Blood Lines

62

›› Eleven Klicks Outside Qui Nhon, Binh Dinh Province

›› Socialist Republic of Vietnam

›› 1931 Hours (Local Time Zone)

Shel pulled back into the shelter of a stand of tall trees just as the lead helicopter opened fire on his position. He hooked Max by the scruff of the neck and pulled him tight, wrapping both arms around the Labrador’s neck to shelter him.

The. 50-cal rounds chopped through the tree branches and smaller trees like scythes. Leaves, branches, and trees fell to the ground like the rain that continued to relentlessly pound the jungle. Purple tracer rounds made the bullet streams visible, and they danced only a few feet away.

“Shel!” Remy called over the headset.

“I’m good,” Shel replied as he watched the helicopter swing around his position. “But this guy must have night vision. He’s circling my position like he can see me.”

“There’s a FLIR mounted on the undercarriage,” Remy said calmly. “He’s got your number.”

Desperation filled Shel as he burrowed more deeply into the trees. The bullets struck rocks and threw sparks that flared only briefly before dying. He caught momentary glimpses of the door gunner hanging outside the helicopter’s cargo doors. The chopper looked like a predatory insect in the darkness.

“Know what the weakest point on any helicopter is?” Remy asked almost conversationally.

“The tail rotor,” Shel answered. He shifted, dragging Max with him, putting trees between himself and the helicopter gunner.

“Hold tight,” Remy warned.

Even as he moved, Shel saw sparks suddenly dance along the helicopter’s tail section. The chopper was moving slowly, so the target wasn’t as difficult as it could have been. In the next moment, the tail rotor suddenly swung out of control. The pilot tried to recover, but the chopper started turning circles in the sky. Then it descended and smashed into the trees.

There was no explosion. It just went down seventy yards from Shel’s position. By the time he was in motion, the second helicopter had marked Remy’s position and was moving in for the kill.

“Hang on,” Shel said. “Help’s on the way.” He ran through the jungle, dodging trees and brush. He cradled the assault rifle in both hands as Max loped at his side.

The second helicopter was too far away, on the other side of Remy rather than being between them as the first one had been, so Shel moved toward the downed chopper.

Both door gunners had survived the impact and were struggling to free themselves from the safety rigging. When the first one saw Shel, he reached for his sidearm.

Shel shot the man on the run, stitching a three-round burst from the gunner’s hip to his shoulder. The man slumped in the rigging.

The pilot stumbled from the cockpit and brought up his pistol. Before he could use it, Max clamped his huge jaws over the man’s forearm and smashed into him, knocking them both to the ground.

The other door gunner turned and fired at almost point-blank range. In his hurry, he missed. Shel spaced a double tap over the man’s heart, then tracked a round up between his eyes in case the man was wearing Kevlar.

Shel took hold of the. 50-cal machine gun, twisting it experimentally on its gimbal. It still had full movement.

Tracking the. 50-cal drone of the other helicopter, Shel turned the machine gun in that direction, found the aircraft, and then lit up the night with tracers. He was wide and low of the helicopter for just a moment; then he tracked the tracers onto the chopper’s dark body.

The. 50-cal rounds punched through the helicopter’s body and marched toward the cockpit. The pilot juked and tried to take evasive action. Shel stayed locked on, knowing the fuel tank was there somewhere.

Finally the tracers ruptured the fuel tank and ignited the gas. In the next second the helicopter became a roiling ball of orange flames and dark gray smoke against the black sky and silver rain. Flaming pieces of the aircraft showered down over the landscape.

“Not bad shooting, Marine,” a gruff voice said. “Looks like I’ll be walking out of here.”

Shel spun as he recognized the voice as Victor Gant’s.

“But that’s okay, because I’m gonna walk out of here knowing I squared things with my son’s killer.” Victor Gant stood next to a tree. Only the M79 grenade launcher and one eye were visible.

Shel knew he wouldn’t have a chance if he ran, so he jumped back through the helicopter’s cargo area toward the open door on the other side. He was in midair when the 40 mm grenade slammed into the helicopter’s interior and the explosion engulfed him.

