They came out into a dark pool and she stood there, thigh deep, her habit hitched up to her belt. The rain thundered down, and there was a kind of white mist. She looked over her shoulder at Jackson.
If Ive got my bearings, there should be a road over to the right.
And what good will that do, Sister? Theyll run us down, and to be honest, Im more concerned about Quinn. There hasnt been a shot fired since that explosion.
Do you think hes dead?
I sure as hell hope not.
Suddenly, a young Vietcong stepped out of the reeds behind him, a bayonet on the end of his AK, and stabbed Jackson in the back under the left shoulder blade, missing his heart by inches. He cried out and went down on his knees. On the other side of the pool, three more VC emerged, all very young, one of them a girl, clutching AKs.
Jackson tried to get up, using his M16 as a crutch. In silence, the Vietcong watched gravely, then there was a sudden savage cry and Quinn burst out of the reeds, firing from the hip, ravaging all three in a kind of slow motion. The fourth, the one behind, surged forward, too late, as Quinn turned and bayoneted him.
Quinn put an arm around Jackson. How bad is it?
Hurts like hell. But Im still here. There are some battle packs in my bag, but I think wed better get out of here first.
Right. Quinn turned to Palmer. Move out, Sister.
She did as she was told, following with the children. They came to a shallower spot, a knoll sticking out of the water. There was room for all of them. Jackson sat there and Quinn ripped at the jagged rent left by the bayonet, exposing the wound.
Battle packs in the bag?
Sister Sarah Palmer reached for it. Ill handle it, Sergeant.
Are you sure, Sister?
She smiled for the first time. Im a doctor. The Little Sisters of Pity is a nursing order.
Behind in the reeds, they heard many voices, like foxes crying. Theyre coming, Sarge, Jackson said, clutching his rifle and leaning over as she went to work on him.
Yes, they are. Ill have to put them off.
How can you do that? Sister Sarah asked.
Kill a few at random. Quinn took a couple of flares from his pocket and gave them to Jackson. If the cavalry make it and Im not back, get the hell out of here.
Oh, no, Sergeant, Sister Sarah said.
Oh, yes, Sister, and he turned and plunged into the reeds.
He could have used his bayonet, a silent killing, but that wouldnt have caused the panic he needed. His first target was providential, two VC standing so that they could survey the marsh, their heads and shoulders above the reeds. He shot both in the head at a hundred yards.
Birds lifted in the heavy rain, voices called to each other in anger from various areas. He selected one and moved in, shooting another man he found wading along a ditch. He got out fast, easing across the reeds, crouched by another pool and waited. Special Forces had developed a useful trick for such situations. You learned a few Vietnamese phrases as fluently as possible. He tried one now and fired a shot.
Over here, comrades, Ive got him.
He waited patiently, then called again. A few moments later, three more men appeared, wading through the reeds cautiously.
Where are you, comrade? one of them called.
Quinn took out his last grenade and pulled the pin. Here I am, you bastards, he cried in English and lobbed the grenade. There were cries as they tried to scramble away and the grenade exploded.
By now there were shouts everywhere, as the panic he had sought for set in. As he moved on, he saw a road, Vietcong scrambling onto it. He eased back into the reeds to get his bearings and became aware of engines throbbing close by, but by then the late afternoon light was fading and it combined with the tropical rain to reduce everything to minimum visibility. A flare shot into the air, disappearing into the murk, a Huey Cobra gunship descended three hundred yards away and he heard others whirling above, but the Huey was too far away, and he plunged forward desperately, already too late.
The flare that Jackson had fired had worked, and two crewmen jumped out of the Huey and bundled the children inside quickly, followed by Sister Sarah.
The black crew chief lifted Jackson by the arms. Lets get out of here, man.
But the Sergeants still out there, Sergeant Quinn.
Hell, I know him. Shooting started again from the reeds and bullets thudded into the Huey. Sorry, man, weve got to go. Itll be dark any time and weve got to think of these kids.
He raised Jackson to the waiting hands that pulled him in, followed and called to the pilot at the controls, Lets go.
The Huey lifted. Jackson was actually crying and Sister Sarah leaned over him anxiously.
