Ride The Tiger

Just as Dany began to turn toward the house, a huge fireball enveloped the Renault. As if part of a movie stunt, the small car lifted upward through the fireball, flew apart and landed in pieces alongside the brick drive.

“Maman!” Dany barely had time to scream before the pulverizing sound concussion slammed into her, knocking her off her feet. Another cry tore from Dany as she hit the brick driveway. Skin was torn from her elbow and hand, but she barely felt it. No! her mind caterwauled. In a daze, she lurched to her feet, the heat momentarily stinging her skin, the smell carried on the blast a combination of oil, metal and another odor her mind instantly rejected. A sob tore from Dany and she began running toward the flames.

As she sprinted down the driveway, a second blast erupted from the already charred wreck with a force of heat that scorched Dany’s skin. This time the sickening odor was undeniable, and her stomach lurched. Choking back the bitter taste of bile in her mouth, Dany threw her hand up to protect her face and eyes as she continued to run headlong. Her mother! Denial surged through Dany along with nausea at the terrible smell of burned human flesh. Dany raced on, her mouth open in a soundless shriek, her eyes blurred with tears.

* * *

“Good God!” Major Gib Ramsey breathed as the blue Renault exploded into a fireball less than a quarter mile away. His hand flew to the jeep’s dashboard to steady himself as Captain Pete Mallory slammed on the brakes. As the jeep skidded to a stop, Gib leaped out and began running toward the car, already engulfed in flames. The French car must have hit a land mine—or someone had put a bomb in it. He knew, even as he ran, that no way could anyone in that car have survived the explosion.

Adrenaline shot through Gib, making him excruciatingly alert. His nostrils flared and his gaze narrowed in calculated swings from right to left. VC could be hiding nearby. This could be an ambush. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a slender young woman screaming as she ran down the driveway toward the burning Renault. The charred remains of the car body had landed on its side and fire and black smoke poured upward through the arms of the silk trees, smudging the bright blue sky.

Gib’s heart pounded triple time, fear of stepping on another land mine foremost in his mind. Still his huge strides carried him forward along the bank of the narrow dirt road. Mines usually were buried in the dirt near the tire-track ruts, so he avoided the center of the road. Realizing there was nothing to be done for the driver of the car, he changed direction to intercept the young woman, who seemed to be aiming herself directly at the burning car. Didn’t she realize that if the gas tank hadn’t already exploded, it could, possibly killing her as well?

Jerking a look across his shoulder as he ran, Gib yelled, “Pete, get the fire extinguisher! Stop one of these trucks and get some help.”

Pete lifted his hand in acknowledgement, quickly stepping out of the jeep.

All of Gib’s attention centered on the woman. At first, he thought she was Vietnamese, with her long, flowing black hair, dusky golden skin and traditional Vietnamese farmer garb. But he changed his mind as he ran around the burning wreck and drew closer to her. Her eyes were huge with shock and tears, her face heart-shaped, with high cheekbones.

Tucking away his immediate impressions, Gib came to a halt in her path, both hands outstretched to prevent her from getting any closer to the car.

“Maman! Maman!”

It vaguely registered on Gib’s senses that she was speaking French. He’d been in Vietnam long enough to pick up a smattering. Maman meant mother. It must have been the woman’s mother in the Renault. Oh, God... Even after two years of combat, Gib couldn’t stop the welling up of emotion. He knew firsthand what it was like to lose a mother.

His nostrils flared and Gib drank in huge draughts of air and steeled himself to take the woman’s full weight. She wasn’t slowing down. It was as if she didn’t even see him in her path.

“Wait, stop!” he pleaded, as he grabbed her arms. “You can’t go any closer! It’s liable to explode.”

Dany was jerked to a halt, nearly coming off her feet. The man, a giant towering over her, gripped her arms, trapping her.

“Let me go!” Dany screamed, her words turning into sobs as she struggled. She kept her gaze riveted on the blazing inferno that surrounded the Renault.

“No!” She was much stronger than he’d anticipated, Gib realized. Her black hair flew around her shoulders, and the look on her tear-streaked face was wild with anguish, her eyes filled with hysteria. “Stop fighting! You can’t get any closer!”

Blindly, Dany struck out at the man in green fatigues. Nothing registered on her shocked senses except that her mother was dead or dying. She lashed out at him and tried to pull from his powerful grip. “No! Maman! Maman!” she shrieked, her voice cracking.

