two platoons had left hours ago, leaving behind the men of Third Squad and their platoon leaders. Darkness had settled upon them not long after. Ruiz, Taylor, Johnson and Percell were outside the hootch, taking two hour rotations to stand watch. They were each aware of what would happen if the enemy chose to come back.

Goldman sat inside, staring at the unconscious form of Sergeant Anderson, waiting, listening for signs of…of what, he wasn’t sure. The occasional periods of semi-wakefulness that the sergeant had were getting fewer…Anderson hadn’t opened his eyes in nearly two hours.

Myron reached up to the sergeant’s head and gently removed the headband Zeke always wore, pausing for a moment to tentatively run his hands over the other man’s hair, smoothing out the marks left by the piece of cloth and trying in vain to ease the pain he knew Zeke must be in. He absently stuffed the headband into the pocket of his fatigues.

“This wasn’t…this wasn’t what I had in mind, you know?” Goldman spoke softly, the words sounding strange in his ears. “I mean, I always figured you and me….”

Myron hesitated, unsure if he could put his thoughts into words. He never shared his feelings, at least not willingly. But there were things that needed to be said. Sharing your thoughts with a man who was lying unconscious beside you should be easy, right?

The hut was filled with silence for a few moments before Myron found his voice again. “We’ve been through a lot together, you and me. And I know I never admitted it to you, but I never would have made it if you hadn’t been there. When I first got in-country, I thought I knew it all. Was gonna prove to the world what a great officer I was. Prove to my father….”

He stopped, struggling to keep his emotions from getting the best of him. “What a fool I was…” he said inaudibly.

Taking a deep breath, he continued. “But you…You were something else. Never expected to come across someone like you. They don’t really warn you about lifers in OCS. I figured I needed to show you who was boss. Funny thing is, I think you already knew. And it sure as hell wasn’t me.” A harsh laugh escaped his lips. “Just took me a while to figure that out. Sometimes I think I’m still working on it.”

Myron shifted slightly, laying his hand on Zeke’s arm for comfort. He just wasn’t sure which one of them was being comforted.

“You’re the best damn soldier I’ve ever seen,” he continued. “You taught me everything I needed to know. And you never gave up on me…not once, no matter how much I deserved it. You put up with my ego, my moods, my anger…none of it seemed to make a difference to you, no matter how hard I tried to push you away. And you still let me become the leader. But I never figured it would end like this. Not with you lying here…” he trailed off. “Hell…I don’t want to go through the rest of this war without you. But…” his voice cracked slightly, his emotions stretched to the breaking point. “But I know I’d stand a better chance of makin’ it knowing you’d be waiting for me with a beer back in the world…”

Myron turned and stared at his platoon sergeant’s face, before leaning his head back against the bamboo wall. He’d run out of words, and the ability to say them. So he simply sat, listening.

He sat there for what seemed like hours. He wasn’t exactly sure when he became aware that Zeke’s breathing had changed. He listened intently to the other man’s gasping, and knew that each breath he drew was a tremendous effort. The low moans Zeke had been occasionally making intensified in volume and frequency. He grabbed hold of Zeke’s hand, hoping somehow that his own strength would help the other man in his struggle.

Myron knew then that the moment of truth had come, and it scared the hell out of him. He began praying in earnest.

“God, please. I don’t want this one. I can’t. Please God, help him. Don’t let him die. Oh, God, please don’t make me kill the only real friend I’ve ever known…”

Danny Percell chose this moment to walk over to the darkened hootch to check on the lieutenant. He had stood outside, hearing the other man’s anguished prayer, and knew the lieutenant couldn’t face this alone. Wanting desperately to be anywhere else but here, he took a deep breath and went inside.

Goldman looked up, almost startled, as Percell entered the hootch. He captured Danny’s gaze, welcoming his presence, knowing that Zeke Anderson was the person who mattered more to the young man standing in front of him than anyone else in Vietnam.