›› 1934 Hours (Local Time Zone)

Victor Gant watched the incendiary grenade fill the helicopter’s interior with twisting flames. The illumination spun and whirled as it chopped into the darkness. He didn’t see the Marine’s body anywhere.

Cursing, wishing he’d been able to kill the big man less quickly and regretting that it was already over, Victor tossed the M79 to the side and pulled the M14 into his hands. He stayed low and duckwalked to the back of the helicopter. Staying next to the downed aircraft while it burned wasn’t his first choice, but Victor wanted to make certain of his kill.

“Fat Mike,” Victor called.

“Yeah.”

“You got my six?”

“Like always.”

Fat Mike stayed in the brush and kept a weather eye peeled while he held on to his M60 machine gun. If anyone made a move against Victor, Fat Mike would cut the assailant in two with the weapon.

“That dog was with him,” Fat Mike said.

“When you see it, euthanize it,” Victor said. “We’re scorched-earth here.”

“Reading you five by five.”

Victor felt the pressure of the clock against him. Maybe they’d chased the NCIS team off, but the Vietnamese People’s Army soldiers were moving in. His window for escape was closing.

“Victor,” Tran called over the radio.

“I’m already gone,” Victor replied, but he kept circling the helicopter. He wasn’t going to leave until he saw the Marine’s dead body for himself. “You with me, Fat Mike?”

“I’m on your six. You’re clean and green.”

Victor smiled. It was like old times. Hunting Charlie through the brush had always been a thrill. When he ducked under the helicopter’s tail section, he felt the heat pushing at him. It was almost hot enough to sear.

Then Victor saw the Marine. Shel McHenry lay almost twenty feet from the stricken helicopter. He was facedown on the ground, his assault rifle another dozen feet away.

Cautiously Victor closed on the man’s body. “You still alive, jarhead?” he called softly.

The big man didn’t move.

“You wouldn’t be lying there playing possum, would you?” Victor stepped closer. The M14 led the way. “Maybe I should just put a round through the back of your head to make certain.”

Shel McHenry lay motionless on the ground.

Closer now, Victor saw the embers still smoldering against the man’s shoulders and back. A fine dusting of them trailed through the short blond hair. Bits and pieces of him were on fire, but he wasn’t moving. Victor knew the man was either dead or unconscious.

“I think I’m going to take an ear or maybe a finger,” Victor crooned. “Some piece of you to remember you by. What do you think about that?”

A dark shadow rose from the ground and launched itself like an arrow across the broken ground. Victor saw just enough of it to know what it was, and he knew where it was headed.

“Fat Mike!” he yelled. “Watch that dog!” He tried to spin and draw a bead on it. But from the corner of his eye, he saw Shel McHenry rise from the dead.

›› 1936 Hours (Local Time Zone)

Later, Shel was never rightly able to say what had woken him from unconsciousness as Victor crept up on him. The last thing he could ever clearly remember was the explosion. The concussive force had blown him clear of the helicopter and hurled him several feet through the air. He didn’t remember hitting the ground, but he had the bruises and abrasions to prove it.

But what had woken him remained a mystery. On some days, he thought that it had been a feeling, an outgrowth of the combat senses he’d developed while in action. Other days, however, he was certain it was his daddy’s voice, fierce and hard, telling him to get up before he got himself killed. When he told Don about it, Don had another take on just exactly what had happened.

All Shel knew was that he woke and saw Victor Gant drawing a bead on Max as the Labrador streaked for the brush. That had been enough to galvanize him into action. He pushed himself up from the ground, caught Victor’s eye rolling toward him, then saw the rifle coming around to meet him.

Shel blocked the rifle with his left hand, felt it chug as it spat bullets into the ground, and curled his right hand into a fist. He put his shoulder into the effort and-even though he was on his knees-got his weight behind it and hit Victor Gant as hard as he’d ever hit any man.