But what about the sergeant? she said.
Theres nothing we can do. Hes dead, hes got to be dead. You heard all that shooting and the grenade exploding. He took on all those bastards single-handed. The tears poured down his cheeks.
What was his name?
Quinn, Daniel Quinn. Jackson moaned in agony. Christ, but it hurts, Sister, and then he passed out.
But Quinn was still in one piece, mainly because the enemy had assumed hed escaped in the Huey. He made it to the river as darkness fell, thought about it, then decided that if he was to stand a chance he needed to be on the other side. He approached Bo Din cautiously, aware of the sound of voices, the light of the cooking fires. He slung his M16 around his neck, waded into the water, and with his combat knife sliced the line holding one of the flat-bottomed boats. The boat drifted out with the current, and he held on and kicked, Bo Din fading into the darkness. He made the other side in ten minutes, moved into the jungle and sat under a tree, enduring the heavy rain.
At first light, he moved out, opening a can of field rations, eating as he went. He hoped for a gunboat on the river, but there was no such luck, so he kept on walking through the bush, and four days later, as if returning from the dead, he arrived at Camp Four on his own two feet.
Back in Saigon, the general attitude was disbelief. His unit commander, Colonel Harker, grinned when Quinn, checked out by the medics and freshly uniformed, reported as ordered.
Sergeant, Im at a loss for words. I dont know which is more extraordinary your heroism in the field or the fact that you made it back alive.
Thats very kind, sir. May I ask about Jackson?
Hes in one piece, though he nearly lost a lung. Hes at the old French Mercy Hospital. The Army runs it now.
He behaved admirably, sir, and with total disregard for his own safety.
We know that. Ive recommended him for the Distinguished Service Cross.
Thats wonderful, sir. And Sister Sarah Palmer?
Shes helping out at the Mercy. Shes fine and so are all the kids. Harker held out his hand. Its been a privilege, son. General Lee will see you at headquarters at noon.
May I ask why, sir?
Thats for the General to tell you.
Later, at Mercy, he visited Jackson, and found him in a light, airy ward with Sister Sarah sitting beside him. She came round the bed and kissed him on the cheek.
Its a miracle. She appraised him quickly. Youve lost weight.
Well, I wouldnt recommend doing it the way I did. Hows our boy?
Well, I wouldnt recommend doing it the way I did. Hows our boy?
His left lung was badly injured by that bayonet, but it will heal in time. No more Vietnam, though. Hes going home, and she patted Jacksons head.
He was overjoyed to see Quinn. Jesus, I thought you were long gone, Sergeant.
Daniel, Quinn told him. Always call me Daniel, and if theres ever anything I can do for you back in the States, just call me. You hear? And congratulations on your Distinguished Service Cross.
My what? Jackson was incredulous.
Colonel Harkers put you up for it. Itll go through.
Sister Sarah kissed Jackson on the forehead. My hero.
This is the hero, Daniel here. What about you, Sarge?
Oh, Christ, I dont want any medals. Now settle down. All this fuss is bad for your lung. Ill see you later. He nodded. Sister. And walked out.
She caught up with him at the rail of the shaded terrace, lighting a cigarette, handsome in his tropical uniform.
Master Sergeant Quinn.
Daniel will be fine for you, too. What can I do for you?
You mean you havent done enough? She smiled. Colonel Harker was kind enough to tell me a bit about your background. With all you have, why did you choose to come here?
Easy. I was ashamed. What about you? Youre English, dammit. This isnt your war.
As I told you, were a nursing order. We go wherever were needed it doesnt matter whose war it is. Have you ever been to London? Were based at St Marys Priory on Wapping High Street by the Thames.
Ill be sure to look you up the next time Im there.
Please do. Now would you like to tell me whats troubling you and dont try to say youre not troubled. Its my business to know these things.
He leaned against a pillar. Yes. He shook his head. Ive killed before, Sister, but never like in the swamp. At least two of them at close range were young women. I was on my own, I had no choice, but still
As you say.
But still a darkness came over me. I saw only the killing, the death and destruction. There was no balance, no order.
