"Reeves, James R & Taylor, James Carl - Vietnam 02 - Covert Actions" - читать интересную книгу автора (Reeves James R)

Old Job, he sat in the dirt and tore his clothes and
threw ashes over his head when he got uptight. I sit
here in my living room and stare at the fire and drink
Scotch. If I turn on the television, there's that god-
damned Jane Fonda in another movie making millions
off the notoriety she got from supporting our enemies.
Pisses me off.

At least Job's friends came around to see him
sometimes, even if they only sat there with long faces
and drank his wine and told him he ought to just curse
God and get put out of his misery. My friends don't
come by very often, and when they do, they don't
want to talk about what's happened to me. They want

6 James R. Reeves and James C. Taylor

to drink my beer and whiskey and talk about almost
anything else. It makes them uncomfortable to talk
about the war, because they weren't in it. They were
safe over here, getting set up in careers and having
families and fucking their neighbors' wives and all
the time raking in the money, while I was over there
in the mud and rain with those damned little devils
trying to blow off a chunk of my ass.

Well, so be it. I'll sit here in front of the fire and sip
my Scotch until the sun comes up and the time for
nightmares is over. The fire reminds me of the camp
we hit with flamethrowers, and that starts me thinking
again. Thinking about the things I did and the people I
killed in the name of duty and honor and country.

I was in some firefights in 'Nam, a lot of them, and
I killed a lot of Viet Cong and North Vietnamese sol-
diers. Sometimes I think about the girt with the bomb
strapped to her back. or some of the others. I shot them
or blew them up or broke their necks or cut their throats,
but they were fightersЧthey'd have done the same to
me- The giri, too. I don't regret killing them. Their
ghosts don't haunt me. If I'd been just a little slower,
or noisier, or more careless, they might be thinking
about me now, and I wouldn't haunt them, either.

It's other ghosts that bother me. Some that didn't
die in combat. American ghosts.

When I left Vietnam that first time I thought I'd
seen the last of that godforsaken place. I was happy
as hell to be coming back alive, even if I did have a