Missing in Action

377

An alternate universe story, where Starsky and Hutch meet in Vietnam. A bond of friendship quickly forms, which surprises them both.

 

Written for Robbin who asked, “What if….?” and wanted Hutch hurt just a little bit (cruel woman!).

Title Artwork by Lapfordlass. First published in 2022.

Warning: possible triggers for PTSD related to ‘Nam.

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Part One

“And you can’t tell anyone why you’re really there. No-one. Understand? It wouldn’t play well with the public if we admit that we have suspicions that more men have been taken prisoner than officially declared.”

“I understand that, sir.”

Hutch’s voice was steady as a rock and he looked completely calm. Only his closest friends would have seen the tiny flicker of nerves in his eyes. Fortunately, the General missed it.

“What we’re asking you to do is dangerous but essential. We need to try to get a real picture of the actual situation out there if we are to stand any chance of getting sanctioned any operations to undertake rescue and recovery.” The General stopped and gave the young man in front of him a long, hard look. Suddenly, his face softened. Hutchinson had been his aide for several months and had proved himself more than capable in several difficult situations. The General respected him and, truth be told, had grown quite fond of him. Gently, he asked, “Are you sure you want to undertake this mission? I wouldn’t think any less of you if you changed your mind.”

“Thank you, sir, but, no, I’m sure. I’m ready to go and I won’t let you down.”

The General hid a smile at his aide’s eagerness. “I am in no doubt about that, Hutchinson…Well, good luck to you, son. I shall look forward to hearing your report.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Hutch inclined his head and then strode out of the room as the General dismissed him. He could feel his heart thumping in his chest with a mixture of fear and purpose. Ever since Richie had been declared Missing in Action, he’d felt this smothering sense of helplessness. It was more than probable that his cousin was dead but, if there was even the small chance that he was still alive, maybe this mission he’d been given would do something towards making it possible to recover him. He could still hang on to that small hope and would do his best with this undercover mission for Richie’s sake, and for all the other POWs being held in terrible conditions with no end in sight.

With a new sense of purpose, Hutch strode away from General Halden’s office to prepare for his immanent departure to the nearest airbase and then for onward transport to Vietnam.

*****

“Who’s that dork? Looks like he should be on the cover of one of them fashion magazines, not slumming it with us in-country. What’s he doing here?”

Starsky looked up to see who had caught Delancy’s attention. The Private was right; the guy couldn’t have looked more out of place if he’d tried. He was tall with blond hair. The hair was so impossibly fair that it looked as if it was made of liquid sunshine. The clothes he was wearing – neatly pressed grey trousers and a pale blue shirt – made him look as if he was on his way to an office somewhere on Wall Street, not arriving in an army camp in the middle of a jungle. The only thing that looked unimpressive was the leather case he was carrying. It looked well used and as if it had seen much better days.

“That’s the only thing that doesn’t look neat as a pin,” Starsky thought to himself.

It was a phrase that belonged to his mother and, as soon as he thought it, he felt a wave of homesickness hit him. Out of the corner of his eye, he continued to observe the stranger. It wasn’t just the clothes that made him seem out of place; it was also that he looked too clean for this place. Looking at the man’s neatly pressed trousers, Starsky felt even more sweaty and dirty than usual. The heat and daily slog made it hard to keep really clean and tidy and most of the soldiers had given up even trying. Feeling perturbed without really knowing why, he returned his attention to the gun he was servicing.

“Mind your potatoes, ‘Lancy, ‘less ya want babysitting duty,” he warned.

Occasionally, some fact finding delegation appeared to look around the squads. The guy was probably doing something like that. Well, good luck to him if he was. Sometimes those pen-pushers wanted to talk to the men about equipment and supplies and the lack thereof; sometimes they seemed to be crunching numbers for some higher up, who was coming up with the next hair-brained scheme; and sometimes they actually wanted to get a soldier’s opinion on what it was like taking part in the ‘civil action’.

Starsky snorted to himself. “‘Civil action’! There ain’t nothin’ civil about it. Why can’t everyone just say it’s a war and a bloody, horrific one at that?”

“They’re coming this way,” Delancy noted. “The dork and Captain Harris.”

Starsky kept his head down, hoping they’d pass by.

He heard feet approaching the tented area and then a voice snapped, “Atten-hut.” Starsky and the rest of his squad leapt to attention. Captain Harris looked them all over before releasing them with the words: “As you were.”

Starsky tried to keep his eyes on Harris but he couldn’t help sneaking a look at the quiet blond stood beside him. The man radiated a confidence and assurance that wasn’t unusual amongst other visitors they’d had, but he didn’t radiate arrogance like so many of them.  Warm sky blue eyes met his own dark blue ones; there was neither a challenge there nor a judgement, just a gently appraising look, followed by an imperceptible nod of the head in acknowledgement.  Of what, Starsky wasn’t sure.  Was it an acknowledgement that he was a human being as well as a soldier? Was it a promise to actually listen to the answers to the questions that he was going to ask?

Starsky didn’t know what to make of the man or his own unsettled reaction to those gently appraising eyes. For some reason, they reminded him of a boy who’d lived a few doors down from him at his old home in Brooklyn. Geoff Dunn. A friendly boy, a little younger than him but older than his brother Nicky, who he could rely on to make him laugh whenever they had hung out. Another wave of homesickness washed over him but he squashed it quickly and looked away from the eyes still looking in his direction; eyes that seemed filled with understanding. But how could that be? He realised his attention had wandered and quickly tuned back in to what Captain Harris was saying.

“Mr Hutchinson is a photo-journalist with the New York Times on a fact finding mission. He’s interviewing and photographing men in as many different units as he can in the time he’s been allotted in order to try to get an overall picture as to how this action differs from other recent conflicts. We’ve been told to give him full co-operation. He’s here with us for four days; he’ll go out on patrol with you tomorrow and the day after. Make sure he doesn’t get his head blown off or you will lose what little privileges you have.” Captain Harris eyes swept over the squad and came to rest on Starsky. “Sergeant Starsky, show him around and find him a bunk for the next few days, will you?”

“Yes, sir,” Starsky said stiffly.

Captain Harris nodded and then marched away. As soon as he was out of sight, Delancy walked around Hutchinson, sizing him up.

“Journalist, huh?”

“That’s right.”

“Writing a piece on us?”

“Mostly telling the story through pictures but yes.”

“You from the ‘make love’ lobby or are you on the side of us soldiers?”

Starsky was interested to know the answer to that question himself.

“Neither really,” Hutchinson said calmly, “My article’s going to be part of a larger series. I’m charged with recording accurately just what I see and hear while I’m over here. To get the views of the men on the ground about the action, the toll it’s having on you here and on the country back home. I’ll be looking at equipment, resources, logistics, casualties, losses, men taken prisoner and so on as well as the politics.”

Delancy rolled his eyes. “Sounds like a blast.”

Hutchinson smiled slightly ruefully. “Well, I know it sounds a bit dry but I’m hoping to bring out the human element for the most part.”

For some reason, Delancy bristled. “Not sure, I like being called an element. What about you, Starsky? You an element?”

“Knock it off Delancy,” Starsky said. “Captain said full co-operation, remember?”

“Hmm. Don’t know why. He’s worse than a Remington Raider. At least they wear the uniform. He’s a Civvie.”

This last word was said as if it was a dirty word and Delancy turned his back on Hutch and returned to the box he’d been sitting on so he could carry on cleaning his gun. He’d clearly decided that Mr Hutchinson wasn’t worth getting into trouble over by leaving unfinished tasks.

Starsky had nearly finished his own cleaning. He laid down his cloth and checked the safety catch.

“Mind if I take a photo of you while you’re cleaning your guns, Sergeant?” Hutch asked.

Starsky shrugged.

Hutch took the silence as permission and pulled a Nikkorex 35 out of his battered bag and opened the lens, ready to take the photograph. His camera was part of his cover as well as an integral part of his mission. He had plenty of film with him, enough to chronicle the day-to-day life of the camp for his ‘article’. Plenty with him, too, to try to record evidence of prisoners or any encampments where they might have been held. The shutter clicked as he took shots of Starsky cleaning his gun. He noted that Starsky kept his attention focussed on his gun, with his head down, but Hutch was certain that the sergeant was watching him out of the corner of his eye. It appeared he was correct; as soon as Hutch had finished, Starsky put his gun down on the box in front of him and stood up.

“Ya want the tour now?”

Hutch nodded. “Yes. Thanks.”

Hutch followed Starsky as he led the way through the camp, pointing out the layout and what was situated where. Listening to and watching his guide, Hutch reckoned their ages were very similar. He tried to start a conversation, but the young sergeant was coolly polite. Hutch surmised that he was just a job to him and the sergeant had no interest in getting to know him.

When they neared the mess tent, Starsky said, “Let’s see if we can find the supply sergeant and ask if there’s a tent you can bunk in.”

Hutch stopped and asked, “What about the half-tents around the area where you were cleaning your gun; that’s where you and the others sleep, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, I want to sleep there. Be in amongst you. Get a feel for what it’s really like being a soldier here.”

Starsky regarded Hutch with surprise.

“You sure about that, Mr Hutchinson? Most of us basically sleep on the dirt unless we’re lucky enough to get some old crates and use the planks from those to make a sort of bench. It ain’t the Waldorf.”

“Whatever’s available will be fine. And drop the Mr Hutchinson, will you, Sergeant? Or I’ll think you’re talking to my Dad. Call me Hutch.”

Starsky was surprised; so far this guy wasn’t like any fact-finder he’d ever met before. The smile he’d given Starsky was friendly. He was almost human, almost a regular guy. Starsky figured the assignment might be bearable after all.

“All right, Hutch it is. You can call me Starsky.”

Hutch nodded then said, “So do I need to get myself a half tent? Or is there room in one of those belonging to your squad?”

Starsky thought for a moment and then said, “We can see if there’s a half tent left. There’s a space near my patch if you’re really serious about bunking with us.”

“Yes, I’m serious.”

The blue eyes regarding him certainly seemed serious and there was a silent strength about the guy that left Starsky wondering even more. Hutch just didn’t seem like the pen-pushers that usually visited. Despite initial appearances, he seemed as if most events wouldn’t faze him. Starsky was intrigued by him for some reason.

“All right, follow me.”

Starsky led the way around the back of the mess tent to where a sergeant was sitting on top of a jeep, smoking a cigarette and reading an old newspaper.

“Sarge? I need a half tent for Mr Hutchinson here.”

The sergeant didn’t even look up.

“There’s one in supply tent two. Third row. Top shelf. Knock yourself out. I’ll fill in the paperwork later. Harris told me to expect a request.”

“Thanks,” Hutch said.

The sergeant grunted in response, his eyes never leaving his paper. Starsky rolled his eyes and the two of them shared a small smile at the supply sergeant’s expense.

“Come on,” Starsky said, with a nod of his head to the right. “Supply tent two is this one.”

Briskly, Starsky led Hutch into the ordered chaos that was the supply tent. Metal racks were stuffed full with equipment. A lot of it was not what they needed: like winter duffle coats and surplus tinned vegetables left over from the military campaign in Korea, maybe even World War Two. They certainly tasted like they were that old. Starsky snorted at the thought.

“What’s so funny?”

Starsky had almost forgotten he had company. He looked around to check there was no-one else in the tent.

“Just… if you really want to know about the state of our equipment, I guess I could tell you a few things – as long as you keep my name out of any report. I don’t want to get any hassle.”

“You have my word,” Hutch promised, trying to match the look in his eyes to the promise he had given. Somehow it felt important that Starsky trust him and his word.

Starsky considered this for a minute and then nodded; “All right. I’ll give it to you straight then. What do you want to know?”

Starsky didn’t know why but he felt Hutch would be a man of his word. It was strange trusting someone so easily. He’d known Delancy for eight months. They got on fine but he wouldn’t say he would trust him if he met him on Civvie street. Delancy was what he would have called a ‘whippo’ if he’d come across him in Brooklyn – someone you might not want to let your guard down with. Yet here in this place, he had to trust him with his life and likewise watch Delancy’s back for him. War made strange bedfellows.

Starsky realised that Hutch was asking him a question; he pushed his random thoughts to the side as he answered; “Well, we don’t always get resupplied quick enough. There aren’t always enough ponchos to go round and I could do without the veg from World War Two. I didn’t like veggies much before. Now I hate them!”

Hutch was startled into laughter. “You’ll have to warn me what I need to steer clear of when I go to the Mess tent.”

