Rambo and Ortega sincerely thanked the Vietnamese police officer for what he and his family had done. They were fully aware of the risks he and his family had taken to hide them in their home until the offensive was over.
Then, after saying thanks and bidding farewells, Rambo and Ortega got on board a military jeep and were driven back to the base.
Ortega was lying on a stretcher in the back.
The Dak To base had undergone a serious attack.
There were a few craters along the surrounding wall and some cut barbed wire indicated where the Vietcong had tried to get in.
Rambo let two male nurses carry Ortega away and he found himself alone near the base's entrance checkpoint.
The burden of the mistakes he’d made that night and all its horrors were about to hit him like a landslide when a face nearby suddenly caught his attention.
“Joey” Rambo said.
“Joey!”
Hearing someone calling his name, a guy lifted his head.
His eyes were in a daze.
Rambo couldn’t believe it, but then again, faces didn’t lie. It was one of his childhood friends and he was actually there in Vietnam too. It was too unbelievable to be true. What were the chances? One in a million?
“Joey Danforth”
“John... John Rambo – the guy replied - …Well, I’ll be!”
“I can’t believe it, Joey Danforth in Vietnam. What a fucking coincidence!”
The two opened up their arms and hugged.
Then Rambo said:
“It must be five years since we saw each other last I think”
“Almost ten actually”
Rambo was happy to see his old friend but Joey Danforth didn’t look as happy to see him, at least, not as much as he should have. There was something the matter.
“What's up, man?”
“It was a hard night, that’s all”
“What happened? You can tell me Joey, we’re friends. Real friends”
“Nothing Johnny, really. We lost a couple of men unfortunately, you know, the good kind”
Rambo quit talking and modestly watched his friend.
Shortly after, he said:
“You could use a drink. Let's go get one”
They went to the base's PX store, bought two beers and had a seat outside right in front of the two Baker team tents.
John and Joey had been friends since they were kids.
Their fathers used to spend their Sundays drinking together. When they did, the two boys would disappear into the mountain parts surrounding his dad’s farm and always bringing along Rambo's eleven year old, dark coloured mutt with them.
Rambo remembered that when the two of them were together, the elderly dog would suddenly come back to life and follow them everywhere they went almost like a shadow. Despite how old he was, he would keep up till the evening time and then finally pass out from exhaustion.
Anyway, many years have passed since then, and now that dog was long gone.
“What do you do nowadays, Johnny?”
“Special Forces, in the Fifth with Secret Services”
“You’re shitting me”
“No, I’m not. I’m serious”
“But you’re wearing the same fucking army uniform as me! How can you be Special Forces?”
“Don't ask me anything else”
“I can't fucking believe that you hang around like a standard soldier but you’re not. So it's true then!”
“What’s true then?”
“What they say about the SOG”
“The SOG doesn’t exist, remember that! Why, what do they say?”
“That you do crazy shit like using AKs, that you wear what you want and you dowhatever the fuck you please”
“Well, I wouldn’t say it’s exactly like that”
“But Johnny... I mean, doesn’t fighting without a uniform and killing off the battlefield make you feel like a bunch of killers?”
Rambo shot him a nasty look and Joey looked the other way. For a short time after, the two of them continued to sip their beers in silence.
“Can I ask you something Johnny?”
Rambo nodded.
“Have you ever lost anyone?”
“Not since I’ve joined the Special Forces, we haven’t. One of us is in bad shape though. At first, it looked like he wasn’t going to pull through, but he’s still alive now, even if they don't let us see him yet”
Joey Danforth looked down again, ran a hand through his hair giving Rambo the impression that he was about to cry. He looked away again so Johnny wouldn’t see his face in case his eyes became teary all of a sudden. Rambo took another gulp of his beer and gave him a second to deal with his pain by himself.
“You don't have to talk about it, if you don't want to you know” Rambo said quietly
“I was sound asleep Johnny and that’s the same as killing them myself, with my own hands”
“How many were lost?”