Victor was knocked sideways. Shel yanked on the M14 and pulled it from the other man’s grasp. Before he could reverse it and use it himself, Victor came back at him with a Ka-Bar combat knife clenched in his fist. Blood trickled down Victor’s face and made him look like a madman.

“Thought you were dead, boy,” Victor roared. “I gotta admit, I like the idea of killing you myself even better.” He slashed at Shel with the knife.

Shel threw himself backward, rolled, and got to his feet in one smooth move despite the wooziness rocking his skull. He felt slightly disoriented as he moved, but everything was there.

Victor quick-stepped toward him, trying to step on his lead foot, but Shel managed to get his foot away and duck back again. This time he smashed the palm of his right hand up against Victor’s elbow and trapped the man’s arm for a moment. While he had him blocked, Shel drove an overhand blow into Victor’s face that split the man’s cheek.

Max’s growl in the brush let Shel know he was dealing with a threat himself. A man’s frightened squalls echoed around them.

“Come on then, boy,” Victor taunted. “Let’s see what you’re made of.”

Shel felt for his pistols, thinking to put a quick end to the knife fight. His holsters were empty. Evidently the explosion or the landing had knocked them free. Reluctantly he gave ground.

Victor stepped forward quickly again and slashed twice. The blade whispered across the front of Shel’s Kevlar vest.

“Why are you running?” Victor sneered. “You come all this way to get a piece of me. Well, here I stand. Let’s see how bad you want me.”

Black anger filled Shel and he almost rushed the man. Remembering how he’d fought his daddy gave him pause, though. His daddy had fought back even harder than he’d expected. Shel knew that Victor Gant would be no less of an opponent.

He also realized that Victor had circled him and was driving him back toward the burning helicopter. He felt the heat blazing against his back and heard the fire crackling in his ears.

“How bad do you want me, boy?” Victor taunted. “Looks to me like you just come all this way to die.”

Unbidden, the image of the small chapel in the hospital filled Shel’s mind. He’d been at peace there. Even with everything that had gone on with his daddy, he’d been at peace.

All his life, he’d felt he’d chosen a different path to walk than Don. His brother had gone the way he believed God had pulled him. But in the end, had Shel done any less? Even with his world filled with violence and bloodshed, wasn’t Shel drawn to the same goal of helping others who were lost and unprotected?

In that moment, with more clarity than he’d ever expected, Shel knew that he wasn’t so different from his brother. Don was a shepherd. So was Shel. They just tended different flocks in different circumstances.

And their daddy, though he’d been thrown off-stride, had done the same thing. God had pulled him back to that small town where he’d come from, and he’d given him Mama to love, and he’d given him two strong boys to guide and love as best as he dared.

In all that time, Shel knew that his daddy had never once truly turned away from that calling. Maybe he hadn’t had the soft words or the understanding that some daddies did, but his war hadn’t ended in Vietnam. For forty years, that guilt had been the biggest war Tyrel McHenry had ever fought.

He’d never once stepped away from the burden God had given him to do.

A calm peacefulness like he’d never felt suddenly filled Shel with clarity. He knew what he was supposed to do, and he knew that there wasn’t another path he would ever take.

He stopped backing up before Victor Gant. When he dodged the knife this time, he set himself and delivered a full-on body block that lifted Victor Gant from his feet and hurled him backward. Victor landed and set himself immediately, but it didn’t do him any good. Shel came at him without fear, without anger, with only the knowledge that he was doing what was right and what he’d been born to do.

He punched Victor in the mouth and drove him back. “I’m here, Victor.” He hit him again, driving him back once more. “Do you feel me now?”

Victor threw a punch.

Shel slipped the punch easily, shoving it away from him. “And I’m taking you back with me, Victor. Not a piece of you. All of you. You’re going to stand trial for every evil thing you’ve ever done.”

Victor swiped at Shel with the knife, but Shel caught the man’s wrist and twisted. The knife dropped from his fingers. Stepping forward, Shel delivered a forearm shiver that knocked Victor backward and almost toppled him.