Starsky nodded and almost smiled. “I’ll make sure you don’t get poisoned. Don’t want to get put in solitary, after all.”

Hutch looked at him, uncertainly. Was Starsky teasing? He thought he saw a slight twinkle in the soldier’s eye before he turned and walked smartly down the rows of equipment, heading towards where the tents were stored.

As Hutch followed along behind, he couldn’t help wondering why he felt so sure that Starsky’s assurance of truthful answers could be trusted. There was something about him that wasn’t like the soldiers he’d interviewed so far, or the men he’d worked with in his own unit. There was a strange sense of déjà vu that had him unnerved. Hutch had felt the strange sensation that he was bumping into an old friend, the moment he started talking to Starsky. It felt like he’d always known him. He was almost certain that Starsky had felt it too. He thought he’d spotted a look of recognition in the dark sapphire eyes before it had been quickly hidden.

The earlier glint of humour in those same eyes reminded him of Richie. Hutch felt a sense of loss roll through him. Hutch missed having his cousin around to help him pull off stupid pranks on their school friends. They’d always made a great team.

Hutch suddenly realised that Starsky had stopped and was pulling out at a long flat package that was soon revealed to be a half tent. He threw it at Hutch, who managed to catch it and hold onto it. Starsky was scanning the shelves and then, with a murmur of triumph, Starsky lunged towards the back of a shelf and produced a rolled up hammock. He turned to Hutch.

“Let’s go get you set up for the night. By the time we’ve done that, it will be dinner.”

“Thanks, but I won’t need the hammock. I think I’ll sleep on the ground. I’ve done it before when camping.”

Starsky shook his head. “Nah, it’s not the same, trust me. You’ll thank me when you don’t wake up covered in leeches!”

Hutch looked at the young sergeant, trying to judge whether he was on the level.

“Is he joking again?” Hutch wondered.  There was no twinkle in the eyes this time. In fact, Starsky looked deadly serious. “Leeches? Really?” Hutch asked out loud.

“Yeah, nasty suckers. At the last camp, we didn’t all have hammocks and a few of us woke up to a nasty surprise. I ain’t letting go of my hammock now I got one and while you’re here, you should have one.”

Hutch swallowed. “Thank you for the warning.”

“No problem.”

Starsky looked Hutch up and down and seemed to come to a decision. “You’ll want a uniform to wear tomorrow. And boots. Make it easier for the terrain and stop you sticking out and being an easy target for snipers.”

Hutch’s eyes widened slightly at the thought, but he just nodded and said, “That’s probably a good idea.” As an afterthought he added, “I wanted to wear something more appropriate but the powers that be insisted a Civvie should look like a Civvie.”

Starsky grinned and tutted. “The top brass are idiots.”

“They sure are,” Hutch agreed.

Once again there was the strange sense of recognition flowing between. They looked at each other, feeling a small sense of camaraderie growing out of their mutual disregard for their superiors. Starsky was the first to break the spell, quickly getting to work to find a pair of boots that would fit Hutch’s large feet and some fatigues that he hoped would be long enough for the legs that seemed to go on forever. Hutch was what his mother would call all legs, like a foal before it grows into its body. Starsky rooted through several boxes until he found a spare helmet to give to the man who was now in his charge. Mission accomplished, Starsky led Hutch out of the supply tent and back across the camp.

Hutch was exceedingly grateful for Starsky’s idea to get him a uniform. The general had wanted him to keep his mission secret so he’d insisted that Hutch played the role of a civilian reporter. Hutch understood the reasons. He knew that finding out about POWs was a politically sensitive topic, as well as a dangerous one, so he understood the General’s thinking but it made it awfully hard to blend in and be one of the guys. So far he’d been treated as if he was some sort of royalty by everyone and either revered or reviled. Well, almost everyone. Starsky seemed to be treating him as if he was just another human being and Hutch felt absurdly grateful. It made being out here, on what was possibly a fool’s mission and so far from home, just that little bit easier.

On the way past what looked like a general dumping ground for broken equipment, Starsky unearthed a wooden pallet that was mostly whole and Hutch helped him carry it back to the space near Starsky’s own sleeping area. Once there, he instructed Hutch on how to put the tent up to avoid the worst of the rain. Then he placed the pallet on the ground and helped him set up the hammock between a tree and a pole that had been banged into the ground.

“Me and Delancy always try and get a place near trees,” Starsky observed. “We ain’t going to sleep on the ground if we can help it.”

“What’s the pallet for?”

“If you got no trees, a pallet’s the next best thing. It’s useful for other reasons too. I use mine to keep my boots up off the ground. Stop things from crawling in them and gives them a chance to dry out overnight, too.”

Hutch nodded. Cautiously, he sat down in his hammock. He was pleased when it took his weight. He grabbed his bag and pulled a notebook from it.

“Mind if I write a few notes about what you said; about the hammocks, pallets, food and so on.”

Starsky shrugged.

As he scribbled a few thoughts down, Hutch said, “Mind if I ask you some other questions?”

“Depends on what ya want to know? And what you’re really going to do with the information?” Starsky said.

Hutch found himself being stared at through narrowed eyes; ones that seemed to have an inkling that there might be more to Hutch’s visit than there appeared. Hutch tried to keep his face from betraying the slightest piece of information. He found it difficult as he felt as if Starsky could see right through to his soul, which was ridiculous. He didn’t know the man and Starsky certainly didn’t know him or anything about what he might be thinking. Hutch gave himself a mental shake and prepared to answer Starsky’s questions.

“Who’s paying your tab?”

“The New York Times.”

“You hoping for a Pulitzer?”

“I don’t know about that.”

“’Fact finding’ Captain Harris said but you don’t seem like no fact-finder. And if you are, then in my experience everyone’s got an angle. What’s yours?”

Hutch stared back at the dark blue eyes that were now regarding him quite coolly. He wished he could see the twinkle in the eyes again; it had made Starsky seem much friendlier. Even with the slight feeling of mistrust that was suddenly present, Hutch found he couldn’t look away from the piercing regard that seemed to be demanding and expecting honesty from him. He found himself wanting to give an answer that would return Starsky to the man who reminded him of his cousin and the person who was happy to treat him as just another human being.

“Fact finding, yes, but, like I said, I’m looking for human interest too. The numbers of casualties being published in the papers are becoming just numbers to our readers. There’s also growing concern over the amount of soldiers being reported MIA but again these are just numbers, statistics. I want people to see the men behind the numbers.  Get some real soldiers’ opinions. What’s it like for you on the ground? What have you experienced here? What are your stories?”

Starsky’s eyes pierced him for a moment longer and then his gaze softened as he sat back with a small sigh. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yeah, ask your questions. I’ll answer them if I want to. If I don’t…” Starsky lifted his shoulders up and down.

Hutch found himself relaxing too. “Fair enough. How long have you been out here?”

“This is my second tour.”

“Drafted or volunteered?”

Starsky gave him a dark look that dared him to try and assign an opinion to his answer:  “Drafted.”

“Do you mind talking about casualties with me? I don’t want to cause any upset, but I’d be interested to know how your squad’s faired.”

Starsky looked away and answered in a monotone. “First tour, first squad, three wounded, one dead. Second squad, one dead, one MIA. This tour, we ain’t lost anyone…yet.”

Hutch scribbled in his pad. His pulse quickened. Trying not to sound too interested, he asked, “Where were you when the soldier went MIA? I mean what do you think happened to him?”

Starsky looked out across the camp, anywhere but Hutch’s eyes.

“For his sake, I hope he’s dead.”

Hutch’s pen stilled. “Why would you say that?” he asked quietly.

Starsky turned towards him, a bleak look in his eyes. “I’ve heard things, stories about how POWs are treated. I think it might be better to be dead than captured.”

Hutch swallowed and tried to stop his face from betraying his thoughts; that this was what he feared might be the case for so many men, not just his cousin. He looked away, trying to rein in another wave of loss that threatened to break through his carefully built barriers.

Starsky was watching Hutch closely and noticed the change in his demeanour. All of a sudden, it was if he could hear what Hutch was thinking. No, not quite that; it was more like he sensed what Hutch was feeling. Loss was radiating from the man in front of him, although it was quickly mastered and shoved back into place.

Quietly, Starsky said, “You’ve lost someone…Out here?”

Startled, Hutch turned to find Starsky’s eyes regarding him with kindness and understanding.

“Yeah.”

Starsky nodded as Hutch swallowed down emotion. Hutch had never felt that kind of connection with anyone, not even Richie, and to find it here with a complete stranger was almost overwhelming and yet somehow it seemed just right. The feeling of déjà vu increased.

“Who was he?”

Hutch wrinkled his face before answering, “My cousin. Richie. Been missing for six months.”

Starsky looked regretful and like he wanted to take back what he’d said earlier. Hutch felt the connection between them strengthen.

“Where are you from?” Hutch found himself saying.

Starsky frowned at him and Hutch closed his notebook.

“I’m asking off the record. I’m just interested to know more about you.”

Starsky relaxed a little more. “Bay City, California. Before that Brooklyn. What about you?”

“I’m from Duluth.”

“Duluth? Which state is that in?”

“Minnesota.”

“That’s a long way from New York. How’d you get involved in The Times?”

“Worked my way up from school paper to local news, did a journalism course and then applied for a post at The Times. I was lucky enough to get in at ground level. Had a couple of occasions when I was lucky enough to be in the right place at the right time and got a photo when no-one else had so they gave me a chance and, now, here I am.”

“Did ya get assigned here or was this trip your idea?” Starsky wanted to know.

“Bit of both, I guess.”

Starsky regarded him with a look that Hutch couldn’t quite interpret and then said quietly, “Welcome to the nearest place to hell I’ve ever been.”

Hutch swallowed as an uneasy silence momentarily filled the camp.

*****

After the evening meal, Hutch took the chance to have a shower and change into the fatigues Starsky had obtained for him. They were a little short in the leg but didn’t fit too badly. They certainly made Hutch feel more at home and made it easier to walk around the camp without attracting too much attention. When he returned to the sleeping area, he saw some of the soldiers had decided to continue on with a baseball match they’d been playing on and off across the last few days. They never knew when they were going to be called on to go out on an operation so they had to snatch leisure time when and where they could.

After wandering around and taking some photos of the camp and the game, Hutch finally settled down to watch from a perch on a pile of old tyres. Starsky’s squad was playing against another squad and there were some friendly, and not so friendly, jibes being shouted at each other. Hutch had always enjoyed playing baseball both at school and in his local little league. He and Richie had been on the same team for several years; another reason that he was closer to him than any of his other cousins. They’d shared victories and losses together; celebrating with milkshakes or ice-cream on the way home from matches. After half an hour, Evans, the pitcher for Starsky’s squad, got called away by the Captain and everyone groaned.

“That’s that then,” someone moaned. “We can’t play without our pitcher.”

Starsky looked around until his eyes came to rest on Hutch. He thought Hutch looked almost hopeful.

“Hey, Hutch. Can you pitch?”

Hutch hesitated for a moment and then shouted back, “I used to in High School. I may be a bit rusty but I don’t mind giving it a go.”

He climbed down from the tyre mound and walked over to where Starsky’s squad had gathered together for a quick chat before finishing the innings. Starsky handed him the ball.

“You wanna have a quick practise?”

“All right.”

Hutch moved further away from the group and Starsky held his mitt up to catch the ball. The tall blond settled himself into his stance and then pitched the ball at speed right into Starsky’s glove. Starsky shook his slightly vibrating fingers and grinned with delighted surprise.

“You’ll do.”

Hutch couldn’t help grinning back.

The game carried on until the sun began to go down. Starsky’s squad won. As Hutch’s pitching had helped with the victory, he found himself more accepted by the group than he had been during the day when he’d been trying to interview them. Even Delancy gave him a nod.

As they walked over to the group of shelters that would be home for the night, Starsky asked, “You want a beer. I got a couple that need drinking.”

“Sure,” Hutch answered. “Thanks.”

Starsky shoved the mitt and baseball in his army issued green sack and pulled some beers from a wooden box under his hammock. He closed the lid and sat down on the box. As Hutch settled on a crate, next to a pair of boots, Starsky handed him a bottle and they both snapped the lids off. As they sipped, Hutch listened to the sounds of the night creatures and insects beginning to stir all around the camp. He tried not to let the sounds unnerve him but he couldn’t help wondering if the sounds of movement in the trees were people rather than creatures.

