The Phantom's Song
By Douglas M. FainiUniverse, Inc.
Copyright © 2010 Douglas M. Fain
All right reserved.ISBN: 978-1-4502-7331-2Chapter One
Thailand, September, 1968 The two groups passed quietly in the staggering heat. Those climbing from the metal bowels of the giant C-130 aircraft squinted into the early afternoon glare as they struggled under their heavy loads toward the gate with the large, faded sign—"Welcome to Nubat Royal Thai Air Force Base, home of the 8th Tactical Fighter Wing and the world's greatest fighter pilots!" Of the men leaving the transport, only one paused to watch the group that was boarding for the return flight.
Robb Barker watched the procession silently, and only the pounding of his heart interrupted the whispered murmurs of his mind. These were the men he came to replace, the men who had started the job he was to continue, men like him who had left their families and homes to come halfway around the world to fight on unknown soil. The young captain frowned, and small lines etched themselves across his reddened face, stopping just short of his tousled blond hair. Small beads of perspiration glistened on his forehead and occasionally merged to trickle along the furrowed wrinkles. In his heart there was an emotion that shook him visibly. There was compassion and pity that clouded his vision slightly, but it was the ugly demon called fear that crawled from within the darkest dungeons of his soul to scream obscenities into the hollow recesses of his mind.
The perspiration ran more freely in the humid jungle heat. The drops became trickles, and the trickles became a great staining wetness, filled with the salt of man. He would have liked to ask these men how it had been, how they had fared with themselves. But the emotions that rose and filled his throat spread throughout his entire body and clouded his mind. He stood there, silently, and watched them being stacked roughly onto the loading platform. Only the tags taped to the ends of the long boxes linked them with life and those waiting for the sad burden back home. Less than a year before each of them had climbed from a similar plane and perhaps watched a similar spectacle. Now they were going home – for them the war was over.
* * *
His eyes were locked on those of the small man facing him in the dripping jungle. He could feel the weight of the child in his arms; he could smell the pungent odor of blood flowing from the boy's head as it soaked into his shirt, mixing with the sweat and mud; he sensed the quick movement to his left as someone entered the small jungle clearing; but mostly he focused on the weapon in the man's hand. Captain Robb Barker had been in Thailand less than a week, but time becomes irrelevant in a war. The ticking of his watch slowed as the beating of his heart intensified. The two men's eyes were locked in a silent, timeless moment that had captured them both. It was a moment that would change their lives forever.
The small man moved slowly backward, but his dark eyes remained locked on the taller American. The rain intensified, soaking both men and the small child in the taller man's arms. Robb opened his mouth to speak, but there were no words. What does one say to a man who has lost everything, when his language, like his suffering, is incomprehensible?
He watched the man's eyes, expecting hatred, but he found only confusion and pain. Only an hour earlier their lives had been so different. He had been in the airport control tower as mid afternoon thunderstorms grew in intensity around the air base. The F-4 fighters shattered the early afternoon peace as they screamed across the horizon like large sleek raptors, returning home, gliding toward their resting places for a brief respite from the war to the east. The giant storm continued to grow above the jungle in lofty gray columns spread randomly across the foreboding dark sky. In the tower the base controllers watched the cloud formations and the planes that flew around and occasionally through them. Master Sergeant John Henderson watched a flight of four F-4s as they approached the base. They were flying at fifteen hundred feet, directly over the runway. At midfield the first aircraft banked hard and "peeled off" from the flight. Four seconds later, number two did the same as they turned downwind and prepared to land. When number three pitched, Henderson came off of his seat. "Cobra Three, this is Nubat tower. Be advised you just lost something off your aircraft in pitchout. Check status on downwind and advise."
"Roger tower."
"Oh shit!" The sergeant did not realize that he still had a "hot" mike. "Look at that!" A large explosion sent fire and smoke into the afternoon sky. It appeared to be northeast of the base, just beyond the perimeter fence. "Cobra Four this is Nubat tower. Request you break out of formation and checkout that explosion. Three, did you have a hung bomb?"
"Don't think so; damn sure wouldn't be in this landing pattern if I did."
"Cobra Four, heads up for a chopper that will be in your vicinity in five minutes. Stay above two thousand feet."
"Roger, two thousand."
"Status Four?" There was a long pause. "Four do you have the impact in sight?"
"Roger."
"Status!" The sergeant's voice was tinged with impatience.
"Cobra Four is circling a hooch on fire." There was a long silence on the radio.
"A hooch?" The thought of a 500-pound bomb hitting one of the small Thai dwellings near the base was an image none wanted to consider. This was a friendly village; Thailand was an ally in the war.
"Roger, a hooch."