“Sir,” Danny began, his gaze inexorably drawn to the still form of Anderson lying on the dirt floor. “How’s he doin’?”

Myron rocked back slightly until he was sitting on his heels, and he turned his gaze back to the sergeant as well, staring silently for a few moments before answering. “He’s getting worse, Danny…I don’t know. But I think he’s in a world of hurt.” Saying the words out loud made him realize it was true, and, more than anything else, he did not want to see Zeke continue to suffer.

“He’s not…he’s not gonna make it, is he LT?” Danny’s gravelly voice broke on the words, and he turned away, fighting desperately to keep from giving in to the tears in front of his lieutenant.

Myron didn’t answer, simply could not bring himself to utter the words. The silence in the hootch was broken only by the obvious suffering of the man they both cared about so deeply.

Danny bit down on his lip as he continued to struggle with his emotions, and once again he looked down at the sergeant’s face. “I…I don’t want Sarge to die, LT. Oh, God,” he paused, uncertain if he could finish. Pushing on, he said quietly, “but I don’t want him to suffer no more either.”

Goldman sat quietly, simply staring at Anderson as the older man let out another muffled groan of pain. And he let the officer inside him make the decision.

“Danny, why don’t you head on out, check on the guys or something,” Goldman said in a voice devoid of emotion.

Danny knew beyond a shadow of a doubt what the lieutenant intended to do. And there was no way he was going to make him do it alone. “No, Sir,” Danny replied in a soft voice.

Goldman turned questioning eyes to the enlisted man. He could never once recall him disobeying an order he’d given.

Danny stared back at him, refusing to back down. “I’m not going, LT. Sarge has been there for me more times than I can count,” he replied evenly. “I’m not leaving him now.” Or you, he added to himself.

Goldman simply nodded. He pulled a single ampoule out of his fatigue jacket pocket as Danny’s gaze followed his every movement. The lieutenant used his left hand to smooth out the fabric on Zeke’s thigh, his right hand shaking as it came nearer to the big man’s leg. He hesitated, wanting the trembling to stop, and inhaled deeply to calm himself. He could do this. If it was what was best for Zeke, he could do this.

He had to.

Forcefully willing his hand to move again, he brought it up to Zeke’s leg. Unexpectedly, there was a touch on his wrist, a gentle touch, lacking the strength to fully hold onto him. With startled eyes, Goldman looked up to Zeke’s face to see his sergeant watching him, his eyes remarkably clear.

“No…morphine…” Zeke said weakly, his gasps for air punctuating the words.

“Zeke, I…” Myron fumbled, not sure if the sergeant was aware of what was going on.

“I…know, LT…” he whispered, holding the lieutenant’s eyes with his own. He took as deep a breath as his injury would allow before continuing, “Don’t…want it.” His hand fell away, as if it had taken all within him just to utter those few simple words. His eyes closed again, and though his breathing was labored, his face seemed more at peace.

Myron stared at him. The relief he felt coursing through his body at the decision being taken out of his hands was intense. He looked down at the ampoule almost as if he’d never seen it before, and quietly shoved it back into his pocket. He glanced helplessly at Danny, unable to speak.

Danny recognized that the lieutenant was on the edge of losing it, and knew the man needed some space. “LT,” he said evenly, “I’ll keep an eye on Sarge for a spell. Why don’t ya get yourself some air?”

Myron nodded wordlessly and raised himself to his feet, nearly stumbling in his effort to get outside the hootch whose walls suddenly felt as if they were closing in on him. He rushed through the door and half-tripped around the side of the small home, feeling as if he were being chased.

Leaning back against the wall of the hootch, he allowed his head to fall back as he drew in deep, ragged breaths. His body slowly slid down till he was sitting on the ground, his knees drawn up in front of him. He crossed his arms over his knees and gazed up at the stars shining brightly above, trying desperately to keep his thoughts at bay.

He did it for me. He knew. Somehow, he knew. Knew I couldn’t live with it if I had to kill him. Even with his dying breath, he’s looking out for me, still watching my back. Oh God.