If it worries you, make your peace with God.
Ah, if only it were that simple. He glanced at his watch. Id better go. Generals dont like to be kept waiting. May I kiss you goodbye?
Of course.
He touched her cheek with his lips. Youre a remarkable young woman, and he went away down the steps. She watched him go, then returned to Jackson.
At headquarters, he was passed through to General Lee with unusual speed, and soon found himself shown into the great mans office by a smiling captain. Lee, a large, energetic man, jumped up behind his desk and rushed around. As Quinn tried to salute, Lee stopped him.
No, thats my privilege. Id better get used to it. He clicked his heels and saluted.
General? Quinn was bewildered.
Ive had a communication this morning from the President. Master Sergeant Daniel Quinn, I am proud to inform you that you have been awarded the Congressional Medal of Honor. And he saluted again, gravely.
And so the legend was born. Quinn was sent home, endured many interviews and ceremonies until he could take no more, and finally, with no interest in a permanent military career, he left the Army. He went back to Harvard and studied philosophy for three years, as if trying to exorcize some kind of demon, and carefully kept out of bars so that he would not become involved in any physical arguments. He did not trust himself enough for that.
Finally, he agreed to go into the family business. At least it meant hed be able to help his old friend, Tom Jackson, whod received a law degree from Columbia after Vietnam and had risen over the years to head the legal department at Quinn Industries.
He didnt marry until he was in his thirties. Her name was Monica, and she was the daughter of family friends; it was a marriage of convenience. Their daughter, Helen, was born in 1979, and it was around that time that he decided to follow his grandfathers dream, and entered politics. He put all his financial interests into a blind trust and ran for an open Congressional seat, won by a narrow margin, and then by ever greater margins, until finally he challenged the incumbent senator, and won there, too. Congress began to wear upon him after a while, though: the backstabbing and deal-making and constant petty crises, and then, when his grandfather died in a private plane accident, he began to rethink all his priorities.
He wanted out, he decided. He wanted to do something more with his life. And it was at that point that his old friend, fellow veteran and now President, Jake Cazalet, came to him and said that if Daniel wanted to give up his seat, he understood, but he hoped Daniel was not forsaking public service. He needed someone like Daniel to be a troubleshooter, a kind of roving ambassador, someone he trusted absolutely. And Daniel said yes. From then on, wherever there was trouble, from the Far East to Israel, Bosnia, Kosovo, he was there.
Meanwhile, his daughter followed family tradition and went to Harvard, while his wife held the fort back home. When she was diagnosed with leukaemia, she didnt tell him until it was too late she hadnt wanted to interrupt his work. When she died, the guilt he felt was intolerable. They held a funeral reception at their Boston home, and after the guests had departed, he and his daughter walked in the gardens. She was small and slim, with golden hair and green eyes, the joy of his life, all he had left, he thought, of any worth.
Youre a great man, Dad, she said. You do great things. You cant blame yourself.
But I let her down.
No, it was Mums choice to play it the way she did. She hugged his arm. I know one thing. Youll never let me down. I love you, Dad, so much.
The following year she won a Rhodes Scholarship for two years at Oxford University, at St Hughs College, and Quinn went to Kosovo to work for NATO on the Presidents behalf. That was where things stood, until one miserable March day when the President asked to see Quinn at the White House, and Quinn went
WASHINGTON2
Washington, early evening, bad March weather, but the Hay-Adams Hotel, where Daniel Quinn was staying, was only a short walk from the White House.
Quinn liked the Hay-Adams, the wonderful antiques, the plush interior, the restaurant. Because of the hotels location, they all came there, the great and the good, the politicians and the powerbrokers. Daniel Quinn didnt know where he fitted in on that spectrum any more, but he didnt much care. He just liked the place.
Quinn stepped outside and the doorman said, I heard you were here, Senator. Welcome back. Will you be needing a cab?
No, thanks, George. The walk will do me good.
At least take an umbrella. The rain might get worse. I insist, Sergeant.
Quinn laughed. One old Vietnam hand to another?
George took an umbrella from his stand and opened it. We saw enough of this stuff back in the jungle, sir. Who needs it now?