In the tower the crew looked at each other in disbelief and shock. "Damn!" Henderson ran to the window and began shouting orders as fast as he could talk. "Call the Chopper; tell them to expedite. Call the Wing Commander and Base Ops. Call the Air Police, and tell them to get a crew out there ASAP. And, oh yes, alert the hospital." The tower crew looked helplessly at the rising smoke on the horizon. "Damn, a hooch. I sure hope nobody was home this afternoon."
* * *
The early afternoon rain pounded the blue Air Force Powerwagon as it bumped to a stop in the thick brown mud. The heavy vegetation surrounding the small road drooped toward the muddy earth, heavy with dampness. Six men inside the faded truck stepped out into the rain soaked road; they were silent; they were shocked; none of them had seen the terrible effects of a 500-pound bomb at such close range. It had been a near direct hit; the lost bomb had landed beside a small house on the outskirts of the Thai village. What had once been a home was now a pile of broken and twisted wood. Around it lay the bodies of those who had lived there. The young officer walked slowly forward as his team stood motionless and stared at the destruction. Like the falling rain, the silence only served to focus the visual image of the horror that had occurred only minutes earlier. In the distance a clap of thunder flashed across the small clearing, shocking the men into action. Following the captain they, too, began to move forward.
The Americans approached slowly, walking through the thick foliage until one young sergeant gasped aloud. He stood frozen, looking at his feet. The arm of a child lay in his path like the appendage of a lost and broken doll. He turned abruptly and vomited into the dense foliage.
Then a small cry brought them back to reality. The men looked quickly at each other; the tall captain began to run toward the wrecked home, his heart beating rapidly. Abruptly he stopped as he entered the clearing before the small hut, his eyes locked on a scene that would haunt him the rest of his life. There in the small yard beside the wrecked hooch stood a small man with brown pants and no shirt. His black hair was stained with blood and rain. A tiny boy was in his arms. Beside him, lying in disarray, was what remained of his life—the bodies of his wife and three of his children. He turned slowly to look at the stunned Americans.
As Robb stepped forward, the small child cried out again. Blood covered his head and ran down his father's arms, mixing the blood of father and son. "It was all a mistake. We didn't mean to hurt your family. It was a mistake. Oh God, help us."
The small man raised his head and opened his mouth to speak, but there was no sound. With effort he focused on the men standing around him, then on the child in his arms. The young captain reached for the boy, but the man pulled the child away and held him close to his own bleeding body.
"We've got to get you both to the hospital. Please. Let me help you." There was sadness and frustration in his voice. "Please ... Please." Forcefully the captain took the boy and handed him to one of the sergeants. "Careful."
The small man sank to his knees in the rain, his head hanging as if exhausted beyond measure. Finally he looked up and with great difficulty crawled to his dead wife. Carefully he lifted her body and held her in his lap and began speaking to the dead woman. He spoke softly, brushing her matted hair from her bloody face. He talked to her as if she were seated at his table, feeding his children. He looked at her lovingly and stroked her pale cheek as he spoke to the woman he loved. Then he bent and kissed her gently. When he sat up, his body was shaking as the sobs overcame him.
The young Americans stood helplessly in the rain and watched, their own eyes moist as they witnessed the unbearable pain of another human being. Two of the airmen turned away as tears streamed down their own faces. As the small man buried his face in his bloody hands, Robb walked to him, placed his hand on the man's shoulder, and began to pat him. As the man wept, Robb sat beside him and put both arms around the man's shoulders. It was all he knew to do. Together they sat in the clearing as the airmen began to move the bodies under a large tree for shelter from the rain.
Finally Robb rose and took the small child as two sergeants gently lifted the injured man and started toward the trucks. As they moved forward, the farmer jerked away and ran back toward the hooch. Robb turned to coax him back but stopped when he saw the bleeding man standing amid the remains of his family, holding the sergeant's pistol to his own head. Balancing the child with one arm, Robb raised his hand high into the air. All of the men froze. He spoke slowly, deliberately as he stared into the dark, blank eyes. "No, don't." He watched the small farmer carefully, then suddenly shifted his eyes to a movement on the left. It was a young boy of fourteen or fifteen walking from the jungle, returning to his home, his family. Instead, he found a scene his mind could not comprehend. He stopped abruptly, looked at this father, his mouth open in silent protest.
A strange inertia settled over the tall captain as he turned back to the man with the gun. It slowed his movement; it slowed the world around him as he stared again into the dark eyes of the sad face before him. "Don't. Please, don't."
The sorrow in the man's eyes reflected the pain in his heart. It was simply too great. Everything he loved was strewn about him in pieces. The dark eyes looked upon a reality that the man could not bear. Somehow Robb understood that. It was a father's eyes that looked at the small boy in Robb's arms. He nodded toward the child. "Somboon." He said it quietly.
The captain nodded and pointed at himself with his right hand. "I will take care of him. I promise." The man seemed to understand; he nodded, then pulled the trigger. His pain was over; he was once again with his family.
