THE BUTCHER'S BILL

CHAPTER 2

                                                                   CHAPTER  2

     The C.O. crooked his arm in hers leading her away from the chopper. He was so close she was drowning in his smell, held down by that aged spotted arm that pulled on her inert body.

       Paddy tried to ignore the cajoling and laughter of the group as they strolled past them down the hill until she heard Jackie gasp as her feet slid on some loose gravel threatening to send her sprawling forward. Three marines quickly caught her before she lost her balance and from then on she had a man on each arm, just the way she liked it.

     From this vantage point they could see the full length of the camp. Concertina wire surrounded the camp and armed sentries guarded the gate. At the bottom of the hill on the right was a motor pool with trucks, tanks and jeeps all lined up like a used car lot. A canopy was set up beside it so they could work on the vehicles in the rain. As soon as they reached the bottom of the hill, Paddy could smell gasoline and engine oils. A greasy mechanic in a dirty undershirt and pants slid out from underneath a truck. Another marine poked his head out from under the hood of a jeep with a wrench in his hand.

     The small village was laid out grid-like with tents lined up on either side of the wide dirt road. Twelve inch wide planks, in eight foot lengths had been raised up a foot to act as a pathway which lead to a wooden platform where a tent was pitched surrounded by sandbags.

     The C.O. steered Paddy to the opposite side of the road away from the group. “We’ll talk in my office.”

Paddy pulled out a roll of breath mints offering him one.

He moved in closer and smiled. “No thanks.  Your friends seem to be enjoying themselves,” he said nodding at Colleen and Jackie.

     “They’re so busy doing there, Look at me; aren’t I beautiful, Miss America thing, that if the enemy landed right in their laps the only thing they’d notice is that their audience got bigger.”

Phlegm rumbled through the C.O.’s chest as he choked back a laugh.      

     An American flag hung limp at the end of a pole in front of the sand bagged tent. He held the door flap open for her. Although there was no fresh air to let in, large canvas window flaps were still open on all sides exposing the mosquito netting.

     “Please have a seat.” The C.O. pulled out a chair for her and then settled into a wooden chair across the desk lighting up an unfiltered Salem. “Now isn’t this better.” Ashes circled the ashtray speckling the cluttered paperwork in front of him.

     “I want to know what the army is doing sending us out here to entertain the troops when the cease fire has been cancelled.”

     The C.O. leaned back in the chair, his head shadowing a large map of Vietnam and pulled out his desk drawer. The casters on his chair scraped the cheap flooring as he leaned forward ignoring her to search his desk drawer.  The chair squeaked with his shifting weight and the round, battery operated clock on the wall clicked off the minutes. He took a requisition form out of the drawer and wrote down a list of items that would not be sent anywhere.

He acted like she wasn’t there. Looked right past her. She knew the game. Her father had played it often enough. Make them wait to show them whose boss. The C.O. opened the desk drawer to search again. She didn’t have the patience to out grin him.

     “What’s the matter? Have you lost something? Can I help you find it? The sarcasm in her voice was evident. She would torment him into talking.