One Man's War. Lindsay McKenna
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It was Vietnam, 1965, but the rockets’ red glare wasn’t hot enough for brazen, challenge-hungry pilot Pete Mallory. He fanned the heat by wagering he could seduce his C.O.’s sister and fly away unscathed. But no-nonsense Tess Ramsey zeroed in on his soul-deep vulnerability—and the cocky chopper jockey took a nosedive. Worse, once he’d found her, no-strings Pete had something to lose. And he’d have to battle every devil of war’s hell to snatch Tess from the widening jaws of mortal peril.
Previously published.
One Man’s War
Lindsay McKenna
CONTENTS
Da Nang, Vietnam
April 1, 1965
Hunting time! Captain Pete Mallory savored the thought as he drove the Marine Corps jeep down the heavily potholed red dirt road. Mentally, he rubbed his hands together as he savored his next target: Tess Ramsey, the younger sister of his commanding officer, Major Gib Ramsey.
The village of Le My drew into view as the jeep bumped along. A huge patchwork quilt of rice paddies and dikes paralleled the road, with the village spreading out to his right. Pete ignored the hundred or so thatched huts and the Vietnamese families who lived in them. He was on a mission, his target a woman he’d never even seen. Of course, he had to remind himself, she was the sister of his CO, so he’d have to watch his step.
He grinned. Hell, with a little fancy footwork, his famous smile and a few clever lines, he’d have Tess Ramsey in his arms—and bed—in no time. And that’s exactly where he wanted this mysterious woman whom he’d been hearing about off and on since he’d been assigned to Da Nang six months ago.
He’d already tired of chasing the local Vietnamese women, who, in Pete’s opinion, were lovely but offered no satisfaction to his hunter’s instincts. He hungered for a challenge—a woman who was less willing, more of a moving target. And from what he’d heard about the independent Tess, who worked in the field as an agricultural advisor, she might be just what he was looking for. Pete braked the jeep in a cloud of reddish dust and got out. His black flight boots were covered with dirt, he noticed, scowling momentarily. When he got back to his barracks in Marble Mountain, he’d have to have the Vietnamese boy spit shine them all over again.
Then, remembering his mission, he began to hum to himself. Thrusting his hands into the pockets of his one-piece green flight suit, his utility cap drawn so low that the bill nearly touched his nose, Pete sauntered into the village. He had the perfect excuse: Gib Ramsey had sent him to find Tess and bring her back to a small officers’ party at the Marine Air Group squadron’s headquarters, Marble Mountain, tonight.
Pete had made it a point to learn enough Vietnamese to be able to swap and haggle with the natives. He entered the village, situated on a flat piece of real estate surrounded by trees and lush jungle growth that created a sort of protective wall. He stopped and scratched his head. Who to ask?
Children, naked or wearing only tattered shorts, played throughout the village. Cooking pots hung over small, smoky fires here and there with mamasans, clothed in black and wearing pointed bamboo hats, laboring at them. The men were out in the rice paddies plowing behind their harnessed water buffalo. He didn’t see many young or middle-aged women. They must be in the rice paddies, too, he surmised.
An old man, his face pinched and weathered, hobbled up to Pete and gazed at him with assessing brown eyes.
Pete hadn’t gotten over the fact that the Vietnamese were such a small, slender people. The old man, his chest sunken, his ribs showing clearly beneath several shell necklaces, tilted his head in birdlike fashion. A bright red cotton skirt covered him to his knees, and his large, callused feet stuck out below. The whole pictured seemed comical, and Pete grinned. The old man would never know he was laughing at him, he thought.
“Hey, papa san, where’s Tess Ramsey? I’m looking for Tess. Where’s she at?”
The man blinked.
Pete rolled his eyes and threw his hands on his hips. “You don’t understand a damned word I’m saying, do you? Why can’t you people learn English as a second language like the rest of the world?”
“Tess?”
Pete opened his mouth, wanting to take back what he’d just said. Obviously the old codger did understand him. Heat nettled Pete’s cheeks. Then he shrugged off his guilty conscience. “Yeah, papa san. Tess Ramsey. I’m looking for her.”
Lifting his branchlike arm, his flesh dark from decades under the tropical sun, the old man pointed toward a rice paddy in the distance. “Missy Tess is with our women out there. You go find her. She like a tall bamboo reed. You will know which one she is.”
“Yeah...I will.” Inwardly fuming because the old man hadn’t seemed to take offense at his insulting words, Pete turned on his heel and aimed himself toward the paddies. If anything, he’d seen laughter in the old man’s eyes. Pete couldn’t bear to be caught off guard by anyone or anything. Irritated, he lengthened his long stride. Then he forced himself to focus on his hunting instincts, pushing away the incident with the Vietnamese man. He couldn’t waste his time worrying about some peasant’s opinion—now was the time to make a damn good impression on Tess Ramsey.
*