As the shot rang out in the jungle, the scream from the boy on the edge of the clearing startled the shaken men. It was one of unbearable pain and unspeakable rage. Robb turned quickly, speaking in a broken voice that he did not recognize as his own. "I'm so sorry, so sorry." But before he could finish, the boy turned and ran back into the jungle. He was sobbing as he disappeared into the wet green growth.
Robb handed the small boy to the sergeant standing beside him and walked haltingly to the body of the small man. "Sarge, stay here until the detail arrives from the base. Watch for the boy in case he returns." He paused for a moment and looked at the devastation around him. "If he does, call me on the radio." The tall captain stood there briefly then removed his fatigue shirt, knelt, and placed it over the dead man's head. He picked up the weapon and handed it back to the sergeant as they walked toward the truck.
"I'm sorry, sir, I didn't see him get it."
"It's okay Sarge. This wasn't your fault."
"Captain Barker, why didn't he shoot at us?"
The officer walked toward the truck in silence; finally he looked up and answered. "Because he was a good man." They both looked back as the men continued to collect the bodies beneath a large plastic sheet as the rain intensified. "He was just a simple farmer who loved his family. We took them from him. Dear God, how could this happen?"
* * *
The hospital doors flew open with a crash as three men ran up the narrow ramp with the bleeding boy. The captain's eyes were desperately searching the halls when a young woman in hospital greens ran to meet him. She reached for the child, but the captain turned away, holding the child to his breast. "Quick, get a doctor!"
"Let me see him." She reached again and began checking the boy's wound.
"Dammit, nurse! I said to get a doctor!" His voice had risen to an angry shout, one filled with both anger and fear. Two brown eyes looked into two blue eyes and sent icicles in response. The young woman grabbed the child as she spoke. "I am a doctor, sergeant; now give me this child and get the hell out of my hospital." With a turn, she ran down the hall cradling the small boy in her arms.
The red faced young man shouted after the retreating figure. "How was I supposed to know? And I'm a captain!"
"And I'm a major! Now get out!" For the first time that day he smiled.
* * *
Major Kerrie Marie Jernigan, surgeon, walked into the cramped waiting room to face the captain she had ordered from her hospital. She was braced and ready, but he was asleep. She studied him carefully. He was seated on the one couch in the tiny room that was crowded with furniture. His flight boots rested on a worn table. He sat upright, his head forward, short blond hair tousled in various directions. His muddy fatigues and T-shirt were spotted with blood and outlined a young, strong body with wide shoulders and narrow hips. She interrupted his peaceful nap. "He's going to be okay."
The sleeping man jerked into wakefulness. "What?"
"I said he's going to be okay."
"Great." He was rubbing his eyes with his hands. "Great. There was so much blood. I was worried."
"What happened to him?"
The waking eyes narrowed instantly as his mind remembered the scene at the small home on the edge of the village. "Hung bomb. Shit!" The last word was almost a shout.
"I'm sorry."
"Yeah."
Kerrie studied the young man briefly. "Was it yours?" He looked up in surprise. "No, I was in the tower. But it was one of our planes; they lost the bomb during pitchout." He looked up at her, studying her reaction. "It was an accident, a damned accident."
"Where is his family?"
"All killed but one other boy—about fourteen or fifteen I'd guess. We tried to stop him, but he ran away into the jungle." There was frustration in his voice.
She studied his face carefully as she spoke. "Do you know this child's name?"
He thought for a moment. "Somboon; his name is Somboon." He was talking mostly to himself.
"He'll be okay in a few days—physically—but he'll have a scar on his forehead. I did the best I could under the circumstances." She paused then added. "What becomes of him?"
"I really don't know." He looked up at the woman standing before him. She was dressed in surgical "greens," and there were several small bloody spots on her bosom. From under the green cap, strands of dark brown hair escaped and curled around her face. He noted for the first time that she was beautiful. Her eyes were large and dark and matched her hair. As he looked at her, he noticed her cheeks redden. Was his stare so obvious? "I'm Robb Barker." Awkwardly he rose and extended his hand. "Sorry about the mix- up before."
"That's okay. It happens often. I'm Kerrie Jernigen." She shook his hand briefly.
"We just don't see too many female Flight Surgeons over here."
"I understand."
He rose and started for the door. "Take good care of him."
"Will you be back for him later?" Robb stopped at the door and looked back at her again. The question had surprised him; he had not thought past the hospital. "I guess. Yes, yes, I'll be back." He thought a moment, his face suddenly serious. "I made a promise."
"I just wondered who will take care of him when we're through here."
(Continues...)
Excerpted from The Phantom's Songby Douglas M. Fain Copyright © 2010 by Douglas M. Fain. Excerpted by permission of iUniverse, Inc.. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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