Dog Soldiers Read Online Free PDF Page B

none of their own. They had met in Vietnam and it was not a place in which people felt encouraged to bear children.
    “ Bloody lot of people leaving, ” Jill said. “ We ’ re getting possessive about our friends. ”
    “ Nobody wants to be the last rat, ” Converse said.
    Ian ordered another “ 33 ” beer. He drank “ 33 ” unceasingly from about four in the afternoon until after midnight.
    “ Poor old last rat, ” Ian said. “ God help him. ”
    Jill took her beer along the bar and started a conversation in Vietnamese with a bar girl opposite her. The other girls, softened by curiosity, leaned together to listen.
    “ What ’ s she saying? ” Converse asked.
    “ She ’ s telling them her troubles. ” The girls across from Jill had turned toward Ian and Converse and were nodding sympathetically. “ Later she ’ ll come back and want them to tell her their troubles. She ’ s writing a report on Saigon bar girls. ”
    “ What for? ”
    “ Oh, for the information of the civilized world, ” Ian said. “ Not that the civilized world gives fuck all. ” They drank in silence for a while as Jill told her troubles to the bar girls.
    “ One thing, ” Converse said, “ this war is going to be well-documented. There ’ s more information available than there is shit loose to know about. ”
    An image came to Converse ’ s mind of the sheets of paper onto which the computers clacked out useful information for the conduct of the war. The prettiest were the ones which analyzed the loyalties and affiliations of country villages — these were known, with curious Shakespearean undertones, as Hamlet Evaluation Reports. The thought of Hamlet Evaluation Reports made Converse hungry. Each Friday the Vietnamese used them to wrap food in.
    “ Let ’ s eat, ” he said. “ Before it rains again. ”
    They went outside and walked down Tu Do toward the river. On the first corner they came to, the MPs had a soldier in fatigues up against the wall and were searching his many khaki pockets while a crowd of silent Saigonnais looked on. Converse bought Jill a marigold necklace from a sleepy child flower-seller on the edge of the crowd. The marigolds when they were fresh smelled wonderfully on hot nights; they reminded Converse of Charmian.
    “ O.K., ” Jill said. “ The Guillaume Tell, the Tempura House or the floating restaurant? ”
    The floating restaurant would be too crowded, and Ian said that the chef at the Guillaume Tell had run away because someone had threatened to chop his hands off. They took the long way to the Tempura House, walking beside the lantern-lit barges on the riverfront. Mosquitoes hurried them on and reminded Converse of his fever. As they walked, they smoked Park Lane cigarettes, factory-packaged joints with glossy filters. “ 33 ” beer was supposed to be made with formaldehyde, Park Lane cigarettes were supposed to be rolled by lepers. The grass in them was not very good by Vietnamese standards, but if you smoked a whole one you got high. Little riverfront children ran up to them, fumbling at their arms to see their watches, calling after them — Bao chi, bao chi .
    At the Tempura House they entered merrily, wafted on fumes of Park Lane, removed their shoes and settled down among the dapper Honda salesmen. Ian ordered more “ 33 . ”
    “ Ever see Charmian? ” he asked Converse. “ I just left her. She ’ s the same. ”
    “ Somebody told me, ” Jill Percy said, “ that Charmian had a habit. ” Converse essayed a smile. “ Bullshit, ” he said. “ Or else that she was dealing. I can ’ t remember which. ”
    “ You never know what Charmian ’ s into. But if she had a habit, I ’ d know about it. ”
    “ You don ’ t see her so much now, do you? ” Jill asked. Converse shook his head. “ Charmian, ” Ian said, “ has a friend named Tho. He ’ s an Air Force colonel. In the cinnamon business. ”
    “ You ought to look into Tho, ” Jill told her husband. “ He must