“Do you feel me now?” Shel asked.

Desperate, Victor tried to kick Shel in the crotch. Shel caught the man’s leg, lifted, and twisted. Victor spun and crashed to the ground. When he tried to get up, Shel hit him in the jaw. Then he rolled him over and jacked an arm up behind his back.

Shel knelt on his prisoner, placing a knee in the middle of his back, and pulled a pair of disposable cuffs from his combat vest. He fit the cuffs onto hand, then the other, pinning both behind Victor’s back.

“You have the right to remain silent,” Shel said, gripping Victor by his long greasy hair and yanking his head up. “Anything you say-”

“I don’t think he’s going to say much,” Will said.

Shel glanced over his shoulder and saw the commander standing there.

“He looks pretty unconscious to me,” Will said.

Breathing hard, black spots whirling in his vision and his body hurting from various bruises, scrapes, and burns, Shel looked at Victor Gant.

The man was dead to the world.

“We’ll read him his rights later,” Will suggested. “When he comes to.”

“Good idea,” Shel agreed. He let his prisoner’s head drop.

“There’s something else I need to tell you. While you and Remy have been out here shooting down helicopters and arresting unconscious criminals, Nita found something very interesting about our friend Hinton. Something you’re definitely going to want to see.”

Before Shel could ask what Will was talking about, a frightened voice called from behind a tree, “Hey! Somebody want to get this dog off of me?”

When he stood and walked to the brush, Shel saw that Max had Victor Gant’s henchman by the throat and lying on his back. Shel picked up the M60 lying nearby and pointed it at the big man. He signed Max off.

Fat Mike Wiley stared up at Shel with frightened eyes. “I thought he was going to kill me.”

“He could have,” Shel replied. “You make any wrong moves, I’m going to let him.”

“Not me,” the big man said. He rolled onto his face and put his hands on top of his head. “You won’t have any trouble out of me.”

Shel quickly put cuffs on the man and got him to his feet. Will kept him covered.

When he looked back over the battlefield, Shel saw that Captain Phan’s soldiers held the high ground. Maybe some of Victor Gant’s people had escaped, but they weren’t going to be doing much.

Shel looked at Will and grinned. “We won.”

“Yeah,” Will said, smiling a little. “I guess we did. You sound surprised.”

“Me?” Shel pulled a shocked look. “I never had a doubt in my mind.”

›› Recovery Room

›› Las Palmas Medical Center

›› El Paso, Texas

›› 1017 Hours (Central Time Zone)

Shel stood at the window of his daddy’s room and stared out at the clear blue Texas sky that he’d grown up under. A red-tailed hawk circled the sky and made him think of the ranch and the Indian paintbrush in bloom, looking like the scrub grass was on fire. He’d seen it this morning when he’d stopped by to check on the livestock.

Then, in the reflection, he saw his daddy turn over in bed and wake up. His daddy’s eyes stared at his back. He looked older and more fragile in the hospital gown, but there still remained that fierceness that Shel had always remembered about the man.

If he hadn’t been through what he’d been through, would he still have that? Shel wondered. It was a worthless question, though. It was part of his daddy’s nature. That was like asking if there’d be dust in west Texas.

“You got all the time in the world to be staring through the window like that?” his daddy asked.

Shel smiled. “Yes, sir. I reckon I do. Otherwise I’d be sitting back watching you sleep.” He turned to face his daddy.

Max stuck his head up in the corner, looked at both of them, then curled up again.

“How’d you get Max in here?” his daddy asked.

“I made friends with one of the nurses.”

“I’m glad my ailing has worked out for you.”

“Yes, sir.”

“But you got no call to be coming around, Shelton. We’re done here. We were done before you up and left a few days ago. Got nothing more to say to you.”

“No, sir. I reckon you don’t. So I’m gonna tell you a few things.”

“I don’t want to hear them.” Tyrel reached for the remote control on the table between them. He turned the television on.

Shel reached down and pulled the plug from the wall. The television went off.

