Ride the Tiger by Lindsay McKenna

out the radio.
    After making the call, he ran back around the house. The faces of the Vietnamese farmers mirrored his own inner feelings. His heart pounding in his chest, Gib took in Dany’s pale, distraught features as he drew near. She was cradling Vinh in her arms, the peasants weeping openly around them as they crowded close to the crater in pandemonium. Putting the radio aside, Gib leaned over.
    â€œLet me take him,” he told her. “We’ve got to get him out from under the trees, Dany. The medevac’s on its way. They’ll need a clearing to land in.”
    Dany looked up, her eyes frought with anguish. “This is my fault!” she sobbed, “My fault!”
    â€œNo way, honey. Now, come on, let me have the boy. You’ve done all you can for him.” Gib moved her gently to one side then picked up the now-unconscious Vinh.
    Dany staggered to her feet, numb with guilt. She stumbled along after Gib as he carried Vinh to the clearing on the northern side of the house. It was her fault Vinh had stepped on that mine. This was Binh Duc’s work! As she placed her hand across her mouth, trying to control her sobbing, Dany knew she had to meet the VC leader face-to-face. Was Duc declaring war on them? Oh, why had she allowed Gib to come back even once? Duc had known. Duc had been told!
    Her mind spun with tragedy over Vinh’s lost arm, and what his parents and Ma Ling would do once they found out about his injury. How would Dany ever break the news to them? There would be such grieving. Dany watched in a daze as Gib gently lowered Vinh to the lawn. In the distance, she could hear the whap, whap, whap of helicopter blades cutting thickly through the afternoon’s high humidity as it sped closer.
    Dany knelt near Vinh, the boy growing semiconscious again. He didn’t cry out, and his eyes were glazed over. He was going into deep shock from loss of blood, Dany realized. Gripping Vinh’s thinly clad shoulder, she leaned over, telling him to hang on, that help was on its way. She knew that with Gib’s intervention, Vinh had a real chance of being saved. As she looked up, she was startled by the look on Gib’s sweaty, strained features. His eyes were marred with pain, his mouth a slash against what he was feeling. He was no less affected and touched by Vinh’s tragic wound than she was.
    Kneeling there, Dany realized in some small part of her functioning mind, that Gib had told her the truth: He didn’t enjoy killing. It was a necessary part of his world, but not something he wanted to do. Even now, as he crouched down on one knee, his hand resting on Vinh’s other shoulder to steady and reassure the boy, Dany knew he was suffering.
    Serrating guilt jagged through Dany in those minutes before the green helicopter landed, a big red cross against a field of white painted on its broad nose. She’d allowed Gib back on Villard soil, and Duc had somehow found out. Forcing back her tears, Dany tried to muster a reassuring smile for Vinh’s sake. Now an innocent young boy had paid for her foolish travesty, her selfishness. If Vinh lived, he would be crippled for life. He’d never become the wonderful artist they all had dreamed he would. Oh, God, how was she going to live with herself?
    As the medevac landed, the air around it turned to buffeting turbulence. Everyone bowed their heads, holding onto their bamboo hats and bracing themselves as the wind kicked up by the helicopter blades became invisible fists, pummeling them without relief. Gib gently picked up Vinh and pressed him protectively against his chest. He crouched and bent his head, moving toward the helicopter. As the crewman hopped out to help load the boy onto a waiting stretcher in the cabin, Gib hesitated.
    When he’d transferred Vinh, Gib hurried from the helicopter to where Dany stood, her arms wrapped tightly against her body. Her face looked ravaged as he gripped her arms, worried that