What the hell am I going to do without him?

Finally giving in to the emotions that had long been threatening to overcome him, Lieutenant Myron Goldman laid his head down across his arms and cried.

***************

Myron awakened with a start, his head coming up off the wall he’d been leaning against and his body jerking to an upright position. He could feel his heart racing within his chest, his body damp with perspiration as the remnants of his dream filtered out of his mind. The fading red of the early morning light made its way through the window of the hootch, past the tattered material, and left a myriad pattern of shadows across the dirt floor.

He ran a hand over his face, swiping at the moisture, and gently rubbed his tired eyes. He’d come back into the hootch last night, relieving Percell so he could go back and join the others. He’d just sat there, using the wall behind him for support. He shouldn’t have been sleeping. Hadn’t meant to fall asleep.

As memories of the previous night rushed in, he sat up fully and twisted to face Anderson, so afraid that he would find his friend had left them as Myron slept. He placed his hand on Zeke’s neck, feeling gently for a pulse. His neck was warm, and Myron felt relief for a moment, before realizing it was too warm. His pulse was weak, but it was steady and it was there.

Myron opened his canteen and poured some of the water onto his towel, using it to wipe Anderson’s face and neck, hoping to cool the rising fever. As he ran the rag over Zeke’s burning skin, he paused briefly, saying a quick ‘thank-you’ to God. Zeke was still here. And that meant more to Myron than he could put into words. He’d like to think that God had His hand in it. That God was there, that He really did care what happened to them. On a morning like this, it was easier to believe. For the first time since he laid eyes on his wounded staff sergeant, Myron believed Zeke really might make it out of here alive.

Zeke’s breathing was still far from normal, and Myron noticed the pallor of his skin. The blue tinge to Zeke’s lips warned him that Anderson wasn’t getting enough oxygen, and Myron knew they’d better start humping fast if they wanted to get him out of the bush.

Goldman stood to his feet and made his way outside, feeling the crick in his neck from sleeping in an odd position. He walked around the hootch and came upon the men as he had left them the night before. All four of them looked up at their lieutenant as he approached, fully expecting the worst.

Myron could see the anxiety in their faces, and allowed a small smile of reassurance to cross his face. “He’s still holding on,” he simply said.

Relief flooded their young faces, and Taylor slapped Johnson across the back. “I knew he’d pull through! I just knew it,” Taylor said.

Goldman held up a hand in caution. “He’s not out of the woods yet, Taylor. I think he’s started a fever, and his breathing still sucks. We’ve got to get him out of the bush as fast as we can. I figure our best bet is to head for that firebase we passed two days ago. If we bust our butts, we might make it by sundown now that the rain has stopped.”

“We’ll make it, LT. We can do it,” Ruiz assured him with the earnestness of youth.

Goldman nodded. “Alright then. Get a litter put together and we’ll get out of here.”

“It’s already done, Sir. We put it together last night,” Johnson informed him.

Goldman followed Johnson’s gaze, and noticed the makeshift stretcher lying behind them. “Good…” he began, then paused as he noticed the radio with the severed cord nearby. “What’s with that?” he asked the men.

“Davis left it here with us, Sir. I kinda tried to hotwire it back together. But it ain’t no Buick, ya know?” Taylor answered.

The lieutenant stared at Taylor, surprised at the young man’s ingenuity. “Good thinking, Taylor,” was all he said. “I’m glad you tried. Alright. You guys need to take a few minutes and grab some breakfast, or are you ready to get moving?” he asked.

“We’re ready now, LT.” Ruiz informed him. “Let’s do it.”

“Okay. Let’s get him loaded up. Percell, Ruiz, you two take the litter for now. Johnson, you got point…” Goldman broke off as a distant noise penetrated his thoughts. He glanced skyward, not sure he was hearing correctly, but within seconds the sounds of an incoming chopper was unmistakable. It was one of the most beautiful sounds he’d ever heard.