Without meaning to, he spoke his thoughts aloud, “How do you sleep knowing what might be out there?”

Starsky’s quiet voice came to him through the gloom, “I tend to sleep with one eye open but if I really need some shut-eye…well, beer helps.”

Hutch turned to look at him. “How long have you been here now? How long before you go home?”

The question caught Starsky by surprise and the feeling of homesickness he’d had earlier returned with a vengeance. He quickly looked away and took a swig of beer before he answered, trying to be sure his voice was steady.

“Too long.”

“To which question?”

“Both.”

“When’s your tour due to finish?”

“I can’t think about the date for that,” Starsky said gruffly, “In case it don’t happen…for whatever reason.”

Hutch nodded with understanding.

“Have you got family waiting back home in Bay City?”

“Yeah, my Uncle and Aunt. And my Mom and little brother in New York. What about you? You got family in Minnesota.”

“Yes. My parents and sister are back home in Minnesota and all my aunts, uncles and cousins are there too.”

Starsky didn’t know what made him want to probe for more information. He hadn’t expected to be spending time getting to know him; it went against his own code of not bothering to get too close to people anymore while he was out here. There was no point making friends when you knew they would probably end up dead, but Hutch had got through his protective shell.

“Your cousin. Is he why you wanted to come and talk to people here?”

“I guess. In part.”

“Because he’s MIA,” Starsky stated. “And you want to find out what might have happened to him.”

“Yeah.”

Starsky suddenly looked regretful. “Look. About what I said earlier. I was just on a downer. What do I know? He could still turn up or get exchanged when both sides start exchanging prisoners.”

Hutch shook his head. “It’s unlikely. I know enough already to know that, but thanks. You didn’t say anything that other people haven’t already hinted at. And you didn’t try to sugar coat it so don’t start trying to do it now. Okay? I’d rather hear the honest truth.”

Starsky nodded. “Okay, but I’m still sorry if it brought it home to ya. I think I know how you must be feeling. Ma wrote and told me one of my old friends is MIA. I think it’s the not knowing for definite that is somehow worse than anything else. Ya know what I mean?”

“Yeah, I do.”

Starsky finished his beer off and then said, “I think we should turn in. We’re going to be heading out early in the morning on patrol. We’ll all need our wits about us for your little jaunt.”

Hutch picked up on the reservation in Starsky’s voice and the slightly bitter use of the word ‘jaunt’. It was clear he was still uncertain as to whether Hutch’s permission to take photographs of the men in action was worth the danger it might put them all in. He knew that, for Starsky, going out on patrol wasn’t a joyride; it was a routine part of his job, but a part that could also have deadly consequences. He felt the need to try to convey that he understood Starsky’s reservations.

“I’m not here to knowingly put anyone in danger. I just want to see what it’s really like out here…and out there.” As he spoke, Hutch turned his eyes towards the jungle briefly then returned to looking at his companion.

Starsky pulled a wry face and then explained hesitantly, “A lot of the squad will resent being sent out to carry out a Civvie task. Every time we go out is dangerous. You understand? We don’t want to be risking our necks for some fool’s errand.”

Hutch fixed him with those sky blue eyes. Starsky interpreted the look Hutch gave him as one of determination.

“I know that, believe me. But…It’s going to be important recording what I see. Getting that information back home.”

Starsky thought Hutch looked like he wanted to say more but had stopped himself.

“Well, just stick close to me and I’ll see you’re all right. If I say down, you go down. Got it?”

“Yeah. I got it.”

“Good.” Starsky stood up. “I’ll see you o-four-hundred hours.”

Hutch took this as his cue to move across to his own half-tent and stood.

“Thanks for the beer, Starsky, and I’ll see you in the morning.”

*****

Starsky woke just before dawn and stayed still listening. All was quiet in the surrounding area. On the other side of the camp, a few noises indicated that a light meal was being prepared for the squads going out early. His squad. Starsky quickly got up and put his boots on. He checked his pack and made sure he had everything he might need for the trip out today. Then it was time for his ritual; he pulled his dog tags out from under his uniform and held them between his thumb and two fingers as he prayed, “One more day alive, one more day.”

He opened his eyes and looked around the camp and was only a little surprised when he made out the figure of Captain Harris walking towards him. He quickly moved so that he was standing outside his tent at attention.

Keeping his voice low, Captain Harris said, “At ease, Sergeant.”

Starsky relaxed his stance and waited.

“I’ve had more orders concerning, Mr Hutchinson. Wherever he asks to go, whatever he wants to see. You’re to oblige him; as long as it doesn’t put him or your squad in mortal danger. You understand.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. You’re a good man, Sergeant.”

Following the rare moment of praise, Captain Harris spun on his heels and marched away, leaving Starsky looking after him ruefully. He couldn’t help wondering what Hutch was really doing there, who had sent him and what they wanted him to do, and whether it was something that was going to put them all in danger. Sighing, he returned to sit on a box in his tent. He glanced over at Hutchinson’s hammock. The form was still and the Civvie from Minnesota appeared to be asleep. That was good. He’d need to be well rested to be alert for the day ahead. Starsky turned on a small flashlight and attempted to read the cartoons by its small glow. Reading them was something to help pass the time and calm his nerves before they went out on their mission.

*****

Hutch wasn’t sure what had woken him. It was still dark and he could hear men in the tents around him snoring as they slept. He lay still and listened. Close by, he heard slight movement and realised that it was coming from Starsky’s sleeping area. He peered into the darkness and could just make out the shape of the sergeant bending over and looking at something. Hutch thought he was probably checking the equipment in his pack for their day’s outing. Starsky had struck him as someone who liked to be prepared for whatever might come.

Hutch saw him stand up and reach inside his uniform jacket. Then he stood perfectly still for a moment or two before replacing whatever it was in its usual position. Had Starsky been praying? Hutch felt a little guilty for intruding on a private moment without meaning to. He was just about to close his eyes to try to give Starsky privacy and get some more sleep, when he saw Starsky rapidly exit his tent and stand at attention. The he heard footsteps and saw another soldier approach. It had to be a captain from the way Starsky was responding. Hutch couldn’t hear what was being said, but had a feeling it had something to do with his presence and the trip out that day.

After a moment, the captain swung round and marched away. Starsky stood still, contemplating whatever he’d been told. Hutch closed his eyes and tried to go back to sleep. He was aware of Starsky moving again and the sound of a small creak as he sat down on a box. Hutch heard the click of a flashlight and peeked to see the young sergeant was reading something by its light. Hutch found the calm sight reassuring and this time when he closed his eyes he drifted off to an untroubled sleep.

A little while later, Starsky was shaking his shoulder gently and telling him to get ready and eat some breakfast before they headed out. Hutch could feel a small bundle of nerves gyrating in the bottom of his stomach. He hoped the day would find him discovering something productive but not anything that would endanger him or his companions.

*****

The two squads left just after dawn. It had been a few days since there had been a skirmish, which could mean the enemy had moved further up country or just that they were regrouping and about to have another go at them. Hutch, sporting his new, unadorned green uniform, had his camera slung around his neck, along with a brown carrying pouch Starsky had lent him so that he could carry a water bottle. Before they had left the camp, Starsky had offered Hutch a handgun and, after a brief moment of deliberation, he had taken it and placed it in the cloth bag.

Now, keeping their eyes and senses alert, the group of nine men followed a trail along the edge of a river for nearly two hours until they came to a bridge where a wide road crossed from east to west. They halted, keeping close to the trees rather than heading out into the open. Several soldiers took the opportunity to have a drink from their canteens. Hutch was glad to have a long drink and catch his breath. He really hadn’t appreciated just how humid it would be or how hot, even travelling along in the shade at the edge of the tree line.

He watched as a cart, loaded down with bundles and baskets, appeared on the road and passed over the bridge on its way to a market somewhere. It was pulled by a worn out old horse and being led by a farmer in well-used clothes and followed by two women, possibly his wife and a daughter. Hutch was struck by the incongruity of normal life going on in the middle of a war zone as he took a photograph of the scene. Starsky’s voice interrupted his thoughts.

“There are a couple of villages on both sides of the river. I know because we’ve come across them on previous patrols. Nothing special about the inhabitants and they tend to take no notice of us when we pass through. We ignore them and they ignore us. Hopefully, they won’t mind you taking pictures. I don’t think they speak any English though,” Starsky observed quietly. He added, “We’re quite close to the border with Cambodia here. There are rumours of military camps over that way although the Cambodians are not supposed to be getting involved in the ‘Action’.”

“There was a skirmish over that way a few weeks ago, wasn’t there? Near Loi-sing.” Hutch asked, pointing to the west.

“Yes, that’s right. Although I didn’t think that was common knowledge.” Starsky eyed Hutch with a hint of suspicion.  “Just who was this guy really? And how did he know so much?”

Hutch quickly looked away from the suspicious glare he was being subjected to and focussed his attention on a water buffalo that was now making its way down to the river.

“Are we sticking to this side of the river, Sarge, or crossing over?” Delancy asked.

Starsky looked at Hutch and saw the preference written on his face; though how he knew exactly what Hutch was thinking he couldn’t say.

“I guess we’ll cross over. Latest Intel says it’s all quiet between here and Da Vang. Maybe we could trade with the villagers that way for some fresh vegetables or fruit.”

The squad spread out a little, carefully making their way towards the bridge. Starsky told Hutch to walk behind him and the photographer found himself being flanked by soldiers on either side, rifles raised at the ready and every one of their senses reaching out to check for danger. They were just about to make their way up the steep slope to cross when one of the soldiers ahead called a warning and all the men went scrambling back down the slope, seeking cover.

“Down,” Starsky hissed as he pulled Hutch down beside him and backwards until they were both partly covered by trees and vines.

A little way from their location, Hutch could see Delancy and one of the other soldiers he had been playing baseball with last night. The rest of the squad seemed to have melted into the trees. He couldn’t spot any sign of them. Hopefully, that meant they would be invisible to any enemies passing by. The seconds of silence seemed to last for hours then, suddenly, Hutch heard what had raised the alarm – the sound of voices speaking in a foreign tongue and the marching of feet.

From the west, an unusually large squadron of Viet Cong soldiers marched towards the bridge and passed over it. Hutch saw Delancy and the other soldier signalling to each other and then also to Starsky as to whether they should attempt to engage them. Starsky shook his head and gave the signal to remain hidden. He was fully aware that their squad contained half the number of the enemy squadron and that they were tasked with keeping their civilian visitor safe from harm. It just wasn’t worth the risk in his opinion.

Once they were sure that the soldiers had passed out of earshot, the two squads carefully emerged from the trees. They gathered together and conferred quietly. Hutch heard the Sergeant in the other squad suggest going back and reporting the enemy movement to base camp.

Hutch moved closer to Starsky and said, “I don’t want to go back just yet. I’d still like to see the villages that way towards Da Vang.”

Starsky shook his head. “Too risky. They don’t often travel in such large groups. That might mean there’s an offensive planned. We should report what we’ve seen and get back to the relative safety of the camp. ”

Hutch took Starsky by the elbow and pulled the dark-haired man to one side. Very quietly, he said, “I have a job to do here. I’m not going to be able to record real events and action sat back at base camp. I want to go on closer to Da Vang.”

Through the hand on his elbow, Starsky could feel the tension in Hutch’s frame. He could also hear the undercurrent of determination and obstinacy in his voice.

“It’s that important?” Starsky asked.

“Yes. It is.”

Starsky frowned at him for a long moment and finally nodded. Somehow he knew that if Hutch said something was important, it was. He turned to the leader of the other squad and said, “Harvey, you get the news back to camp. We’ll go on a little further, spend another hour out here – no more – and then head back ourselves.”

Sergeant Harvey nodded and he and his squad quickly moved off in the direction of the army base.

“Thanks,” Hutch said.

“Don’t thank me yet,” Starsky warned him. “You can thank me when we get back to camp all in one piece. I just hope this isn’t putting my men in danger.”

Hutch swallowed and nodded acknowledgment of the lee-way he was being given. He was aware that Starsky was placing his trust in his assertion that what they were doing was important.

Starsky turned to Delancy and the other two members of the squad and said, “We’ll cross the bridge now then walk towards Da Vang along the edge of the road, keeping close to the treeline. We’ll spread out a little. I want us to be able to melt into the jungle at a second’s notice.”

“All right, Sarge,” the soldiers acknowledged his orders and began walking up the slope towards the bridge for the second time.