“Don’t think that just because I’m in this bed and outfitted with a pacemaker that I’m feeling too poorly to get up and give you some of what I give you in that barn,” his daddy threatened.

“No, sir. I wouldn’t think that. But if you get up out of that bed, I’m gonna call that pretty little nurse friend of mine, and she’ll have a couple of orderlies strap you to that bed till I finish saying what I’ve come to say.”

“You’re just wasting your breath. What I done, I done. Spent over forty years dreading what’s coming, and that’s over forty years too long in my book.”

Shel leaned back against the wall. “You ever talk to God, Daddy?”

Tyrel waved a big hand at him and ignored him.

“I mean, really talk to God?” Shel persisted.

“Your brother talks to him enough for all of us.”

“I can see how you’d think that. But it’s not true.”

“Say what you got to say, then be on your way. Surely they got a baseball game on somewhere.”

“You know,” Shel said, “I’ve spent all of my life trying to understand you.”

Tyrel was silent for a moment; then he said, “There ain’t as much to understand as you might think there is.”

“No, sir. I have to admit that most of it’s pretty simple. Most of it’s what I figured it was. Those parts that I liked and understood, I measured them out and kept them for my own. You see, Daddy, if it hadn’t been for you, I wouldn’t be the man I am today.”

Tyrel looked at him and tears glimmered in his eyes. His face quivered a bit but he smoothed it out.

“Got no time for this,” his daddy objected in a strained voice. “Nor no reason to listen to it.”

“What I am,” Shel went on, “what I made myself become, was something I thought was better than you would ever be. But that’s not true. I know that now. Don, he got the best parts of you right off. I only thought I had them.”

Tyrel tried to speak and couldn’t.

“You see,” Shel said, “I saw you as this loner cowboy. John Wayne. Audie Murphy. This fierce, hard, proud man that wouldn’t take nothing from nobody. I wanted to be just like that.”

“You’re a better man,” his daddy whispered. “You always was.”

“No, sir, but I’m working on it. Don understood what you were better than anybody. He took what he saw and he became one of the best husbands and one of the best daddies in the world. He became a leader in the church and works at saving more people than you or I ever will.”

Tyrel couldn’t speak.

“Don got that from you,” Shel said. “I understand that now. He saw you raise us when other men didn’t stay with their families. He saw how you were with Mama. He became just like that-never failing, never swerving, never a moment lost when he needed to be a daddy or a husband.”

“That wasn’t me,” Tyrel said.

“It was.” Shel’s emotions were thick in his words, and his voice almost broke. “It was, but we just didn’t see it, you and me.” He paused. “I just got back from Vietnam, Daddy. I walked some of those battlefields where you fought, and I found a part of you I never saw before. I tried to imagine what it was like to be eighteen years old, handed a weapon, and sent out in the jungle to kill men I didn’t even understand before they could kill me.”

“Hard times,” Tyrel said. “Those were hard times.”

“Yes, sir. They were. I could see how a kid could make the mistake of shooting a friend in the dark. Especially when he was drunk and with men who were known for violence.”

Tears ran down Tyrel’s weathered face. “I killed him, Shelton. I killed that poor boy that night, then helped bury him so his parents never knew what happened to him.”

“I know you think you did, Daddy,” Shel said, “but that’s not what happened.” He pulled a packet from the chair beside the bed and handed over eight-by-ten photographs. “This here’s what remains of PFC Dennis Hinton. We found him and identified him.”

“I don’t want to see them.” Tyrel held up a shaking hand.

“Fine. Then I’ll tell you what Nita found when she examined that body.” Shel put the photographs away. “She found slash marks along the underside of his jaw that were made with a sawtooth blade. The kind of combat knife Victor Gant carried back in those days. A lot of guys carried those survival knives.”

Tyrel stared at Shel.

“Yeah,” Shel said, “that’s what we were wondering too. Why would anyone cut the throat of a dead man?”

“Denny’s face and chest were covered with blood,” Tyrel whispered.