All five men watched as the chopper came over the tree line and slowly lowered its mass to the field of tall grass on the outskirts of the village. They stood transfixed by the sight, as if unable to believe this gift from God.

Goldman broke out of his reverie, and ordered the men to get Anderson loaded and over to the bird, as he ran over to meet the chopper. He didn’t know why it was here, but there was no way he was going to let it take off without Anderson aboard.

The wind churned up by the chopper’s rotors whipped the surrounding grass into a frenzy, and Goldman could feel it slapping against his thighs as he approached the chopper.

McKay jumped down from the cockpit and ripped off his flight helmet. He came around the front of the chopper to meet up with Myron just as he rounded the point.

“McKay, what are you…how the hell did you find us?” Goldman asked, for the first time in his life feeling grateful for the other man’s presence.

“I got called out to pick up the wounded from your platoon over at the bridge. The sergeant up there, he told me your location. He told me about Anderson. Goldman, I’m so sorry,” McKay said with sincerity in his voice.

“Yeah, well, now that you’re here, he’s got a hell of a lot better chance of making it,” Goldman responded, turning to check on the progress of his men as they brought Zeke to the relative safety of the chopper.

“You mean he’s still alive?” McKay asked in surprise. “Damn! I thought for sure….”

“The guys are bringing him over now,” Goldman said, raising his voice to be heard above the noise of the Huey.

“Okay then, get him loaded up! But Goldman, I’ve only got room for him, maybe one more.”

Goldman glanced back at McKay, turning from where his men carried Sergeant Anderson on the litter. He’d give anything to be able to go along with his friend, with Zeke. But as an officer, his place was here, with these men.

He knew that.

He returned his gaze to meet McKay’s eyes. “We had a KIA from the firefight yesterday. If you’ve got room, take him. The rest of us will hump it out,” he answered, the decision made.

“You got it,” McKay replied, laying his hand on Goldman’s shoulder. The two men stepped away from the chopper as Percell and Taylor carefully loaded Zeke’s quiet form onto the deck next to the other wounded. Goldman relayed orders to bring Bobby Dawson’s body—he was going home.

Percell kneeled next to Sarge on the deck as the others ran off. He picked up the big man’s hand, and held it loosely for a moment. “You hang in there, Sarge, ya hear? I know you can do it. Maybe I’ll see ya back in the world.” He laid Zeke’s hand gently across his chest, and stared at the man he owed his life to, before quietly climbing down and going off to help the others.

Goldman looked away from the private farewell, and realized he had his own goodbyes to say. Fastening his gaze back on Anderson, he spoke.

“McKay, he’s—he’s in pretty bad shape. Take good care of him, okay?” His voice could barely be heard over the rotors.

“I’ll do my best, Goldman,” McKay answered, giving Myron’s shoulder a gentle squeeze. “I promise.” He allowed his hand to slip away as he turned, replacing his helmet and hurriedly climbing back aboard the chopper.

Goldman walked slowly to the chopper, barely aware of the others as they loaded Bobby Dawson up. He laid his hand on Zeke’s leg, as the memories of all they’d been through together flashed through his mind. He wasn’t ready to say goodbye.

“You’re going home, Zeke. You’re almost home. You take care of yourself, you hear? That’s an order.” A sad smile came to Myron’s face as he realized it would be the last one he’d give this man. “I’ll come to see you before they ship you out, okay?” he promised, hoping like hell it would be true.

A thousand things he wanted to say came rushing through his thoughts. He straightened slightly, raising his chin, struggling for control. “Take care, friend,” was all he managed.

Johnson, Taylor, Ruiz and Percell came and stood beside the lieutenant as he backed away to allow the Huey to take off. They called out their goodbyes and encouragement to the sergeant even as the chopper lifted into the air, each of them watching until the bird disappeared from view.

Moments passed, and still they stood, each lost in their own thoughts. Finally, Goldman gave the order to move out, never even realizing that he hadn’t asked McKay about the other wounded men from his platoon or what had happened at the bridge.