“Three. Three Johnny, and they were all friends of mine”
Joey Danforth put a hand over his mouth in order to hold himself back, but it was too hard to manage, and in the end, he cried.
“Are you sure you were sleeping?” asked Rambo.
Joey however didn’t reply.
“I mean, if you’d been awake, are you sure you would have saved them?”
“Not really...” replied Joey, and Rambo left it at that.
“You know, when Twain was dying, we patched him up even though we knew perfectly well that he wasn’t going to make it anyways. His eyes were shut and when I moved up next to him I put my hand on his shoulder. He felt it and without opening his eyes he lifted his hand into the air trying to find mine and wanted me to hold his. He didn’t even know who I was and yet he wanted to hold my hand. He had no idea that it was entirely my fault. He passed away before I was able to tell him what had happened”
“And what did you do when he pulled his hand out?”
“I took it. I held him by the hand until the end”
Rambo noticed that Joey was shaking so he glanced the other way. Looking him in the face while he told the story had become too unbearable for Rambo.
“He died holding my hand and it was my fault he died in the first place for fuck’s sake.”
“Calm down”
“He died because of me, because I was sleeping”
“That’s enough Joey. Keep your voice down”
“You know John, when the VC came in I started shooting. They were all right in front of me, but by that point, they were already in and I couldn't hit them all at once. It was already hopeless by then. I fucked the entire base up myself.”
“That’s enough! Just stop it”
Rambo grabbed him by his jacket and tightened his arms around him.
Then he whispered:
“Do you want to get yourself arrested? Do it. Go to your commanding officer and report yourself. Just quit screaming, or they’ll arrest you for something else. Cut it out.”
John Foley had a dazed look on his face, the same as when you wake unexpectedly from a dream.
“You’re right, Johnny” he said as he sniffed.
“Take some time to think about it” Rambo said as he loosened his hold on him and eventually let go.
“Try to remember how things really went and then, make your decision afterwards. Let me just tell you something though, if you hadn’t been fast asleep at the time you’d still be blaming yourself now except it would be for something else in any case. Whatever else, anything at all since it wouldn’t even matter. Had your rifle jammed, you’d be blaming yourself for not keeping it clean enough even if it was perfect. The fact of the matter is that sometimes, rifles just jam. Do you see what I am trying totell you? This may be nothing more than a sense of guilt playing tricks on you because survivors always feel guilty. Believe me, it’s a fact. Maybe it's your first time, but I’ve already been there”
“Thanks, John”
“Good. Don’t worry about it. Now go sleep on it”
“I’m not Special Forces material Johnny”
Rambo smiled.
“War is hard for everyone - he said - Had I been there last night, maybe you’d be the one giving me this talk and not the other way around”
Rambo was lying, but it was only a white lie. If Ortega had died inside that brothel for instance, Rambo would never have forgiven himself. It had been his idea to stay and help rather than take off. In fact, he knew that if Ortega was in bad shape now, it really was his fault. He was especially aware of that point and just the idea of it hurt him. Fuck did it ever.
Rambo took another sip of his beer being extra careful to quit drinking the minute he felt the slightest effect of alcohol in him. Drinking right after an offensive like that wasn’t what he would call a smart move. It became increasingly evident to Rambo that the reason for his drinking was to hang out with the others and feel like them, nothing more and nothing less.
He then asked himself if he was human like everybody else, because if making mistakes was human, he would have to find a way to stop being human then.
What an odd thought that was. It was one of those things that only occurred to you after you had risked your life and knew it, precisely as he had the night before. He decided it was better to just brush it off.
“Come on man, don't think about it” said Rambo.
Then he added:
“Are you still saving up for your Chevy?”
“No, not any more. I bought it”
Rambo laughed.
“Fuck. You used to dream about that Chevy when you were a kid, and now I can't believe you finally bought it!”