It was a bright and sunny morning in Dak To and Ortega was taking a stroll down a rather busy and crowded street.
There was a procession making its way down the road just left of him.
The last junta South Vietnam had had (there tended to be a new government put into place almost every six months) celebrated its veterans and victories on a regular basis. The parade that was taking place that day for instance was in honour of the Army rather than The Navy, The Police Force or some other body as it had been in other cases.
Judging from the size of the crowd on that particular day, South Vietnam could have been mistaken for a country that believed in itself At least it looked like it did.
The traffic wardens were wearing their usual ultra-white police uniform, while the Police Force sported a number of medals (the number was, in itself, bordering on ridiculous) all of which hung off their chests.
There was a band playing in the middle of the road and the crowds followed slowly behind it, paying homage to an absent Van Thieu, who was no one but the last of a long series of Colonels who had alternated filling the role after the last Diem's deadly 'demise'.
In sharp contrast to the splendour of the parade, the buildings delimiting the roads showed evidence of both recent and long past episodes of “disorderly” outbreaks. Despite being only the background of the lively parade, they represented an unwavering example of the harsh reality hidden behind the country's facade.
Ortega stopped to watch the parade and its crowd of followers when suddenly, the sound of shots being fired echoed distinctly on the other side of town.
The crowd in front of him seemed to hardly notice, quite possibly mistaking the sounds for firecrackers or something. That was the kind of mistake Ortega didn’t have the liberty of making, and in any case, he knew exactly what the sounds weren’t.
He had spent months listening to the sound of shots being unloaded by each and every single Goddamn calibre ever created in the story of mankind. After all that training, not only could he tell you the calibre of the shot fired but which way the muzzles were facing too (in case you needed additional WOW effect.)
Ortega turned around, and as he’d expected, well beyond the area where the procession came to a stop he saw signs of smoke coming from the ground. Then he noted that very few people had turned to see what was happening.
People were so used to living in tines of war that they disregarded potential danger if it wasn’t in their immediate surroundings.
In fact, as crazy as it seemed, he didn’t care about guns going off on the other side of town in the least either.
Turning back around he resumed his leisurely stroll, ignoring whatever other shots he may have heard sound, and simply minded his own business like everybody else was doing.
His plan was to spend his entire leave just loafing about and he couldn't wait to start.
After the disappearance –or death? -of Jorgenson and Johnny, which coincidentally he considered entirely his fault, not much meant anything to him anymore.
Not knowing what had actually happened to his friends made the situation even worse than it was already, and he certainly believed morning them would have been less painful.
Eventually, death is something you can come to terms with and accept. It's normal and a part of life.
The way it had already happened during both World War II and the Korean War, the fate of some, occasionally remains an unsolved mystery.
That was the hardest part to accept.
Ortega couldn't imagine going back to the US without knowing what had happened to Rambo and Jorgenson. No, he wouldn’t be able to do it especially after living with them at this point, for almost two years.
Maybe that’s why some people ended up staying in Vietnam forever.
Maybe that's how you became a war junkie.
Ortega had met people who had been fighting for four fucking years.
Anyway, it was too soon to be despairing about Rambo and Jorgenson particularly since the search was still on, for now anyhow. The longer they went without news the lower the chances they’d find them.
What Ortega meant by ‘found’ was either dead or alive.
On that particular day, Ortega had decided to buy himself some booze, cigarettes along with a few other things, and spend his leave getting wasted to new unprecedented levels right there on the base.
Ortega wasn’t going back to the US because he couldn't face his own family at a difficult moment like this. What he knew he had to do at the very least however, was write his parents a few letters one for his half-brother and most importantly of all, to Helen.
Ortega pushed back the curtain that hung in place of a door and stepped into the small shop.
The shop was full of American style crap - liquor that was strong enough to knock out the Pope's liver, unfiltered cigarettes that not even a ninety year old would smoke, Zippos, cowboy hats and a whole other sea of junk.
Ortega walked up and down the aisles and then picked up two cartons of cigarettes.
Being in that store made him feel very American.
There was smoked meat, all kinds of sauces, coffee, barley and anything else that kept for a long-time or tasted like home was piled up in there, all of it made right in the US and coming straight off the black market.
Ortega picked up a pack of gum, two bottles of wild turkey and few Peanuts comic books.
Enveloped by his own thoughts, he’d placed his stuff down to pay and an outstanding mamasan – even if she was definitely too old for Ortega – smiled right at him and looked him over through her ultra-made up eyes.
“Do you want opium? Tell me, sexy G.I... Do you want some opium?”
“No m'am, I don't,,” replied Ortega as he rummaged through his pockets getting out his change “That stuff is bad for you.”
“It makes you feel good, jiai. You sleep long and make dreams, then feel better. You have sad eyes JIAI.”
He looked at her as if he’d seen a ghost, but the feeling left as quickly as it came so he passed her the dongs to pay.
The woman picked up a paper bag and put everything except the two heavy whiskey bottles in it for Ortega.
Ortega felt something behind him.
He turned to see a young girl, who was surely mamasan's daughter. They both had the same shaped eyes and body composition being straight and long-limbed.
The girl was wonderful.
Her mouth was imperfect but that was the beauty of it, brazen somewhat, with that lipstick.
Her youth gave her a fresh kind of look like the scent of a new beginning or a new life.
He was watching her restock the store shelves when he got a warm feeling inside.
Her almond shaped eyes were quite large and unusually light in colour than generally seen and her long black hair lay straight down her back.
Their eyes met momentarily.
He turned back to the woman behind the counter again passing her his money.
She looked at him and said:
“Do you want bum bum GIAI? I find bum bum too... Beautiful gils, few dolla”
“No mam. No...”
Ortega tilted his head a little down, in the way the Vietnamese used to say goodbye to each other. He then started picking up what he’d purchased off the counter, but seemingly, in distress, the young woman offered her help.
He smiled.
“I got this,” he said
“I help you... I help you to the base. Close.”
“It doesn't matter. Really.”
Ortega knew that being courteous or acting like a gentleman towards her would make her cold and distant so he just agreed to accept her help.
By the time they left the store, the shooting has ceased so the VCs had probably fled the scene by then. There would be bystanders in the streets some crying over the dead civilians, others walking aimlessly looking among the dead for survivors.
Ortega and the girl walked awkwardly in silence.
When they got to the base, Ortega decided to take a chance.
You only live once – he said to himself.
And if I don't say something now, I’ll probably never see her again.
“Can I see you again?”
“I not understand.”
Ortega smiled.
“You are beautiful.”
“Thanks.”
Ortega felt a little stupid.
He couldn't talk Vietnamese – even if he wanted to – because it was like admitting you were a military advisor or even a spy.
He just couldn't do it, the same way he couldn't rule out she could even turn out to be some Vietcong bitch.
She was worth taking the risk for however.