***********

Coming out of the bush and finding themselves on the doorstep of the firebase proved to be minimal effort for the five men, as they humped through the jungle with renewed motivation. Third Squad had managed to get themselves to the firebase just past 1600 hours. Despite Goldman’s intense efforts, however, he was unable to procure a jeep to get them back to Tan Son Nhut, and they all shared the frustration of not being able to make it back to base.

Goldman was prepared to leave them to head off to the CP and see if he could get any information on Sergeant Anderson’s condition when a runner came from that general direction.

“Lieutenant Goldman?”

“Yeah?” Myron answered, patting down his fatigue jacket for his cigarettes. He located them and pulled one out wearily, reaching into his pant’s pocket for his Zippo.

“Sir, Captain Hall said to let you know there’s a supply chopper due in here in 15 mics. He said it can take you back to Tan Son Nhut.”

Myron’s face brightened noticeably. “Outstanding!” he answered, turning to his men. “Alright, guys, let’s get ready to get the hell out of here.”

“Sir,” the private said, “I think the captain only meant for you to go. He said something about a transport going out in the morning that your men can catch back to base.”

Myron felt a little of the wind leave his sails at the thought of leaving the guys here after all they’d been through together. Somehow, it didn’t seem right that he should get to go while they stayed behind.

Johnson could see the hesitation in his gaze, and simply dealt with it.

“Don’t worry about it, LT. Get on back to Sarge for us. He needs you with him. We’ll catch up with you tomorrow,” he said, making an effort to be as persuasive as possible.

Goldman hesitated. He gazed at the faces of his men, each of them showing their weariness through the dirt and sweat mingled there. But in his mind’s eye, he could only see the face of one person…

Right or wrong, he needed to be with Zeke.

Lifting his rucksack to his shoulder, he spoke. “Get yourselves something to eat, guys. I’ll radio back here once I find anything out about Anderson. And I’ll see you back at base in the morning.”

Ruiz tiredly mumbled something that sounded like ‘yessir’ and began heading toward the mess tent. Johnson and Taylor followed just behind him. Only Percell stood still, quietly watching the LT walk away with the captain’s runner. For the life of him, he didn’t know how to follow that simple order. He’d never felt so lost.

It wasn’t long before the others noticed he was missing. They stopped, turning back, and Ruiz retraced his steps to where Percell stood.

“C’mon, Danny,” he said, placing his arm around the other man’s shoulder, gently leading him along. “Ain’t nothing more we can do now.”

Danny captured his gaze, the confusion and loss he felt mirrored in Alberto’s eyes. Both felt they had lost the backbone of their unit, their anchor in this insane world, the one who held them all together. Without Sergeant Anderson there, maybe they’d just have to hold on a little more tightly to each other.

Maybe that would get them through.

***********

McKay looked up from where his gunner was washing the blood off the floor of the chopper when he noticed that it was Goldman who climbed off the incoming chopper that had just settled on the helipad. He hurried to catch up with him as the other man headed towards the building that housed the dispensary on the other side of the landing area. “Goldman!” he shouted as he started to jog, “Hey, Goldman!

Myron turned at the sound of his name and walked to meet McKay halfway.

“How’s Anderson?” Myron asked, skipping the pleasantries and going right to what had been on his mind since McKay lifted off that morning.

McKay stopped in front of him, noticing the weariness that had settled in around Myron’s eyes. He’d never seen Goldman looking so beaten, and he wondered vaguely how it was that the man he wanted to call his friend could still be standing.

“I don’t know,” he answered, pulling the hat off his head and running his hands through his dark, wavy hair. “I dropped them all off here first thing this morning, but I had to get right back in the air. I just flew in again with a few more guys—this is the first time I’ve been back all day. I was about to head over and see for myself.”

“I’m headed there too,” Myron replied automatically.

“Maybe you should get something to eat first,” McKay suggested, falling into step beside him. “No offense, but you look like hell.”

