The Parrot's Beak: A Viet Nam War Novel by David Allin

Author:David Allin
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: UNKNOWN
Published: 2016-09-03T23:00:00+00:00

ELEVEN

The kitchen smelled wonderful. Daley found Ky and Sung busy with pots and pans, a blazing wood stove, and a bloody chicken carcass on the table amongst the scattered cans and bags.

“Ky, you two need to keep the noise down in here, please,” Daley told him. “The lieutenant is making plans and talking on the radio.”

“Yes, Sergeant,” Ky said happily, stirring a pot of boiling water with unidentifiable things floating in it.

“Can you make enough food to feed the Australian man upstairs?”

“Oh, yes,” Ky answered, bobbing his cowboy hat vigorously. “We will make enough for everyone. There is plenty of food here.”

“Good. Thank you.” Daley watched the two men dodging each other as they moved back and forth from the table to stove with cans and jars in their hands. He wondered if maybe Sung had been a cook in the Korean Army, and decided to find out.

“Sung,” Daley said to get his attention. With the Korean watching him, Daley pointed to his chest, and then to his rifle and made walking gestures with two fingers of his left hand. He wasn’t really an infantryman, but there was no way to describe his job as an interrogator with simple hand motions. Then he pointed at Sung’s chest and waved at the stove and cooking utensils with a questioning look on his face. Sung’s face was blank. Daley repeated the performance, and finally Sung’s expression changed to one of understanding. He shook his head violently, and then pointed to himself before making a downward motion with his hand cupped. He made a “poompf” sound and drew a high arc in the air, then opened his hand quickly with a percussive breath to imitate an explosion.

“A mortar,” Daley said, and Sung nodded. So Sung was a mortarman. Who just happened to also be a cook. Interesting. Daley smiled and reached out to shake his hand. Both smiled goofily at each other as they shook.

“He shoots mortars,” Ky said in Vietnamese, to prove he understood the mute conversation as well. He also shook Sung’s hand.

“Back to work,” Daley told Ky with a half-smile, and then went back out into the front room. Lieutenant Jones and Tanner were over by the desk, with Jones listening intently to the radio handset with a pained expression on his face. Every couple minutes he would simply say, “Roger, over,” and listen some more. Daley wandered over to the long table, where Sergeant Stagakis had paper and a pencil he had found on the desk and was drawing a crude map of the fort and the surrounding area. Ortiz was no longer on the steps, presumably having gone back upstairs to check on the Australian, and Sergeant Gardner came down the steps just as Daley reached the table.

“Ortiz says we’re staying here tonight,” Gardner said as he reached the main floor.

“Yep,” Stagakis said, not looking up from his drawing efforts.

“That’s fucked up,” Gardner commented mildly.

“Hmm,” Stagakis grunting, neither agreeing or disagreeing.

There was movement at the door, and Benkowski leaned in.

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