Starsky turned to Hutch. “You keep close to me.”

Hutch nodded and, as Starsky jogged up the slope, trotted to keep up with his protector and guide. Starsky had his rifle at the ready and was silently scanning ahead and to the side. They travelled for half an hour before they came across the first village. Starsky and Delancy negotiated with a farmer for some green-leafed vegetables in exchange for some chocolate bars.

Hutch walked around, taking pictures of the children at play and a group of women kneading some sort of bread-like dough. He walked a little way from the group and stopped near a field where a man was driving an ox with a plough to turn over the ground ready for planting. Hutch waited until the farmer walked close enough for him to be able to hail and then used his smattering of Khmer to ask him how he was. The man looked surprised but answered him in a friendly manner.

Hutch was pleased that he’d chosen to learn a little Khmer rather than Vietnamese. Clearly, it had been a good decision as the language was widely spoken in Cambodia and the second most used language of Vietnam. Here this close to the border with Cambodia, it was clearly the preferred tongue.

Hutch drew closer to the farmer and offered him a drink from his water bottle. The man shook his head but smiled. Taking a breath, Hutch asked the question that he had practiced for hours and hours on the plane ride over. The man’s face grew alarmed and he looked around furtively. Then he relaxed and nodded slowly. He turned and pointed along the road that headed north out of the village. He spoke a few words and then nodded again, before returning to his ox and plough and the job that needed doing whether there was a war on or not.

“What was that all about?”

Starsky’s quiet voice made Hutch jump as he hadn’t heard the soldier come up behind him.

“Just passing the time of day.”

“Didn’t look like passing the time of day. Looked more intense than that. Didn’t know you spoke Vietnamese.”

“It was Khmer.”

Starsky raised his eyebrows at Hutch. “Khmer?”

“Yes, they speak it here and in Cambodia. I know a little.”

“Clearly.” When Hutch didn’t respond, Starsky asked, “You ready to head back?”

“I’d like to go north, a bit closer to Da Vang.”

“And why would you want to do that?” Starsky fixed him with a look that showed he knew something was going on even if he wasn’t quite sure what it was.

Hutch tried to speak firmly but without betraying anything particular. “I think I may be able to see something there that will be important to my article.”

“Your article?”

Hutch could tell Starsky was beginning to have his doubts about his cover story. “Yes.”

“And if I say we have to head back now?”

Hutch deliberated. “Then I might have to go on without you.”

“Can’t let you do that.”

“Well, you can’t make me go back with you,” Hutch began to say but was interrupted.

“Wanna bet?” Starsky growled. “I could knock you out and carry you back if I have to.”

Hutch swallowed and half-smiled. “I’d rather you didn’t. Besides you might put your back out carrying me. You don’t want that.”

It was a lame attempt at humour but Starsky snorted anyway. He looked away, across the field at the farmer and then fixed his attention on Hutch.

“I can’t let you go on alone. If you want me to risk my life and the life of my men by going on further, when we know there are enemy combatants in the area, then I think it’s only fair you tell me why.”

Hutch considered the situation and his orders. He looked around to check none of the other soldiers was nearby and would be able to overhear the conversation.

“Okay. I trust you but you can’t tell anyone else…There’s been a lot of rumours flying around that there are more POWs than the Vietnamese Government is admitting. I’m here to try to get some proof. Some Intel came to the attention of General Halden that there was an encampment near Da Vang. The prisoners may already have been moved to Hanoi, and if they have then…” Hutch shrugged his hopelessness. “But even if they have been moved, there might still be evidence that they were there. I’m here to record it and get it back to the powers that be so they can decide whether to attempt recovery of the POWs or at least have evidence of the numbers when it eventually comes to negotiations for the release of the prisoners. I asked the farmer if he’d ever seen any American POWs and he said yes.”

Starsky looked startled. “He said yes?”

“Yes and under two weeks ago.”

“Oh.” Starsky thought about what Hutch had told him and realised that if he’d been taken prisoner, he would want someone to know about it. The second thing he realised was that Hutch was clearly here at the instigation of General Halden which meant he was probably anything but a Civvie.

“You really work at the New York Times?”

“Yes, sort of.”

Starsky didn’t have time to ask anything further because he noticed Delancy, Stubbs and Long were headed their way.

“Okay, I guess we can go on a little further.” Before Hutch could respond, Starsky spoke loudly to his squad, “We’re going to head north for another half an hour or so. Hutch here says the farmer saw some soldiers up that way. We’ll recce and then report our findings back to base.”

“What if we run into another big squad?” Delancy wanted to know.

“Then we hide and hopefully they will pass us by. Out here, smaller numbers can be better.”

Delancy weighed the wisdom of these words and then nodded. “Okay, Sarge.”

Starsky gave orders and the five of them set off along the road leading out of the village. As soon as they’d cleared the last dwellings, they moved away from the now narrower road and walked along the scrubby edge between the track and the jungle. Delancy led, followed by Stubbs. Long walked behind Hutch and Starsky. After half an hour they heard the sounds of voices and the bustle of movement. Like will-o’-the-wisps, they melted silently into the trees.

After a while, Starsky mimed to the rest of the squad that he and Hutch were going to move closer to the dwellings. He and Hutch started to half-crawl, half-duck-and-run their way closer, keeping well under cover until they could get near enough to get a proper look at the village. When the first home came into view, they skirted around it and paused to get their bearings. Through huts, stores, and old, broken farm equipment, they could make out what looked like animal pens of some kind.

Hutch signalled to Starsky that he wanted to get a little closer and took the lens cap off his camera to be ready to photograph whatever they might see. Starsky nodded. He looked back at the rest of the squad and signalled to them to stay put. Then he and Hutch crept their way to get an even closer look. Even though they had been half expecting it, what they saw shocked them both. There were six soldiers in enclosures that were little more than tiny animal-sized cages. Only one guard stood close by, but another half a dozen at least stood further away. There were shouts from deeper within the village; voices that sounded like they were barking orders.

Hutch felt sick to his stomach at the appalling sight of men crammed into a space that was too small for them so that they couldn’t even sit, just crouch leaning up against each other. He was frozen with horror for a moment and then came back to himself and what he should be doing. He began taking photos, assessing the situation through the magnification of the lens. He could see injuries on arms and legs. One figure looked as if he was passed out, possibly even dead. Hutch couldn’t tell from where he was positioned. He cast a glance at his companion and saw the same grim horror reflected on his face. Starsky motioned to Hutch to hurry up with his photographs.

Hutch signalled that he needed one more minute. He tried to get photos of the uniform details of the men so that it might be possible that the unit from which they had come could be pinpointed. As he went to take his last photograph, he realised he was looking at eyes. One soldier had turned his head as if some sixth sense had told him there was a ‘friendly’ close by.  Hutch snapped the shot and then turned away; it was the hardest thing he had ever done. He longed to help, but all he could do was hope and pray that the Intel they had gathered would mean that soldiers from Starsky’s battalion could be dispatched that evening, or possibly tomorrow, to try to mount a rescue.

Swallowing down a sense of guilt and despair, Hutch nodded to Starsky to let him know he was finished and the two of them started scuttling backwards towards the others. Worryingly, the sound of voices grew louder and then these were joined by the noisy pattern of more marching feet. It sounded as if another large squadron was arriving.

“We gotta get out of here,” Starsky hissed to the others as soon as they reached them.

Not pausing to explain, he led them away from the village, through the jungle vines, but trying to keep the road in view as they looked between the trees on their left. After a few minutes, he held his hand up and they all stopped and listened. When they were sure it was safe, Starsky filled the squad in one what they’d seen.

“There’s too many of them for us to do anything about rescuing those guys,” Starsky said, “But the fact we know they’re there makes it really important that we get back to base as quickly as possible and let the commanders know about the POWs so they can do something about it.”

“Think they’ll get their brains in gear and act quickly enough?” Delancy wondered.

“They have to,” Starsky stated. “They’ve got to mount a rescue before those prisoners get taken somewhere where we can’t get to them.”

All the members of the squad nodded agreement and hoped they would be allowed to go on the rescue mission. It went against the grain to leave men behind when they were so close by but they and Hutch knew Starsky was right. There were too few of them to take on that many soldiers in the village. They needed to get back with the information and the photos.

Sombrely, they headed back the way they had come; each lost in his own thoughts. Hutch couldn’t help wondering if Richie had endured such terrible conditions – if he’d been captured and wasn’t dead. Perhaps he was still enduring them. It was a sobering thought. Hutch suddenly found Starsky by his side. It was as if the sergeant could read his thoughts and was offering silent support. Hutch found his presence comforting.

They headed back briskly towards the bridge so they could cross over the river. Delancy led the way, Hutch and Starsky came next, and Stubbs and Long followed along behind. All around them the jungle was peaceful, filled with the soft chattering of small creatures, and then suddenly there was a deathly silence and a second later, the sound of gun fire…

 

Part Two

Suddenly from nowhere, there was the sound of gun fire and Delancy dropped from sight.

Starsky yelled, “Down!” at Hutch and his fellow squaddies even as he spun around and fired in the direction the shot had come from. He heard a grunt as his bullets found their target. A second later, Starsky made a dive for the closest patch of cover, trying to get a view of the fallen soldier as he did so. He had no sure way of knowing if the enemy was dead or just wounded and if there were any more men about to leap out. Ahead of him, everything appeared to be completely still. Cautiously, he peered through the dense undergrowth, trying to see if Delancy was still alive.

As the first scream of gunfire rang out, Hutch automatically dropped to his knees and tried to retrieve his gun from his bag whilst he scrabbled sideways. His action was quickly followed by Long. Keeping low, the two of them scurried for cover. There were more shots from behind. Hutch sped up. Long was hit before he could gain the cover of the jungle vines they’d been heading for. Looking behind, Hutch tried to ignore the sight of the several holes in Long’s lifeless chest as he attempted to fire his gun in the direction of their attacker, but it jammed on him.

With a rising sense of panic, Hutch dove head first towards a patch of thick vines. Even as he scrambled under cover, Hutch looked back trying to see who was shooting from behind him. He fiddled with the gun, trying to see why the barrel was stuck, but there was no obvious problem with it. Once in the midst of the vines, he stayed still, trying not to make any sound. It was hard to stay motionless when his heart was beating fast in his chest and the adrenaline coursing around his body was demanding he took flight. From the corner of his eye, he saw a flash of movement through the trees. He raised his head slightly and saw a figure heading towards the area where he thought Starsky was hidden.

Suddenly, Hutch spotted Stubbs wriggling his way along the jungle floor in the same direction. Hutch saw a helmet covering dark hair and realised that Stubbs was trying to get to his sergeant. He watched as the two of them met up.  Cautiously, Starsky raised his head, scanning the surrounding jungle until he spotted Hutch. In silence, he motioned for Hutch to make his way over to join them. Hutch shook his head and waved his hand to his left, trying to warn both men that he had seen someone near their position. Stubbs and Starsky conversed and then moved away from each other, keeping as low as they could. Stubbs headed around to the north of Hutch’s position; Starsky came towards Hutch by a more direct route.

Starsky had almost reached Hutch when there was sudden movement from two different directions. A Viet Cong soldier erupted from the undergrowth, aiming at Stubbs who returned fire. At the same time, another enemy soldier appeared out of nowhere to the right of Hutch, aiming his gun at Starsky. Hutch threw himself upwards and forwards, attempting to knock Starsky out of the line of sight of the enemy soldier just as the man fired. He felt a sharp pain high in his leg as he hit the ground, taking Starsky down with him.

Starsky rolled out from underneath Hutch and scrambled back to his feet. He fired at the enemy soldier, hitting him in the chest and killing him. Then there was total silence. Nothing moved anywhere around them. As Hutch made an attempt to get to his feet, he found himself being grabbed at the collar by Starsky and dragged along on his behind further back into deep, dense jungle growth. A few yards on, Starsky paused and let go of Hutch’s uniform top.

He crouched down beside Hutch, close enough to hiss in his ear, “What did ya do that for? Are ya crazy? You could have got yourself killed, Hutch!”

Abruptly, there was a movement again to the side of their position and, without hesitation, Starsky fired his gun rapidly. There was the sound of a heavy thud and then silence again.

After a minute, Starsky whispered, “What happened to your gun?”

“It jammed up on me,” Hutch whispered back. “Don’t know why. So what do we do now?”

