Read Online If I Die in a Combat Zone by Tim O’Brien - Free Book Online Page A

week or two before Christmas I had enough money, the right documents, and a final plan. I was sick with bronchitis, but the little spurts of nausea and coughing pushed me on. It was a symptom of another disease, and there was absolutely no doubt about the cure. I was given a weekend pass.
    The bus ride into Seattle was a jolt. It was a Friday evening, cold as ever, and a little snow had replaced the rain. The inside of the Greyhound was unlighted, except for cigarette glows. Everyone was in uniform, even the bus driver, and green berets jutted up here and there over the high-backed seats. The officers wore their Nazi-styled billed caps and dress greens and medals.
    I was scared. I was also a little sick. My throat was filled with phlegm. Nausea flirted up and down my belly.
    A lieutenant sat beside me, and he asked if I were heading home for Christmas. I said, “No sir, just a pass.”
    “Gonna hit Seattle, huh? Not a bad place. Better than Nam, that’s for sure.”
    “Ah, you’ve been to Nam?”
    “Nope, I’m just going. Day after tomorrow. The bastards wouldn’t hold it till after the holiday.”
    “Too bad.”
    “What’s your MOS?” the lieutenant asked.
    “Infantry.”
    “Drafted, I’ll bet. Me too. I signed up for OCS. Didn’t really want to be an officer, but at least it delayed Nam for a while. Hell, I almost thought they forgot about me. In another month—this February—I could have been in Germany. My whole unit’s going there.”
    “You got screwed, sir.”
    “Yeah,” he said. “But I guess that’s what I’ve been training for. Actually, I sort of want to try out all the stuff I’ve learned. I think I’m better than those dinks.”
    The Greyhound turned out of the fort. There is a long highway, three and four lanes, and it takes you through the black forests straight into Seattle. My head hurt, and I leaned back and sort of fell asleep, not a deep sleep, but enough to hallucinate. I dreamed that my old basic drill sergeant, Blyton, was sitting there beside me, grinning and telling me I was doomed. “I’ll have you in the stockade, in chains, with bread and water. My man never gets away.”
    In Seattle, the depot was jammed full of MPs and cops. I went into the men’s room and stripped. I stuffed my greens into the black AWOL bag and changed into slacks and a shirt. No one said a word.
    I found a cheap hotel where I could hole up and think the whole thing through for one final night. An old lady at the desk handed me a key without a glance. The Seattle Times sports page was spread out in front of her. Like a gentleman, I said good evening. She muttered good evening. I dropped the bag onto my bed, then wandered out of the hotel and toward the docks. I found a sailor and asked for a good place to eat. “Over yonder,” he said. “Good fish, and cheap. You ain’t got a dime?” I had clam chowder, which helped my headache; then I went to a telephone booth and called a taxi and took it to the University of Washington.
    I walked into a sorority house and rang a button. A girl came down in jeans. Black hair, and blue-rimmed glasses. I told her I was from Minnesota, that one of my fraternity friends there had said I might find a date if I just rang for a girl in this house. She asked for my friend’s name, and I manufactured one. She asked about the fraternity, and, not knowing any of the names, I said Phi Gamma Omega. She said she’d never heard of Phi Gamma Omega, but she crossed her arms and hooked one ankle around the other and seemed willing to talk.
    “Actually,” I said, “I’m not a sex maniac. I’m just visiting Seattle, and I didn’t want to waste the night. Maybe a movie or something?”
    “Jeez,” the girl said. “You look like a pretty nice guy. But you know how it is, I have to study. Big exam tomorrow.”
    “Tomorrow’s Saturday. You have classes on Saturday?”
    “No, not really. The test’s Monday. It just slipped out, I guess.”
    “Well,” I said, “the