Goldman glanced sideways at him and just shook his head.

“I don’t want to waste any more time,” he replied. I may already be too late…

Goldman gave little thought to McKay walking beside him, until something the pilot had said this morning suddenly came back to him.

“You said were picking up guys from my platoon this morning,” Myron said, understanding dawning. “Did I lose anybody?”

“No,” McKay answered, keeping his eyes straight ahead as he walked. “Jennings’ platoon was hit the hardest. I think a couple of your guys had some minor injuries. Jennings lost four men, though, and he’s got two more who are probably headed home. But they got the bridge. Stopped Charlie from going through. Command’s doing a little dance over their raging success.”

Myron allowed a small laugh to escape. “Well, I’m sure Jennings is pretty damn pleased about that,” he said, wondering for the first time what kind of action would be taken against him for disobeying orders.

“Myron…” McKay hesitated. “Jennings didn’t make it. I heard he was a little too close when the bridge went up. I know none of us were crazy about him, but still…it’s a damn shame.” McKay risked a glance at Myron to see how he was handling the news.

Myron slowly digested the information, saying nothing, not at all sure how he felt about it. He wearily closed his eyes. There would be time to sort it all out later. For now, he simply wished for a few minutes’ rest.

Within minutes the two men were at the front entrance of the dispensary. Myron sprinted away from McKay, taking the steps two at a time. He pushed open the double doors and made his way to the nurse’s desk nearby, standing there impatiently, searching for someone to give him information.

After less than a minute, a young nurse wearing army fatigues approached him. “Looking for someone, Lieutenant?” she asked.

Myron looked at her as if she’d just thrown him a lifeline. “Yes!” he stated anxiously. “I’m looking for a friend of mine they brought in this morning. Sergeant Anderson.”

“What’s his full name?” the nurse asked, reaching behind the desk for a scrap of paper.

“Staff Sergeant Clayton Ezekial Anderson.”

“They brought him in this morning?” she repeated, jotting the name down and gazing up at the lieutenant.

“Yeah. By chopper. He had a chest wound.” Myron answered.

“And you are?” she prompted.

“Lieutenant Myron Goldman. I’m his CO.”

“Alright. Wait here for a few minutes, and I’ll see what I can find out for you,” she said, walking away.

“Thank you,” Myron called as an afterthought.

He was still pacing in place when McKay caught up to him.

“Anything?” McKay asked.

Myron silently shook his head.

They waited in silence for another five minutes, when a doctor approached them from the hallway. “Lieutenant Goldman?” he asked.

“Yes, Sir,” Goldman responded.

“I’m Dr. Carpenter. I performed the surgery on Sergeant Anderson this morning.”

“How is he?” Myron asked nervously. “Is he…did he…Is he gonna make it?”

“The sergeant suffered significant internal and external injuries. He lost a great deal of blood, and the bullet pierced his lung, causing it to collapse. We were able to remove the bullet and re-inflate the lung and close him back up. However, the lung already showed the beginning signs of infection.” He paused, looking at the young man in front of him, not certain how honest he should be in his prognosis.

Myron waited expectantly, squaring his shoulders. Knowing how strongly he would be impacted by whatever the doctor had to tell him, he prepared himself for the worst.

The doctor decided Goldman looked strong enough to handle the truth, so he continued. “By all rights, he never should have made it in from the bush. He’s in serious condition. But he’s still holding on. They’re shipping him out to Japan, and with the extent of his injuries, probably Stateside from there.”

“Can I see him?” Myron asked.

Carpenter hesitated, then nodded. “I’ll see if I can find where they’ve put him,” he stated, walking away.

Myron leaned his weary body against the wall for support, feeling a sense of relief wash over him as his eyes closed. Zeke was going to make it. He could feel it. Zeke was alive, he was out of the bush, and he was going to make it. Thank you, God, he whispered silently. Thank you. He would deal with the implications of his sergeant’s going home tomorrow. For right now, he would enjoy this moment.