“Stay there. Don’t move. I’m going to see if those two Charlies are out of commission for good and then check if there are any more of them around. Here,” he handed Hutch his own pistol. “I’ll call out before I come back. If I don’t call out, shoot anything that comes near.”

Starsky disappeared and Hutch spent several anxious minutes waiting for him to return. He was aware of aches in his legs and a feeling of light-headedness now that the adrenaline surge had worn off. He clutched Starsky’s gun and prayed sincerely that he wouldn’t need to use it for a while. He was relieved to know that he still had his camera around his neck although he was pretty sure the lens was smashed. That didn’t matter much as long as the film was still intact. There was a rustle of leaves and Hutch stiffened, bringing the gun up ready to fire.

He was mightily relieved to hear Starsky’s soft whisper, “Hutch, it’s me.” The sergeant hunkered down beside him, saying, “They’re all dead. I can’t see any evidence of any other VC around so we’re safe for now.”

“What about your squad?”

“Stubbs, Long and Delancy are all dead, too.” Starsky’s voice was a monotone as he informed Hutch of the news.

“I’m so sorry.”

Starsky ignored the heartfelt acknowledgement of the loss of his squad. Instead, he kept on looking around, still very much on the alert. Still looking away from Hutch, he stated, “We need to get out of here and get back to base. The soldiers in the village may have heard the commotion. The place will be crawling with VC soon.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” Hutch agreed.

Still feeling a little light-headed, Hutch attempted to stand and couldn’t work out why his right leg didn’t seem to want to do what he told it. He looked down and noted with surprise the blossom of blood beginning to bloom high on his leg. As the initial shock wore off, pain erupted as if someone had shot a red hot dart into his body. Hutch cried out in sudden agony. His leg crumpled underneath him and he fell back down onto the muddy ground. Starsky’s head whipped round, taking in the injury and he swore.

“Hutch! You’re hit! Didn’t I tell ya to stay down?”

The anger in Starsky’s voice masked the worry he was really feeling. He couldn’t help wondering how he was going to get Hutch back to camp in one piece now that he was injured. It was going to make the going incredibly slow; just when they needed to move with speed. He saw sweat beginning to bead on Hutch’s forehead and the way he grimaced as he tried to apply pressure to his own wound. That was enough to bring him out of his anxious thoughts and instead focus his attention on helping Hutch. Starsky quickly grabbed an absorbent pad from the small provision pack he was carrying. He pulled Hutch’s hand away and slapped the wad of material onto the leg and then grabbed his bloody hand again and pressed it against the pad.

“Keep pressure on it,” he ordered. “I’ll get a bandage on it in a minute.”

“We need to get out of here,” Hutch said through gritted teeth.

“Yes, we do but we gotta get that bleed under control first.”

Starsky pulled a pair of scissors out of his kit.

“What are you planning on doing with those?” Hutch asked nervously.

“Gotta cut your pants open so I can get a fresh pad right onto your wound. I need to see how deep the bullet has gone in as well.”

“Oh.” Hutch paled. “Okay.”

Starsky carefully cut a larger hole into Hutch’s pant leg and then deftly swapped the blood-soaked pad for a fresh one. After a minute, he lifted the pad and inspected the wound. He frowned as he replaced the pad, which was quickly soaking through.

“The bullet’s in too deep for me to go poking around. Think it’s safer to leave till we get back to camp. I’ll swap this pad for a fresh one and then bandage you up tight. That will be the best way to stop the bleeding and keep an infection from getting in.”

Starsky quickly did as he’d said he would and then swiftly and tightly tied a bandage around the injured limb.

“That ought to hold it for now,” he said. He looked up at Hutch’s pale face. “How you doing?”

“Not great…and I’m thirsty,” Hutch admitted. “I lost my water bottle in the commotion back there.”

Inwardly, Starsky cursed. Having only one water bottle between the two of them was going to be a problem, especially as Hutch was injured. Starsky knew enough first aid to know that Hutch needed to replace the fluids he was losing with something, even if it was only water. It was a way to keep shock at bay for a little longer.  Starsky checked his pack and came up with his own water bottle, hoping that it wasn’t as empty as he feared it was. When he shook it, they could both hear it was only half full. Starsky undid the lid and offered it to Hutch.

“Drink up. It’ll help you feel a little better.”

Gratefully, Hutch took several sips.

“I’m just gonna see if any of the guys’ bottles are still intact. I’ll be right back. Anything moves, shoot it.”

Starsky disappeared before Hutch could try to stop him. While he waited for his return, he drank a little more water and then replaced the lid. If Starsky couldn’t find any more water, they would have to eke it out. Soon, just as before, there was a rustle of leaves and then Starsky let Hutch know that he was approaching.

When he reached Hutch’s side, he shook his head, saying, “No luck. Their bottles are damaged or lost.”

Nodding, Hutch passed the bottle back to Starsky, who took one sip from it and then screwed the cap back on.

“I’ll save the rest in case you need it later.” Hutch started to protest but Starsky cut him off, saying, “I can fill up at the river. It’s more important that you drink right now. ..And eat.” He rifled through his bag and produced two candy bars. “Here eat those. It’ll give you a bit of energy for the journey.”

Hutch took one bar, but refused the other.

“You eat one, Starsky. You need energy too…Please.”

Starsky thought about arguing and then nodded.  They both ate quickly and in silence.

As Starsky shoved the empty wrappers back in his bag, he asked, “Think you can get up if I help ya?”

“Yeah. I think so.”

Starsky took his gun back and returned it to his holster. Then he slung his M14 rifle over his shoulder out of the way and pulled Hutch to his feet. He held onto him as he wobbled to the side. He could see Hutch was fighting a wave of dizziness. It wasn’t surprising; Starsky was afraid that his companion had lost a fair amount of blood already.

“I know it hurts to walk but we got to get back to the other side of the river as quick as we can before word gets around that there are some US soldiers out here, ripe for the picking.”

Hutch nodded.

Starsky placed his arm under Hutch’s shoulders and said, “Lean on me as much as you can. Keep the weight off that leg, buddy. All right. Ready.”

Hutch tried to smile. “Yeah, ready as I’ll ever be.”

Hutch pressed his lips tight together to keep from groaning as Starsky hurried them along the small track as fast they could towards the river. How Starsky knew where he was going, Hutch had no idea but the young sergeant seemed sure of the direction they were taking. He himself was hopelessly confused as to whether they were going north, south or any other direction. Normally, he prided himself on knowing where he was at all times. He was used to camping in the backwoods of Minnesota and finding his way around, but the wound to his leg seemed to have messed with his head. He was finding it hard to focus on anything other than keeping upright and moving along as best he could.

They continued to travel for some time through undergrowth that was too dense to see through and still no river appeared. The pain in Hutch’s leg began to intensify and he knew he needed to stop for a break, but he tried to keep going just a little further; not wanting to slow his companion down and make him stay in this dangerous situation any longer than he had to.

Finally unable to distract himself from the pain any longer, Hutch indicated that he needed to stop and gasped out, “Have we lost the river?”

Starsky shook his head.

“Nah, I’m taking a longer route so we come out further down. Less chance of us being spotted by a patrol coming over the bridge that way.” Starsky picked up on the strain on Hutch’s face. “You need a break for a minute, pal?”

Hutch nodded wearily and gratefully as Starsky gently lowered him until he was sat on the ground, his back leant up against a tree trunk. The sergeant grabbed his water bottle and passed it to his wounded companion before he squatted down beside him, facing the jungle and holding his gun across his knees.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” Hutch blurted out, repeating his earlier apology. “Delancy and the others are dead because of me.”

Starsky glanced at him with hooded eyes that Hutch found hard to read and then shook his head.

“Nah. Not your fault. Could have happened to them on any of our missions. It’s just luck of the draw. ‘Least that’s what I think. Put ‘em out of your mind…We just got to concentrate on getting you home. That’s our priority now.”

Hutch took a sip of water from the canteen and then offered it to Starsky.

“You need to drink more than that,” Starsky said firmly. He watched as Hutch took a few more sips and then offered him the bottle again.

“Thanks.”

Although he was fully feeling the heat of their exertion through the humid undergrowth, Starsky only chugged down a couple of sips and then wiped his mouth. He handed the bottle back to Hutch.

“Drink some more.”

Hutch shook his head. “We should save it.”

“No, it’s okay, pal. The river’s close, I promise ya. Have some more.”

Hutch stared into the dark blue eyes that were no longer hooded and checked the veracity of Starsky’s statement before he gratefully took another sip or two. Then he put the cap back on and handed the bottle back. Starsky stowed it in his kit bag. When he looked up, Hutch had closed his eyes and was resting his head against the rough bark behind him. Starsky moved slightly nearer to visually inspect Hutch’s wound. This time the pad appeared not to be soaked through with blood; hopefully, he had done a good job of staunching the flow. Unbidden a question came to mind and he cleared his throat. Hutch opened one eye and looked at him.

With a questioning look, Starsky asked, “Why did you knock me out of the way like that? You could have been killed. As it is you’re injured.”

“I don’t know.” Hutch shrugged. “I couldn’t stand by and let him shoot you…” Hutch’s voice trailed off uncertainly. He couldn’t really explain why it was important to him that Starsky stayed alive.

Starsky nodded at him. “Well, thanks. I guess I owe ya one, Hutch. And I’m going to start repaying you by getting you back to base camp in one piece. Ya ready to move again?”

“Yeah, good to go,” Hutch said gamely.

Hutch was rewarded by a grin as Starsky hauled him to his feet. He bit down on his lip to keep from crying out and looked down at the ground, trying to keep his level of pain hidden from the seasoned soldier standing beside him. Unexpectedly, he felt Starsky’s hand briefly squeeze the back of his neck before the sergeant slipped his arm under Hutch’s shoulders to take his weight.

“You’re doing great, pal,” Starsky encouraged him. “Here we go.”

Keeping a steady pace, Starsky supported Hutch as they carefully made their way over the uneven terrain. After forty minutes, Hutch thought he could hear the sound of water in the distance.

“Is that-?”

“Yeah, we’re getting close to the river. Told ya it wasn’t far, pal. You’re doing great. Just keep going a little longer. Okay.”

“Mmm.”

Hutch decided to save his breath for walking rather than talking. The effort of moving, even with Starsky taking most of his weight, was beginning to tell. Everything in his vision was starting to get a little grey. He didn’t mention it to Starsky though. What would be the point? They had to keep going if they were going to make it back in one piece.

Starsky seemed to realise Hutch was weakening even without being told. As soon as they could see the river through the trees, Starsky brought them to a halt and helped Hutch to sit on the ground, propped against another convenient tree.

“Take a break, buddy. You deserve it. In a few minutes, we’ll go see if we can find the other bridge.”

Starsky made Hutch drink the rest of the water in the canteen and then told him he was going to refill it from the river. Very cautiously and quietly, Starsky left the cover of the trees, keeping low to the ground and ran to the edge of the river. He lay flat on the ground and thrust the bottle into the flowing water. As soon as the bottle was full, he hurried back to Hutch with it and offered it to his injured companion.

“You have some first,” Hutch insisted.

“All right, I will. Thanks,” Starsky said. He had to admit he was thirsty after lugging Hutch through the jungle for the last two miles. When he’d had his fill, he hunkered down next to Hutch and passed him the bottle, which Hutch grabbed eagerly.

As Hutch drank, Starsky said, “We just got to go about half a mile downstream and we should find the alternate bridge. How are you feeling? Need a bit longer to rest up?”

Hutch shook his head. “I’m not feeling that great to be honest…Starsky, maybe you should leave me here and go for help. No sense me holding you up. You’ll travel faster without me.”

It was Starsky’s turn to shake his head. “Not going to happen, pal. We both go or we both stay.”

Dark blue eyes bore into Hutch’s with a look that was a curious mixture of fierceness and cajoling. Hutch found himself accepting and believing an unspoken promise that they were both in this together no matter what unfolded.

“All right, pal,” Hutch said. “Get me up and let’s get going.”

Starsky gave him a small grin and hauled him to his feet. Hutch tried valiantly not to groan. Again, Hutch felt a reassuring touch on his neck before Starsky slid his arm under Hutch’s shoulders.

“I know it hurts, pal, but we’ll be back at camp soon and then we’ll get you all patched up.”

Hutch nodded and tried his best to keep pace with Starsky’s stride as they set off again. Starsky risked taking them out of the cover of the trees so that the going was easier for both of them. After a few minutes, a structure spanning the river came into view. As they got closer to it, Hutch realised it was little more than a vine and slat bridge cobbled together by the enterprising locals.