“Hold it,” Gib snapped. He dodged several of her poorly aimed blows. He knew she was out of her mind with grief and shock. For the first time he got a look into her eyes. Sweet God, but they were the greenest eyes he’d ever seen, so wide and lustrous, filled with tears and pain. His mouth went suddenly dry, he tried to gentle his grip on her arms. “Take it easy, lady! You can’t go near that car. The gas tank—”

“No!” Dany shrieked. Kicking, she struck out at the man, her foot connecting solidly against his upper thigh. Immediately, he released her. Stumbling backward, Dany caught herself, whirled around and headed toward the car. She had to help her mother.

Tarnation! Gib cursed himself for releasing her. He leaped forward. At six foot five, Gib had long legs—a lot longer than hers, even though she was tall for a woman. “Come here!” he snapped. He grabbed her by the shoulder, feeling her hair, thick and silky, beneath his fingers.

Dany saw a number of marines from a convoy running toward the Renault, leaping out of the trucks. They had fire extinguishers and released the thick, white substance on the raging flames. Sobbing, she struck at her captor. Her hair swung across her face, strands sticking to the tears on her cheeks. Dany lashed out again, her fists meeting the hard, unforgiving wall of the man’s chest.

“Let me go,” she cried, her struggles becoming weaker, her knees beginning to feel watery. Her mother was dead. Dead! Twisting around, Dany’s gaze clung to the wreck. At least ten marines surrounded the blaze now, beginning to get the fire under control.

A sound, half sob, half cry, tore from her lips. The man’s hands were like talons on her shoulders. He wasn’t going to allow her any closer to the car—or her mother. Without warning, Dany’s knees gave way and she found herself sinking to the earth. Pressing her hands against her face, she began to sob violently, gasping for air. Her mother was dead! She would be alone. All alone. Forever.

Gib broke the woman’s sudden collapse to the ground. She knelt in the red dirt, bent double in racking sobs, her hands hiding her face. Her long black curtain of hair swung forward. Gib knelt beside her, unsure if she would try to escape again. Shakily, he slid his arm across her heaving shoulders and used his body as a shield to protect her in case of further explosions. Tears jammed into his eyes as he listened to her wrenching cries. Awkwardly he patted her shoulder, trying to offer some form of comfort.

Looking up, Gib blinked away the moisture. Pete Mallory was doing an excellent job directing a number of marines from the convoy. The fire extinguishers were finally banking the wall of flames. It was easy to transfer his attention back to the woman rather than look at the carnage strewn before them.

As he ran his hand across her shoulders and up and down her back, attempting to ease her pain, Gib felt an utter sense of helplessness. An emotion he’d felt all too often here in Vietnam, he thought bitterly. How many other cries of women who had lost family members had he heard in the last two years? Gib didn’t want to remember the times or places, but his nightmares kept count for him.

“It’s all right, honey,” he soothed, hearing the strain in his own deep voice even as he tried to distance his emotions. Feeling nothing was something he’d worked long and hard at. These days, his nightmares came about once a week instead of nightly. “It’s gonna be okay.” Gently he touched the shining raven hair. “I’m sorry your mama was in that car. So sorry.”

Dany knelt in the dirt and cried without solace. She rocked back and forth, letting the pain pour out, just as the Vietnamese women did when family members were killed. The roar of the fire, the shouts and orders from the marines became a distant background to Dany’s shock. Time had no meaning; she was alone with the pain raging in her heart, consuming her. How long she knelt there, rocking and sobbing, Dany had no idea. At some point, she felt the man’s hands tighten around her shoulders, and she was drawn into the cradle of his arms, pressed against his body.

Gradually, his distinctive accent, deep and filled with compassion, broke through her barrier of pain. More sounds impinged through her ebbing sobs as the first huge shock wave lessened. Groggily Dany realized that she was leaning against a large man in green jungle fatigues. He was kneeling with her, cradling her like a child in his arms, his body a support for her. Weakness flowed through Dany, an unfamiliar sensation. It had always been Dany who had to be strong—for her widowed mother, for the Vietnamese who worked for them and for herself.

Blinking, her lashes beaded with tears, Dany took in several halting breaths. Today, she couldn’t be strong. Today... She shut her eyes, a shudder working up through her. Instantly, she felt the marine’s arms tighten around her, as if to take away her pain. As Dany continued to surface from the shock, she realized that, for the first time in her life, she was being held when she was hurting.