“Lieutenant Goldman?”

Myron heard the familiar voice, and opened his eyes to see Jennings’ platoon sergeant standing there. He somehow found the energy to push himself off the wall, extending his arm to grasp the sergeant’s offered hand.

“Sergeant Jones. Glad you made it back,” Goldman said, struggling to make polite conversation.

“Thank you, Sir. It was a hell of a mission,” Jonesy stated.

Goldman wondered idly what the sergeant was doing here, and it occurred to him that perhaps he had been wounded as well. “Why are you here, Jones? Were you hurt?” he inquired casually.

“No, Sir. I just been in here checking on my men. Lieutenant Jennings didn’t make it,” he added quietly.

“Yeah, I heard. I’m sorry about that,” Myron offered.

“Well Sir, he was a ball-buster, that’s for sure. But he did a damn good job at that bridge. I expect he’ll get some sort of medal for that mission.”

Myron nodded, not sure what to say.

“LT, I reckon ya know he never got around to filing any reports. You know. ‘Bout what happened ‘tween the two of you. I don’t figure nobody else will be sayin’ anything either. It’s over, Sir.”

Goldman looked at him, realizing what the other man was saying, and nodded again, feeling McKay’s curious eyes upon him.

“What about you, Sir?” Jonesy asked. “What are you doing here?”

Goldman shifted slightly, looking past the sergeant towards the direction in which Dr. Carpenter had disappeared. “I’m just waiting to see Anderson,” he said.

“How’s that?” Jones asked, perpelxed.

“McKay here flew Zeke in this morning. I just got in from the bush. I came straight here, and I’m waiting to see Zeke.”

“But, Sir, he ain’t here no more. They shipped him out half an hour ago. He caught the last flight to Japan. You just missed him.”

Myron stared at the sergeant, wanting desperately not to believe him. But something inside told him it was true, that he had missed his chance to say goodbye. He floundered momentarily, wondering what to do now. Stuffing his hands into his fatigue jacket pocket, he absently pulled out the cloth that was there, not recognizing it at first. Fingering it gently, he realized it was Zeke’s headband, and the loss suddenly swamped him.

He closed his fingers tightly around the cloth, and ignoring McKay’s concerned voice, turned and walked out into the night.

**********

Three Weeks Later

Myron climbed off the deck of the chopper as it landed on the helipad at Tan Son Nhut. After over two weeks in the bush, he was more than ready for a shower, shave and a hot meal. Hell, he’d settle for a change of socks and a few hours in his rack.

The ends of the headband he now wore flapped in the breeze stirred up by the chopper, and he reached up, removing it from his head and placing it carefully in his pocket. Not for the first time in the past weeks, he wondered about Zeke and how his recovery was going. Three different times he’d attempted to get a pass to Japan to see the sergeant, only to be thwarted by Major Darling. Then had come the orders for a new mission.

He vaguely wondered if Zeke had made it Stateside by now. He’d sent off a letter not long after Anderson was shipped out to Japan, but had heard nothing in return. It crossed his mind that maybe there’d be a reply waiting for him in his hootch, but, knowing the Army’s penchant for mail delays, he ruled it out as unlikely.

He made his way now to his quarters, purposefully separating himself from the men of his platoon. The patrol had been a long one, but it had gone smoothly and they’d suffered no major casualties. Sergeant Jones had stepped into the huge void left by Anderson, though no one envied him that task. But the men had responded to him well, and his experience in the bush had been helpful on more than one occasion. Myron supposed he should be glad.

Goldman walked up the steps to his hootch and pulled the door open, allowing it to slam behind him. He stripped off his harness and the remainder of his gear, grateful to be rid of the extra weight. Laying his weapon on the table, he sank down onto the bed and worked at untying his boots.

The knock at the door left him wishing he were somewhere else. Knowing it was more than likely McKay, coming to check up on him as he’d gotten in the habit of doing, Myron considered ignoring it. Instead, he called out “Come,” and pulled off his boot.