“You. Gotta. Be. Kidding. Me,” Hutch managed to gasp out between steps.

“It’ll be fine,” Starsky reassured him. “’Sides, we ain’t got a choice, pal. It’s that or swim for it.”

They stopped just before the bridge to get their breath back and Hutch stared at the rickety contraption with dismay. He glanced sideways at Starsky.

“How am I going to get across that thing when I can’t walk on this leg?”

Starsky shrugged. “It’ll be fine.”

“What makes you so sure?” Hutch demanded.

“’Cause it has to be,” Starsky said simply.

Hutch stared at him and then laughed breathily, “Fair enough.” He turned his attention back to the bridge and asked quietly, “Who’s going first?”

“You are,” Starsky informed him. “That way I can make sure you get on…and help you if you get stuck.”

Hutch took a deep breath. “Okay, here goes nothing.”

With Starsky’s help he hopped to the wooden poles at the start of the bridge and placed his foot on the first slat. Straight away, he could feel the bridge sag a little under his weight.

“I don’t know about this, Starsky,” he said doubtfully.

Hutch felt Starsky squeeze his shoulder reassuringly and then press his hand gently against his back.

“We gotta go, pal. If we’re to stand any chance of getting back to base, we gotta move. Now. I’ll be right behind ya.”

Hutch nodded and with a supreme effort hopped to the next plank, landing in a very wobbly manner. The bridge sagged and swayed further as Starsky moved up behind him. Without waiting to be urged, Hutch took another breath and another hop. It was slow going but he gradually began to find his rhythm and soon they were nearly half way across.

Hutch hopped again. Without any warning, the slat he had landed on snapped and dropped out from underneath him. Unable to stop his downward motion, Hutch slipped through the hole, desperately trying to grab hold onto any of the rope loops as he did so. Starsky was calling his name and trying to grab hold of him, but it was too late. As the extra pressure proved too much for the bridge, one length of rope snapped and Hutch fell down into the fast rushing river. The last thing Hutch heard as his head went under the water was Starsky frantically shouting his name. Then the world went black.

*****

Starsky watched in horror as Hutch slipped away from his urgently scrabbling hands and dropped like a lead weight into the water several feet below. He saw Hutch plunge into the fast moving depths and disappear from sight. Starsky moved slowly backwards from the centre of the bridge that was creaking and shaking ominously – threatening to offer up more snapped ropes and broken slats – but kept his gaze fixed on the river. His eyes anxiously swept from side to side, focussing on the surface water, hoping that he would see Hutch break the surface at any second.

It was almost half a minute before he was rewarded by the sight of Hutch coming up from the depths. He was hundreds of yards away. Clearly, Hutch had been swept a long way downstream already by the hidden currents. At least he was conscious. Starsky saw him trying to keep his head above the water and attempt to swim towards the bank on which the camp was based.

Starsky knew he himself had to get to that side of the river too if he stood any chance of helping Hutch and getting them both back to camp in one piece. Taking his courage in his hands, he dashed madly across the creaking bridge and made it to the far side, just as another vine snapped. It was quickly followed by another, and another, and then the whole bridge collapsed and crumbled into the river.

Starsky’s overriding thought was deep concern that the debris now heading downstream might catch up to Hutch before he could get out of its way. Without hesitation, he ran as fast as he could along the river bank, trying to keep Hutch’s rapidly travelling form in his eye-line as he went.

*****

Hutch spluttered into consciousness as his brain automatically told his body to fight towards the surface. He tried to keep his head out of the water whilst trying to work out where he was and what he needed to do. The current was pushing him along at a steady pace. He knew he needed to stop his momentum, but he wasn’t sure he had the strength to swim across the current. He tried anyway. He struck out for the bank nearest the US Army camp, but his attempts were pitiful and he didn’t make much progress. Anxiously, he tried harder. He had no idea how far downstream he might have been taken from the camp, but he knew the further he got from it, the worse his chances.

Suddenly, he found he was being hit by pieces of debris that must have come from the bridge. He swallowed another mouthful of water and tried hard not to choke. Given the amount of debris rushing past, it looked like the entire bridge had collapsed. Had Starsky made it across or was he now stuck on the wrong side of the river? The thought that Starsky might be trapped in enemy territory momentarily depleted Hutch’s energy and he struggled to keep his head above water.

He assessed his situation even as he tried again to reach land. He was finding it difficult to make any progress towards the bank. He was weak from losing blood and only able to use one leg to swim. After several tiring minutes, he spotted a place where the growth of the jungle met the river. Several tree roots hung down into the water and he realised that this might be his only chance to stop himself from being pushed further and further downstream.

He knew he was tiring very quickly. He clearly couldn’t go on for much longer. With Herculean effort, Hutch pushed himself towards the roots and managed to grab hold of one. Drawing the root hand through hand, he managed to pull himself further towards the shore and wedge himself in between the knotty toes of the jungle trees. He didn’t have the strength to pull himself out, but at least he couldn’t be moved by the river now.

His best hope was that Starsky would find him and help him. But if Starsky hadn’t made it across the bridge, then what? He felt another moment of panic and despair at the thought that Starsky might not have made it across either. His final thought before he gave into fatigue was a heartfelt prayer that Starsky was safe and sound and would make it back to the relative safety of base camp.

*****

Hutch wasn’t sure how long he was unconscious. As he came fully awake, he realised two things: that night was falling; and that he was cold to the bone despite the heat of the jungle. Most of his body was still wet from dangling in the river and, although his uniform top was partially dry, it felt cold against his skin. His whole body was shivering uncontrollably. He realised that the shaking he was experiencing was most likely caused by the beginnings of a fever. He was probably suffering from shock, too. His prospects didn’t look good for making it through the night.

Intellectually, Hutch knew that this thought should have frightened him, but he felt strangely calm and at peace. He felt confused when he realised that his leg had stopped hurting. Had he been shot or had he hallucinated the whole thing?

“Yes, you were shot. Probably the lack of pain and the peaceful numbness that you’re experiencing can all be put down to shock,” his mind commented in a ‘dispassionate outward observer’ sort of voice.

He must have drifted unconscious again; the next time he woke, he heard the sound of chatter and saw the beams of flashlights coming towards him. He still felt eerily calm and watched the scene unfold as if he was a spectator not the central character. Somewhere in his mind, the thought occurred to him that he might just be dying, but he couldn’t summon up any energy to worry about it. His only regrets were not finding out what had happened to Richie and never knowing if Starsky would get back to camp. He wondered if his new friend would eventually make it back to California and be able to get on with his interrupted life. Hutch groggily wondered what Starsky’s plans were for the future. He felt a wave of fatigue roll through him, sapping the last of his reserves and befuddling his brain.

He tried to focus on the lights coming towards him; to hold on for a rescue. A moment later, his eyes and ears were telling him that the group of men walking towards him were not US soldiers but enemy combatants.

“It’s unlikely that you’ll ever make it home now,” the observer in his head said.

Hutch was surprised that this fact really didn’t matter as much as he had thought it would. It didn’t matter that he had failed so badly in his mission. It didn’t matter that he would never see his parents or his sister again. Briefly, he regretted the pain of loss that they would have to endure but it was short-lived. He didn’t have the energy for regret or for anything else. Nothing seemed to matter much anymore. Except that tiny nagging worry about what had happened to Starsky. He wondered whether he would have had the chance to meet up with him again if he’d made it back to US soil himself. But now he would never know. He was so tired. So tired. If he were honest with himself, it would just be a relief to close his eyes and never wake up again. He sighed and let his eyelids close, accepting the call of sleep that his body was craving so badly. Yes, it was time to let go and rest.

*****

Battling fatigue, Starsky doggedly followed the course of the river even after he lost sight of Hutch. The sun was getting low in the sky and he knew that within a few minutes, the jungle would be pitch-black. He hadn’t been able to actively decide whether he should go for help straight away or try to find Hutch. Something wouldn’t let him leave the riverbank until he knew Hutch’s fate so on he went. As the world around him grew evermore dim, he became aware of the sound of feet and the chatter of voices. Then flashlights appeared in the distance ahead. On this side of the river, it should be his compatriots, but it was never safe to assume anything. He slowed his steps and edged into the beginnings of the jungle, careful not to make any noise.

A moment later, he was grateful that he had erred on the side of caution. A small squad of enemy soldiers was heading towards him. He peered through the leaves, watching them as they came closer and saw that were dragging something along with them. With dawning horror, he realised it was Hutch. He had to stifle the urge to call Hutch’s name to see if he was able to respond. As the group got closer, he heard a muffled groan and breathed a small sigh of relief that Hutch was alive. At least for now.

The soldiers turned to walk down to the river’s edge and Starsky noticed that there were two small boats moored there. The men unceremoniously dumped Hutch into one and then two men climbed in with him. The other three jumped into the other boat and then they rowed both vehicles towards the opposite bank. Starsky could only watch as they made their way across the river and landed on the other side. Soon the squad, with Hutch in tow disappeared into the jungle and Starsky lost sight of them. His heart felt like it had turned to lead.

Swallowing down fear, he stood and tried to think through his options logically. He reached into his equipment bag and drew out a small knife. Quickly, he shrugged out of his uniform top and pulled his undershirt over his head. He replaced his uniform and then proceeded to shred his shirt into small strips of fabric. He shoved all but one strip into his bag and replaced his knife. He found an eye-height branch on the tree he was standing next to and tied the fabric marker securely around the woody growth. As he made his way back towards where he hoped the army camp was, he periodically tied tags to branches on the side of the tree that he would be facing when he returned with a battalion of soldiers. Hopefully, they could be back at the river just after dawn. They should be able to cross the body of water without too much difficulty and then pick up the trail of the enemy soldiers and Hutch.

Starsky knew he was clutching at straws that Hutch would still be in the area close to the river and that he would be able to be rescued, but clutch at those straws is what he did. The enemy didn’t know that their patrol had spotted the POWs at the village earlier in the day. His commanding officer should have been alerted already by Harvey to the fact that there were enemy soldiers close by, even if he didn’t know the rest of what he and Hutch had seen. Harris and his superiors should already be thinking about a show of force to push the VC back.

All Starsky had to do was get back as fast as he could to add the urgent news that Hutch had been captured and give his report on the location of village confining the POWs. Hopefully, Harris wouldn’t take long to discuss the possibility of a rescue mission with his superiors. If they could move quickly, there was a chance that they could set out on a mission at dawn to bring back those US soldiers and return them to their families. He just hoped that Hutch was either at the same village or another one close by. He had to be because Starsky found he couldn’t countenance the thought that Hutch might not be rescued.

*****

The pain was indescribable. Half screaming, half crying, Hutch jumped into consciousness to find that he was being held down by two enemy soldiers while a man (who may or may not have been a doctor) was uncovering his wound. Stony-faced, the man cleaned the injury vigorously before digging in and eventually removing a bullet and throwing it into a metal dish, where it made a tinny sound as it rolled around. Then he poured some disgustingly dark liquid into the wound, which burned with such heat it felt as if it was cauterising the skin. Hutch nearly passed out again from the pain.

Through half-closed eyes, Hutch saw the man apply a poultice made of leaves and mud (and heaven only knew what else) to his wound and then wrap Hutch’s leg firmly with a thick bandage. He seemed completely oblivious to the pain he was causing his patient with his less than gentle ministrations. It was a relief to Hutch when he was roughly manhandled off the table by the two soldiers and carried out of the small wooden hut.

Hutch found it hard to judge how long he had been unconscious for. Sunset this time of year was around six. He guessed it was a couple of hours later, but he wasn’t certain. As the two soldiers dragged him across what appeared to be the open ground at the centre of a village, he looked around, trying to take in the details. The settlement wasn’t the one he had visited earlier in the day, he was sure of it, but it looked very similar. There was a collection of small huts that passed as family homes; some of them had dim yellow light spilling from the windows. He caught glimpse of a family sitting around a table eating. He saw a small flock of chickens settling down to roost for the night.

They reached a small wooden enclosure, the gate to which was quickly opened, and then he was all but thrown inside, where he collapsed. He heard the gate clanging shut behind him and a bolt sliding across. He had landed on his side and was completely winded. The shaking he’d experienced earlier returned and he didn’t have the strength left to move from where he lay. He heard the sound of feet scuffing the ground and then gentle hands were helping him to sit up.

“Hey fella, how are you doing?” a friendly voice asked.