“You shot him, Daddy,” Shel said. “But he was already dead at the time. You were drunk and doing something stupid, and I guess if you want to feel guilty about something, you can feel guilty about that. But you didn’t kill anyone that night.”

Tyrel just stared at his son.

“After we found out PFC Hinton’s throat had been slashed, we talked with Fat Mike Wiley, Victor Gant’s second-in-command.” He smiled a little. “While we were over in Vietnam, we went ahead and arrested both of them.”

Tyrel finally found his voice. “Guess you were busy.”

“Yes, sir. Wiley wanted to cut a deal. He’s gonna testify against Victor Gant and a man named Tran, give up their whole heroin operation, in exchange for life imprisonment. It wasn’t a bad deal, because either the Vietnamese or the American military was going to execute him for murder one.”

Tyrel lay still and quiet.

“He told us that Victor Gant knew PFC Hinton was working undercover as an informer for the Army CID. They were trying to nail Gant for his black market dealings.”

“Denny was working with the CID?”

Shel nodded. “Gant found out. You were Hinton’s friend. That night in the bar, Gant used you to get to Hinton. He took both of you out into the jungle. Then he killed Hinton and set you up to make you think that you did it. When you shot Hinton, he was already dead. You didn’t kill him, Daddy. You been paying for a crime you didn’t commit.”

Tyrel closed his eyes. “My God,” he whispered. “All those years.” He looked back at Shel, and his face knotted as he tried to remain calm and collected. “All those years, I lived just knowing the Army was going to come get me at any time. I’ve been scared for forty years. I was afraid of letting your mama or you or Don get too close to me. I thought they’d come get me; then what would you do?”

“I know,” Shel said. “It took me a while to figure it all out. But I did. You did the best that you could.”

Tyrel shook his head. “No. I was never the daddy to you boys that my daddy was to me. You didn’t get to know him, Shel. He died before you were born. But he was a good man. Not like me. He knew how to be a daddy. I–I just-”

A fresh lump formed in the back of Shel’s throat, and he barely choked it down. “Daddy, you did what you could. And you did every part of it you knew how. In your own way, you were trying to protect us.”

Tyrel’s face writhed as he struggled to speak. “I remember how it was when my daddy died, Shel. I was seventeen. He died in a car wreck when a drunk in a truck hit his tractor. He was just… gone. I couldn’t stand for you boys to have to go through that. I didn’t want either you or Don to feel the way I felt. It was awful and hurt something fierce. I didn’t think I was ever going to get over it. Maybe I never did. I didn’t want that for you two.”

“Daddy, someday we’re all gonna have to let each other go. At least for a little while. It’s just how things are. But there’s something past this life. I’ve always known that. Don didn’t have to tell me that.” Shel stared at his daddy. “But we can take the time we have here and use it the best way we know how. That’s all we can do.”

Tyrel shook his head. “Look at me. I’m old. I’m used up. My heart don’t even work the way it used to. There ain’t much left.”

“There’s enough,” Shel said. “There’s enough if you want there to be. In this case, I feel certain God’s gonna make sure of that.”

Quietly, hesitantly, Tyrel sat up in bed. Then he pushed himself off it and walked over to Shel. “You’re telling me,” he whispered hoarsely, “that I’m free. I don’t have to look over my shoulder, and I don’t have to feel guilty no more.”

“No, sir. Not one more second.”

“I want you to know that I love you, Shel. I always have. I just couldn’t-”

“I know, Daddy. I know.”

Carefully Tyrel McHenry reached for his son; then he pulled him into a fierce embrace that almost squeezed the breath from Shel’s lungs.

For the first time in his life since he was eight years old, Shelton McHenry put his arms around his daddy and held him tight. His daddy smelled of soap and shaving cream, of old saddles and hay, and he was built rawhide tough from hard ways and mean ways and from working from sunup to sundown.

In that moment, Shel felt certain he knew what God’s love was like. It was wild and powerful, complete and enduring, just like his daddy’s love had always been though he hadn’t known it.

“I love you too, Daddy,” Shel whispered. “I love you too.”