Sergeant Anderson pulled open the door and stepped inside, his large frame filling the doorway and all but obscuring the light from outside. He stood there, grinning like a fool, awkwardly shoving his hands into the pockets of his fatigues.

“LT,” he said, his head bobbing, the grin still on his lips. “How’s it goin’?”

Myron stopped pulling on his boot and simply stared at Anderson. The smile he couldn’t contain started at the corners of his mouth and didn’t stop spreading until it reached his eyes, his entire face changing as the years seemed to drop away. He stood up and crossed the room in a heartbeat, allowing himself for an instant to simply react to the emotion of the moment rather than worry about appearances. He stopped just short of the sergeant, hesitating, reaching out and placing his hand on Anderson’s arm tentatively, as if he were afraid the image before him would suddenly disappear.

“Zeke! Damn! What the hell are you doing here? How are you?” Myron pulled himself back a half step to look at him, unable to believe his sergeant was really standing here next to him.

Zeke was caught off guard not only by the exuberance of the lieutenant’s welcome, but also by the stench of the young man himself. His smile deepened, but he didn’t let on. As crazy as it seemed, he was glad to be back. To be home. “I’m doing okay. A little sore, maybe, but, all things considered, I’m good,” he quietly understated.

Myron lightly clapped Zeke on the shoulder again, being gentle so as not to irritate his wound, and then stepped back further to allow the sergeant to fully enter the small room. As the light returned, he could see the tightness around Zeke’s mouth, and the weight loss the sergeant had suffered became apparent. Concerned that he might be overdoing it, Goldman offered Zeke a chair.

Zeke took him up on it, and grabbed the nearby chair, turning it and straddling it with his arms laid across the top. Myron smiled at the simple familiarity of the movement.

“So, what are you doing here? I thought they shipped you Stateside,” Myron questioned as he sat back on his bunk, his eyes never leaving the sergeant.

“Nah. Told ‘em I didn’t wanna go. They said if I could get up and around in a couple of weeks, they’d let me come back. Wasn’t easy, but I made it, and here I am. I’m still on light duty for a few weeks, but as soon as I get the okay, I’ll be back out with you and the guys.”

“Wait a minute,” Myron said, his happiness at seeing Zeke again beginning to diminish as Zeke’s words sank in. “Are you telling me you’re back here to finish out your tour? Are you nuts? You nearly died out there!” Myron’s elation was soon replaced with anger as he realized the implications of the sergeant’s return. If Zeke had wanted to remain in the Army, he could have chosen from a hundred other placements. Instead he came back to risk his life yet again.

Zeke held up his hand in a placating gesture. “Now, take it easy, LT. I know this probably ain’t easy for ya to understand, but I didn’t come back here just because of you, or the guys…I came back here for me. This is where I belong.” He paused, as if unsure he could properly convey his reasoning to the lieutenant. “There ain’t no place for me back in the world just yet. I figure once there is, I’ll know it...”

Myron watched him, saw the truth in his eyes, and slowly shook his head. He reached down and began untying his other boot. “You’re a fool, Anderson, you know that?” he said.

“Yessir,” Zeke answered, grinning. “I reckon this ain’t the last time I’ll be told that.”

Myron stopped pulling on his boot for a moment, pausing to look up again at his sergeant. “You scared the hell out of me that day,” he remarked without thought.

“Yessir,” Zeke nodded. “I am sorry about that. I figure I got you to thank for saving my life, though I don’t remember too much about it. ‘Cept…”

“Except what?” Myron asked him, curious.

“Nothin’,” Zeke replied. “Just some crazy dream about you and me, sitting back in the world together and enjoying a beer.” He looked awkwardly down at the floor.

Myron smiled to himself, pulling off the boot and placing it on the floor. He placed both his elbows across his thighs and leaned forward on them, looking up at the sergeant and sharing his grin. “Good dream?” he asked quietly.

“Yessir,” Zeke nodded thoughtfully. “That it was…”

~End~