“I-I’ve b-been b-better,” Hutch stammered weakly through chattering teeth.

He looked up to see a man (a few years older than himself) wearing captain’s stripes on a ragged and dirty uniform. The captain inspected his leg with the help of the light from a lantern and nodded his head.

“You’ve been seen by the sadist, I take it.”

Hutch nodded.

“Well, he may seem oblivious to the pain he inflicts but his medicines seem to work. The Viet Cong group holding us seem to like to put everyone to work so they patch us up pretty good. You’ll be okay. Let’s get you somewhere more comfortable and get you fed and watered.”

The captain waved another man over and, between the two of them, they managed to get Hutch onto his feet and then half-carried him over to sit on a bench running along the side of the enclosure. The captain took off his jacket and wrapped it around Hutch’s shivering form.

Hutch nodded his thanks as he looked around. He could see a group of five soldiers just a few yards away lining up to collect a bowl of something to eat from a sixth soldier who was cooking something in a pot hanging over a small fire. At least at this village, the captured soldiers seemed to have adequate space to move around a little and access to some food.

The captain spoke to the corporal next to him, “Donny, get this man a bowl of rice. If everyone gives up a little, there’ll be enough.”

Hutch went to protest, horrified at the thought of taking food from men who’d been held for some while and might well be close to starving, but the captain shushed him.

“It’s all right, son. Everyone needs to eat. Whether you’re injured or not, you’ll probably be expected to work tomorrow. You need to build up your strength. I’m Captain Jake Schneider. What’s your name and rank?”

Hutch hesitated. Here, in this situation, he decided that it would probably be safer to be what he really was rather than run the risk of being shot as a spy by the Viet Cong. “Lieutenant Ken Hutchinson. Most people call me H-”

“-Hutch?”

With shock, Hutch turned towards the sound of an all too familiar voice and whispered a question full of disbelief, “Richie?”

“Hutch!” Richie was quickly at his side and giving him an emotional, but very careful, hug. “What on earth are you doing here? I thought I’d never see you again!” The amazement was clear in his voice. He turned towards his compatriots. “This is my cousin from back home in Minnesota.” Then he added, “Kinda wish I wasn’t seeing you now. Not like this. Sorry you’re here in this place. And looking so rough…What are you doing here? How are you here?”

The rest of the soldiers had drawn closer and one by one settled around Hutch and his cousin. Someone passed Hutch a bowl and spoon and encouraged him to eat. His hands were shaking so much he nearly dropped the spoon.

“Eat it while it’s hot, Hutch, then you can answer your cousin’s questions,” Captain Schneider advised.

Hutch gratefully ate the rice and vegetable broth it had been cooked in, realising that it had been at least eight hours since his last meal of any substance. While he ate, Richie and the captain explained that the small compound they were sat in was where they spent their nights. Most of them had been here for six months, captured alongside Richie, and belonged to the same squad. Three had been captured three months ago and had come to join the others.

At first, they had been kept in much the same conditions as the other POWs Hutch had seen, but then just after the additional prisoners arrived, they had been given the small compound as a home and started to be fed more regularly. To Hutch’s eyes, most of the men still looked malnourished and he realised that before recent weeks they had hardly been fed at all. The captain explained that the Viet Cong were building a road, which started from about a mile away and was planned to head all the way towards Hanoi, to make army movement and prisoner transportation easier.

The small thatched roof at one side of the compound was the only shelter and that was used for a sleeping area. It was just about big enough to cover the group and keep the worst of the rain off. The soldiers themselves had built a latrine and erected a bamboo screen in front of it.

The meagre meal was soon finished and cups of water were passed around.

“Now, it’s your turn, Hutch,” Richie said, “How did you end up here?”

Hutch placed his bowl on the bench beside him and looked ruefully at his cousin.

“Actually, I came looking for you even though I thought you might be dead. I wasn’t just looking for you, but POWs in general. I’ve been working in General Walden’s department as an aide with special responsibilities and when he asked for someone to come over here undercover and try to find out more about what’s been happening to anyone that’s been captured, I jumped at the chance. I thought if I couldn’t find you specifically, at least I could help find other soldiers and hopefully help some of them get home.”

“And how’s that working for ya?” one of the soldiers asked dryly. The accent and attitude reminded him of Starsky.

Hutch half laughed, half coughed. “Yeah, not great…but maybe someone will come looking for us. I don’t think we’re that far from the army camp I was at until this morning and I’m hoping my companion got away. Maybe they’ll be able to find us.”

A murmur of hope ran through the little group.

The captain spoke, “Let’s hope for the best and prepare for the worst. We have to act as if everything is carrying on as normal which, I’m sorry to have to say, it might well do. But as always we will look for every opportunity to escape or do our bit to assist in our rescue if that’s what happens. Everyone get as much rest as they can tonight. Who knows what tomorrow might bring.”

As the other soldiers broke into twos and threes to chat for a while before settling down for the night, Richie wrapped his arm around Hutch’s shoulders.

“It’s great to see you, Cuz, even under these circumstances. Especially, under these circumstances. I can’t believe you’re here because of me. You must be crazy.”

“I know you’d do the same for me,” Hutch said.

“Well, yes,” Richie agreed, “But my family thinks I’m crazy anyway!”

They both chuckled and then grew serious as Richie asked, “Mom? Pop? Are they okay?”

Hutch nodded. “I guess they’re as okay as they can be with you missing, but they’ll be better if we can get you home to them. It’s the not knowing that’s driving them really frantic.”

Richie wiped at his eyes with his free hand and gave Hutch’s shoulders a squeeze.

“Who was the companion you mentioned? A soldier from the army camp? Were you two travelling alone?”

Hutch swallowed and shook his head. In halting words, punctuated with regret and remorse, he told Richie about the two squads that had set out, about their decision to split up because of Hutch’s wishes to investigate the sighting of POWs, the nightmare picture of the enclosures holding those POWs, and then the loss of three of their companions as they attempted to take the news back to base. He also told Richie all about Starsky, surprising himself with the warmth with which he described the sergeant.

“Sounds like a great guy,” Richie observed, “I hope he’s made it back to base.”

“Me too,” Hutch said fervently.

After that, the two of them chatted a little about family members and how they were doing then they sat in companionable silence until it was time to settle down for the night. Richie helped pull Hutch to his feet and supported him as he hopped his way across to the sleeping area. Gently, he lowered Hutch down and covered him with a thin piece of cloth that passed for a blanket. He was slightly worried by Hutch’s colour and that he seemed to be shivering still. He made Hutch drink some more water and then they both settled down to try to get some rest, hoping against all the odds that a rescue would happen and soon.

*****

Starsky finally stumbled back into the camp well after the sun had gone down and found himself being faced by the rifle of one of the camp guards. They stared hostilely at each other for a moment while Starsky tried to catch his breath. Once the guard realised he recognised Starsky, he lowered his weapon.

“Private Madden, I need to see Captain Harris urgently! Do you know where he is?”

“No idea, Sarge! Try the Mess Tent. Most people are chowing down right about now.”

Starsky jogged across the camp to the Mess Tent and walked through the doors. He was quickly spotted by Harvey and members of his squad. They came hurrying over.

“Hey, Sarge! You all right? Where the hell have you been? Where are Delancy and the others?”

Starsky shook his head. “We were ambushed. The others didn’t make it.”

“Oh man,” Harvey said, as he shook his head. “What about that photographer? Is he dead too?”

Starsky ignored the question. “I need to report into Harris. Have you seen him?”

“Yeah, he’s over there.” Harvey pointed to a table across the far side of the tent.

Starsky hurried over towards his commanding officer, hardly noticing the looks being thrown his way. The state of his uniform told a tale that the squaddies were all too familiar with. When he reached the table, Starsky waited impatiently to be acknowledged. Harris looked up at him, his inquiring look quickly turning into a frown.

“Sergeant? Please tell me you and your squad are in one piece?”

“We were ambushed, sir…Delancy, Stubbs and Long didn’t make it.”

“Damn.”

Harris looked deeply regretful, while the soldiers close by began spreading the news of the loss amongst their comrades.

“Sit down, Sergeant.” Harris called to a soldier further down the table, “Corporal Nevis get this man something to eat and drink.” As Starsky took a seat, Harris regarded him with a concerned frown. “You can give me your full report after you’ve eaten, Sergeant, but I need to know about Hutchinson. Is he dead?”

“Not yet,” Starsky said wearily. He explained how Hutch had been injured, about the fall from the bridge and then seeing his new friend captured by enemy soldiers. As he ate his way through the meal that had arrived, he also filled the captain in on what the two of them had seen at the village they had visited and his hope that Hutch was being held prisoner there or somewhere close-by.

As Captain Harris stood up, he said, “I need to make some calls. General Walden will certainly want to know what’s happened. Sergeant Starsky, come and see me in half an hour at my office.”

“Yes, sir. Do you think HQ will allow us to mount a rescue mission?”

“I don’t know, Sergeant…but I hope so.”

The Captain strode away and Starsky found himself quickly surrounded by Harvey and his fellow soldiers demanding to know what he’d seen and what had happened to him and his squad.

*****

For Hutch, the long, dark night was punctuated by anxiety and nightmares. He swung between hope and despair every time he awoke; one moment certain that Starsky would be able to get help and that the battalion would mount a rescue for him and his fellow POWs; the next dreaming that his new friend had been killed trying to find his way back to the camp and that all hope of being saved was gone.

By the time dawn began to glimmer on the horizon, he was feeling weak physically and mentally without hope. He drifted back into a dream state, filled with images of soldiers falling at the sound of gunfire and seeing their faces floating before him, faces that included Starsky’s.

Richie woke up and turned over to check on his cousin. He found Hutch was running a fever and was moving restlessly, mumbling to himself. Richie quickly collected some water and managed to get Hutch to drink a little before he pressed a wet bandana to his forehead to try to cool him down. Hutch opened his eyes for a moment and stared at his cousin without recognition at first.

“Richie? You’re alive?”

“Yeah, Hutch. You found me. Remember.”

Hutch frowned. “Yeah, yeah, I remember…I got shot, didn’t I? When was that? How long have I been here?”

Richie offered Hutch more water before he answered: “It was yesterday, Cuz. Remember.”

Hutch’s hand grabbed Richie’s shirt and held on. “I don’t think I’m going to make it. Tell my parents I love them and I’m sorry I didn’t make it home.”

“Ssh.” Richie tried to soothe Hutch’s fevered brow. “You’re going to be fine, Hutch. You’ve just got a fever, but you’ll be better soon and you’ll be seeing your family as soon as you get home.”

Hutch smiled sadly at Richie and passed into unconsciousness again.

Richie could hear the sounds of activity starting around the enclosure and knew that it wouldn’t be long before the guards came in and gave them fresh fruit and water and then forced them out of the village for that day’s labour. He wondered if he would be allowed to stay and look after his cousin. Unlikely. Would one of the guards look after Hutch while the rest of the POWs were working? Or would he just be left on his own to either get better or not. Maybe the soldiers would decide it was more trouble than it was worth nursing him back to fitness and just shoot him. Richie prayed that a rescue would happen soon. He was frightened for his cousin’s sake if it didn’t.

Captain Schneider appeared at his side and checked Hutch over. He shared worried looks with Richie. A few moments later, the gate opened and a soldier came in carrying a bowl of fruit and a large canister. He was accompanied by an armed guard. The soldiers took the fruit and water and started passing them around. The armed guard noticed Hutch lying on the ground and said something to his companion. He moved closer to him, nudging the unconscious man with his foot. Then he and the other soldier had a quick discussion before both hurrying away.

Richie looked anxiously at Schneider and asked, “Do you think they’ve gone to get the doctor?”

“I hope so.”

Schneider called all the men together while Richie tried to get Hutch to drink a little more. He could see Hutch was semi-awake and growing more distressed. He mumbled words and people’s names incoherently.

The gate to the enclosure started to swing open and Richie braced himself to deal with the so-called doctor or protect his cousin from the guards as best he could. Suddenly, sounds filled the air. There were the noises of panicked orders being yelled and many weapons firing.

Captain Schneider and the other soldiers rushed across the enclosure and took the opportunity of the distraction to attack their guards from behind. They quickly overpowered them and knocked them out. Schneider and another soldier grabbed a rifle each while Donny took a pistol from one downed VC soldier and stood guard over them in case they regained consciousness. Schneider, and the other soldier armed with a rifle, cautiously peered out of their enclosure. They fired at any enemy soldiers they saw. Suddenly, US soldiers were overrunning the camp and those VC soldiers, who had not been shot, surrendered. Within just a couple of minutes, the whole event was over and the village returned to a more peaceful state. The POWs began grinning at their rescuers and cheering.