The realization, sweet and tenuous, flowed through her. For a moment out of time, she wanted to allow herself to sink completely into the marine’s embrace, to be held and protected. Now, as never before, she needed that human gift of compassion. Watching the flames continue to lick and burn around the blackened Renault, Dany rested against the man, unable to move from his arms—the protection he was giving her. His voice, deep and dark, shaken with barely veiled emotion, touched her ravaged soul and raw heart.

For a moment Dany struggled weakly against his embrace. His arms again automatically tightened. She surrendered, pressing her cheek against the rough cotton material of his shirt and closing her eyes. The finality of her mother’s death overwhelmed her. It was something she had never envisioned happening. At fifty, Amy Lou had still seemed so young, especially after several facelifts in Bangkok to maintain her youthful appearance. And now she was dead. Gone forever. Dany could do nothing but lie in the marine’s arms, feeling gutted and numb—unable to move, much less walk.

Gib leaned down, pressing his cheek against the woman’s silky hair. He held her gently, unconsciously running his large hand slowly up and down her arm, much as he might soothe a frightened and fractious young horse back on the ranch.

“It’s all right, honey. Just sit here. We’ll help you all we can. I’m sorry...so sorry this happened to your mama.”

His voice, his words, brought fresh tears to Dany’s eyes. She hid her face in the folds of his now-damp shirt, unable to bear the new pain and grief that came with them. He slowly moved, and as Dany felt his weight shift away from her, she felt bereft. Everything seemed to move in slow motion, as if she were viewing single movie frames. Then his hands slid under her arms, lifting her to her feet as if she weighed nothing. When she weaved unsteadily, his arm went around her waist.

“Lean on me,” he whispered, holding her close, “and I’ll take you home. That is your house, isn’t it?”

Numbly, Dany nodded.

Gib increased his hold on the woman, not at all sure she was going to be able to make it under her own power to the elegant two-story house that stood among the silk trees in the distance. He saw a number of Vietnamese farmers running toward them from behind the mansion, their voices high and excited, astonishment written on their faces. As the workers reached and surrounded Gib and Dany, Gib halted.

Dany felt the hands of her workers on her arms and shoulders, the care in their touches, in their faces, breaking her even more. She gathered strength from somewhere deep within her and told them in a wobbly voice, “Mrs. Villard is dead. The car hit a mine. There’s nothing that can be done. Go offer your help to the Americans.”

Gib watched the Vietnamese peasants as the woman spoke their language, her words soft and halting. He was struck by how melodic her voice was—like the song of a beautiful tropical bird. Trying to put some distance between his own shock and helping her, Gib realized for the first time just how truly attractive the woman was, although her face was pale beneath the golden tones of her skin, her emerald eyes dark with anguish and her delicate mouth pulled inward, reflecting her pain.

He stood quietly with her in his arms as the farmers ran on to help the marines with the fire. Looking down, he saw her close her eyes and draw in a deep, shaky breath. “What’s your name?” he asked gently.

Dany opened her eyes and, looking up, saw compassion in the marine’s large, intelligent hazel eyes. “Dany...Dany Villard...”

“Call me Gib. Come on, let’s get you inside, Mrs. Villard. You need to sit down.” Villard. The name rang a definite bell for Gib. He’d heard of the plantation, and the politics of its French owners: supposedly they were neutral. But were they actively supporting VC operations to maintain that neutrality? And who had planted the land mine? ARVN or VC? Maybe the local militia? Or some unnamed splinter group? He stared down at Dany Villard’s half-hidden face, wondering if she were a VC sympathizer. War had no neutrality as far as he was concerned, and more than once his colonel had shown his frustration and disgust over the Villard neutrality policy. At the time, Gib had merely shrugged it off, glad he had a helicopter squadron to run and therefore didn’t have to interface with this country’s complex politics the way his boss did.

They walked along the brick expanse without talking. Although part of Dany still couldn’t believe her mother was dead, deep down she knew it was true. She felt a huge emptiness inside her, a chilling numbness spreading in the wake of her shock. What was wrong with her? Automatically, she pressed her hand against her stomach.

“Are you feeling sick?” Gib remembered too many times when he’d gotten sick after combat.

“No, just...numb.... I feel so numb, as if I’m dead inside.”

He guided her up the series of wooden steps and through the screen door that housed a huge, wide veranda. A wizened old woman, dressed in a black overblouse, opened the heavily carved door. Gib nodded to her, hoping she spoke some English. He knew only rudimentary Vietnamese.

“Where’s the living room? Mrs. Villard needs to sit down,” he said slowly. The marine in him felt on guard, edgy, wondering if the gray-haired woman could be a VC spy. Nothing in Vietnam was neutral. Ever.