The Trash Haulers Read Online Free Page A

Golden Spirochete to Nakhon Phanom in Thailand today. Needless to say, Colonel Mace wants it off his base ASAP.”
    “I’m sure he does,” Warren conceded. He managed not to smile.
    Hardy did a sharp about face and marched for the exit. The two pilots looked at each other and broke out in hoots of laughter. The Golden Spirochete was a purple guidon, or fanion. Guidons are small, swallow-tailed flags with a unit’s identification mounted on a six-foot staff and carried on parade. In a very real sense, they represent the unit. This particular guidon was embroidered with a golden spirochete, the spiral-shaped bacteria that caused syphilis. It was awarded each month to the hospital or clinic with the highest venereal disease rate in Southeast Asia, supposedly in an effort to motivate the unit to curb the soaring rates. “Hey,” Bosko finally managed, “we can get a Thai haircut while we’re there.” The Thai barbershop outside the main gate at Nakhon Phanom was famous for the pretty girls who worked there and infamous for offering much more than haircuts.
    “All things considered,” Warren said, “I don’t think that would be a wise idea.”
    Again, they roared with laughter. Hardy heard them and turned, fixing them with his command look before disappearing through the door. “Yep,” Bosko said, “he’s definitely oh-six material.” O-6 was the alpha-numeric designation for a colonel while O-5, Hardy’s current rank, indicated a lieutenant colonel. Warren, a captain, was an O-3 and Bosko, a first lieutenant, an O-2.
    “Rank times IQ is a constant,” Warren intoned.
    Bosko paused as it sank in. “Hey, that’s funny.” Their laughter echoed over the deserted room. The co-pilot made a mental note to pass the remark on to Santos.
    *
    Phu Bai, South Vietnam
    Three hundred miles north of Cam Ranh Bay, and fifty miles below the Demilitarized Zone that separated North and South Vietnam, the sun was breaking the horizon and casting long shadows over the big U.S. Army base outside the town of Phu Bai. Phu Bai had been a sleepy town in Quang Tri, the northern-most province of South Vietnam but the war had changed all that. Now, Quang Tri Province, along with the four northern provinces, made up the military region known as I Corps.
    A lone runner circled the parking apron where the helicopters were lined up in precise rows, each parked in its own L-shaped revetment. Each revetment cast a long shadow across the PSP matting, the pierced steel planking that held the mud at bay. The Army had also used the planking to sandwich sandbags between two walls of PSP, creating the open bunkers the Hueys could easily taxi into for protection.
    The runner automatically counted the helicopters. “Twenty-nine,” he muttered. The 571st Medical Company Air Ambulance had lost another aircraft, but he fully expected it would be replaced within hours. Dust Offs had that priority. He made a mental note to check on the status of the crew. Unfortunately, he had been in-country eight months and knew the odds. He picked up the pace.
    The crew chiefs servicing the helicopters looked up as he pounded past. For the most part, they shook their heads. More than one muttered something about “fuckin’ stupid” as no one ran in their Army unless they were ordered to, or they were running away from something, like incoming rockets. WO-1, Warrant Officer-Grade One, Wilson Tanner was a strange sight. He was wearing a tee shirt, running shorts, and combat boots. He would have worn his Smith and Wesson .38 revolver, if he could have found a way to keep the shoulder holster from flopping around. Other than when he was running, the Combat Masterpiece was his constant companion. He kicked into high gear. There was no doubt the wiry twenty-one-year-old could run. At five foot eight inches, he set a blistering pace, his shaved head glistening with sweat.
    He circled by the cluster of tents he called home. Most had dirt floors, but he had dickered with the