Captain Schneider saluted as a Captain came towards him, followed by a small group of soldiers.

“Captain Schneider, fifth battalion. Boy, are we glad to see you and your men!”

“My name’s Captain Harris,” the other officer answered, “And we’re delighted to have found you. How many of you are there?”

“There’s nine of us. One just arrived yesterday and he’s in bad shape. We need to get him to a hospital as quickly as we can.”

Before he’d finished his sentence, Schneider was surprised to see the sergeant behind Harris break away from the group and hurry towards the enclosure. The two Captains followed along behind.

Starsky jogged into the enclosure and quickly crossed to where he could see a man lying on the ground being tended to by another soldier. As he feared (or hoped) it was Hutch. He knelt down beside him, checking his pulse and temperature with gentle hands.

“How’s he doing?” he asked the soldier kneeling beside his friend.

“Not so good. He needs medical treatment as soon as possible.”

“Yeah. We’ll get him back to camp as quick as we can and then he’ll be on a transport to the nearest hospital,” Starsky assured him. “Captain Harris has got ambulances standing by.”

Hutch’s murmurs grew louder and he looked more distressed. He mumbled the name, “Starsky.”

Starsky gripped Hutch’s hand in his and said, “Right here, pal. I got ya.”

“No, Starsky’s dead,” Hutch whispered.

“Hutch?” Starsky patted the pale face gently. “Hey, pal. Open your eyes. I’m right here. Told ya, I’d get ya back to camp safe and sound and I aim to keep my promise.”

Hutch struggled to open his eyes and focus on the face looking at him.

“Starsky?”

“Yeah, it’s me. I ain’t no ghost.”

Hutch’s eyes filled with happy tears. “You made it back?”

“Yeah. You just rest now, pal. Leave everything else to me. I’ll get ya home. Okay?”

Hutch smiled briefly before he passed out. This time his smile was more hopeful. Starsky turned and yelled at the group of men approaching.

“We need a medic here!”

As a man with medical insignia approached, followed by two men carrying a stretcher, Starsky stood up and stepped away so that they could do their job. He found himself caught by the elbow by the soldier who’d been tending to Hutch.

“Sergeant Starsky, is it? I’m Richie.”

Starsky’s eyes grew wide with surprise. “No way! Hutch’s cousin, Richie?”

“Yep.”

Starsky shook hands vigorously with the young man and shook his head in wonder.

“Wow. I bet Hutch was pleased to see ya. He came all the way over here to find you. I’m glad he did.”

“I’m glad too,” Richie said fervently. “And thanks for looking after him when he got shot and for rescuing us.”

Starsky shrugged and nodded at Hutch’s cousin before returning his gaze to his new friend and checking on what the medic was doing. He heard Captain Harris clear his throat behind him and reluctantly turned around to face his superior.

“Sergeant Starsky, I’d like you and Corporal Stevens to accompany the medic and patient back to the camp. Make sure they don’t run into any trouble. The rest of us will be along shortly.”

Starsky nodded and said, “Yes, sir…and thank you, sir.”

Harris merely nodded and then turned his attention to the rounding up of any enemy soldiers still alive and the transport of the rest of the US POWs back to camp for medical assessment and debriefing. He hoped that the other mission to the village further towards Da Vang had been as successful. It would be good news for the folks back home to know that at least some missing men would soon be coming home.

Feeling grateful for the consideration he was being shown by his superior, Starsky followed the medics; not before promising Richie that he would look after his cousin until the two men from Duluth were reunited. Once Hutch’s stretcher was tied securely onto the back of the jeep, Corporal Stevens jumped in the driver’s seat while Starsky squeezed in the back next to Hutch, leaving the passenger seat vacant for the medic to sit and hold the drip that was now attached to Hutch’s arm. With his gun at the ready across his lap, Starsky kept an eye on the jungle but also kept one hand touching Hutch’s arm. As if he could feel Starsky’s presence, Hutch’s restless murmurings gradually calmed. Of course, Starsky told himself firmly that it was most likely because the drip was doing its job, but secretly he half believed Hutch knew he was there and was reassured by that fact.

*****

Hutch contemplated another long, boring day on the hospital ward. After emergency treatment at the nearest mobile surgical hospital, which involved surgery to remove the bullet in his upper leg, Hutch had been moved to the newly constructed Hospital and Administration Base at Long Binh. Being in the 328 bed hospital was a shock to the system after so recently being in a small mobile unit. He was well enough now to be able to take small circuits around the hospital on crutches, which he did regularly throughout the day to build up his strength and alleviate his boredom. Seeing some of the injuries of the other armed forces personnel was sobering. All in all, he knew he had been incredibly lucky.

As the week at Long Binh wore on, Hutch found himself feeling low. He’d been treated well, especially since General Walden had appeared for a visit and let the staff know that he expected the very best treatment for his injured aide. Hutch was glad that he no longer had to pretend to be a civilian; glad that he was on the mend; and even gladder to have his cousin lying in the next bed where he could keep an eye on him. He was also relieved that his time in ‘Nam was almost over. He was proud to have served his tour and undertaken two personal missions for General Walden, but he was ready to get back to his real life and his future.

Despite all the positive thoughts he had going around his head, his low mood persisted. He tried to cheer himself up with the thought that in two days’ time he and Richie would be on a medical transport plane, heading back to the States. For him, there would be another week of convalescence and then he would be allowed to go home to his parents for the rest of his convalescence. Richie would be heading back to Minnesota straightaway and would let Hutch’s family know how he was doing. They were planning on getting together as soon as they could. Both he and Richie would be demobbed when they got back to the US. They’d done their tours and were being released.

Hutch recalled his conversation with General Halden when he had told him the news.

“My tour’s got a few more weeks to go and I was thinking of signing up again. I’m happy to come back and work for you, sir.”

“Well, I can’t say that I wouldn’t like that, Hutchinson – your service has been exemplary, son – but you’ve done more than you signed on for. I wouldn’t ask you to serve another tour.”

“But I could still be useful.”

“Of course, you could, but don’t sign up out of a sense of guilt.”

Hutch had looked away from his commanding officer’s understanding eyes. “I’m not sure I know what you mean, sir.”

“I think you do. When I gave you your medal, you hardly looked at it.”

“I don’t feel I deserve it.”

“Why not?”

“Because I got at least three people killed,” Hutch admitted bitterly.

“And saved thirteen others.”

“Thirteen?”

“Yes, son. Didn’t anyone tell you, the battalion rescued the soldiers at the village you and the sergeant found as well as the men being held captive with your cousin?”

“No, sir, they didn’t.”

“Well, they did, and you were instrumental in making that happen. A day more and those poor devils would have been taken to Hanoi and probably never seen again. There are a lot of families that owe you a huge debt.”

Hutch swallowed. “Thank you, sir.”

“So I will leave the decision with you. Take your time and think it through. If you want to sign up for another tour, I would be delighted to have you back in my division. If you want to be released, I will sign those papers gladly as well.”

“Thank you, sir. I’ll let you know in the next couple of days.”

The General had smiled at him and then taken his leave, leaving Hutch feeling slightly happier about the events that had taken place.

And so Hutch had been left thinking for several days about what decision he was going to make. He had talked to Richie about it and eventually decided it was time for him to go home. The thought of returning home and seeing his family should have lifted his spirits but he couldn’t seem to get very excited about it. After further contemplation of his time in Vietnam, Hutch realised that the depression he was feeling stemmed from a sense of regret – regret that he hadn’t been able to see Starsky again before he was removed from the frontline combat zone. Their brief, emotional reunion when Starsky and the rest of his division had liberated the prison camp had been the last time he had seen his rescuer.

Hutch knew that, after being rushed into surgery, he had been unconscious for over a day. He had no way of knowing if Starsky had tried to see him while he was there and then, of course, as soon as he was stable he’d been stretchered onto an ambulance and transported along with his cousin and the other POWs to Long Binh. He thought several times about writing a letter to Starsky and asking General Halden if he could get it to the sergeant somehow, but he wasn’t sure what to say. ‘Thank you’ seemed so inadequate.

The afternoon wore on and Hutch grew restless. He grabbed his crutches and decided to take a walk around the compound. The 23^rd Evac Hospital wasn’t pretty but it did its job. Some of the buildings were little more than sheds with corrugated roofs, but it was amazing the medical care that was going on there all the same. A few of the walking wounded had managed to purloin a few chairs and pallets to make a make-shift seating area. Hutch went and sat down. There were only two other patients outside. They nodded at Hutch and then went back to talking. Hutch could see a few scruffy looking trees a long way in the distance; otherwise the area was surrounded by dull orange clay that made a lot of dust in between rain storms. He suddenly realised he missed the colours and trees of Minnesota. One of the first things he would do when he got home was go for a walk in the woods. He heard footsteps approaching.

“Nickel for your thoughts,” a familiar voice said.

Hutch found he was grinning like a complete idiot. “Don’t think they’re worth that much,” he said, as he stood up and offered his hand to Starsky.

Starsky looked at the hand, ignored it and pulled Hutch into a bear hug. Once he released him, Starsky sat down beside him.

“Glad to see you’re doing much better,” Starsky said.

“Thanks to you.”

Starsky shrugged. “It was nothing.”

“No, it wasn’t. I owe you my life.”

“After you’d saved mine. I guess that makes us even.”

“I guess. I still feel like I owe you.”

Starsky looked uncomfortable and changed the subject: “When are you headed home?”

“Two days’ time.”

“Good.”

“What about you?” Hutch asked.

Starsky smiled. “I got my papers. One more week and then I’m heading home.”

“That’s great. To Bay City?”

“Yeah. I’ll go see my Mom first, but then I’ll be heading back to Bay City. It’s home now. I like the warm weather and the beaches.”

“Sounds nice.”

“You should visit,” Starsky said. “You know. If you ever get fed up with those Minnesota winters and the lack of beaches.”

“We have lakes.”

“Not the same thing.”

Hutch laughed. “No, you’re right, it’s not the same.”

“So,” Starsky hesitated and then pulled an envelope out of his pocket. “That’s my address and phone number…just in case you did want to make that trip.”

Hutch took the envelope and carefully folded it and put it in his pocket.

“Thanks. You got any paper on you?”

“Yeah.”

Starsky pulled a small pad from his pocket and rooted around until he found a pencil. Hutch wrote his details down and then handed the pad back to Starsky.

“So what are you going to do when you leave the army?” Hutch asked.

Starsky shrugged. “My Uncle Al sells cars; I might work there for a bit. Until I sort out what I want to do. What about you? Are you going to be staying in Duluth? Or going back to New York eventually? If you do actually work for the Times? Or was that all part of your cover?”

Hutch waved his hands from side to side indicating a half-truth. “I had just been offered a job there, but I decided to sign up instead, partly because of Richie, partly out of guilt. It didn’t feel right, avoiding doing my duty.”

“I see.” Starsky looked thoughtful for a moment and then observed, “They do have papers in California, you know. There’s even a famous one in LA. Maybe you’ve heard of it?…And did I mention we have beaches?”

Hutch chuckled. “You know I heard that somewhere.”

Starsky smiled. “Hey, is there anywhere around here to get a coffee and something to eat. I’m hungry.”

“Yes, the canteen should be open.”

“Good, let’s go there then. I can’t visit for too long as I’ve only got a half day pass, but we may as well make the most of it.”

Starsky stood up and waited patiently as Hutch got himself up and onto his crutches.

“How’s your cousin doing?” he asked as they started walking towards the buildings.

“He’s doing fine. We’re going to be shipped home together.”

“That’s good.”

As they entered the building, Hutch asked, “So, Starsky, you’ll be back in Bay City by when?”

“25^th at the latest,” Starsky said. “And you’re going to ring me on the 26^th.”

“Am I? Okay, I guess I can do that.”

“And then when that leg’s all healed, you’re going to hop on a plane or a bus and come stay with me while you apply for jobs at the Trib.”

“Am I?”

“Yep.”

“What if I’m having second thoughts about the newspaper business?”

“There are other jobs you could do.”

“Such as?”

“Have you ever thought about joining the police?”

Hutch pondered the idea. “I can’t say I’d ever really thought about it, but I’m open to suggestions.”