The P.H.O.T.O. (VOL 2) The Saga Continues

by Larry Hunt

  They quickly surveyed each other to ascertain who was the most presentable to go inside to register.

  It was decided that Tinker, not only was the best dressed, she was the best looking. The guy’s hair was dirty. A stubble of beard on their faces and standing upwind from them – please.

  In a few minutes Tinker returned with two sets of keys. They had been assigned room number 4113 and 4114. They laughed, Bud and Lou were trying to be cute: four of us, OPS 113!

  They did not spend long dwelling on the keys they headed out looking for the mall entrance and the clothing store.

  * * * * *

  Their rooms on the fourth floor were found easily in spite of the stares and guests walking around them to avoid the smell. They immediately ordered room service and took turns in the showers.

  Tinker, with a room to herself drew a huge tub of the most luxurious hot water filled with a complete bottle of the sweetest smelling bubble bath. She separated the enormous pile of bubbles and emerged herself into the most pleasant bless she had enjoyed since she had been kidnapped from her work at the University.

  The rooms were fully equipped with razors, cologne, perfume, toothbrushes, toothpaste and any and all items that they might need. After showering, bathing and enjoying the food from room service they hit the hay. Tinker in her room and the guys sharing the other.

  The next morning, room service breakfast was ordered and delivered and they were again sipping coffee – this time not out of an Army metal canteen cup but from a beautiful gold-rimmed china cup – the phone rang.

  “Hello,” answered Sarge.

  The voice on the other end asked, “Put Spur on, please.”

  Sarge handed the phone to Spook – “Yes,” he said.

  Sarge turned to the others and barely audible said, “It must be Bud or Lou, they wanted to speak to “Spur”.

  Spook speaking said, “Wait let me get a piece of paper and pen so I do not forget anything.” Everyone in the room jumped up looking for the two aforementioned items.

  No need, Spook found them in the drawer where he was standing. He was carefully listening, writing and every now and then he would answer, “Right,” “Understand,” “Okay, thanks you two,” and he hung up.

  As Spook turned to face the others they were all leaning forward toward him appearing as if a wind was about to blow them off their feet. “It was in code, I will first have to decipher. It won’t take but a couple of moments.”

  In a minute or two he stood up from the table where he was decoding the message and spoke again, “1600 hours today we are to go down to the Chao Phraya River and find a water-taxi. But it must be a particular one. We find the right one by asking the pre-arranged question: “Do you think it will rain today?” The correct driver will answer: “No, I do not believe it will.” Spook, continued, “The water taxi is to take us down the river to the harbor. Anchored somewhere in the Gulf of Siam will be a steamer with the name “Orion II” painted on its bow.”

  Serge interrupted, Spook do you people that work for the CIA make this stuff up as you go along? Spook shook his head no. This is unreal – first the four of us on the fourth floor, then our OPS 113 is the room number and now our escape boat is named “Orion “– give me a break – you guys are good!”

  Spook laughed and continued to explain his notes, “Once we board the steamer it will take us down the coast out into the South China Sea to Indonesia. At Indonesia we will transfer to another larger vessel named the “Ocean Pearl”

  “Now," said Sarge, “that’s a ship’s name.

  “Ocean Pearl” will carry us to the Port of New Orleans. The captain has been informed of our circumstances, and I might add handsomely paid, so he will provide a small launch in New Orleans for us to go ashore without going through Customs. Once on board the captain will provide further guidance to us.”

  “Damn Spook you wrote all that on just that tiny scrap of paper?” said Sarge. “You can probably write the whole bible on the head of pin, huh?” Everyone, including Spook laughed as he explained that he just jotted down notes and filled the rest in from memory.

  * * * * *

  It was now mid-morning with the rest of day to kill – what to do? They weren’t tourist so that was out – they could not just go out and aimlessly wander around the city – what to do to wile away the hours ‘til 4 pm. Spook said, “Sarge open up our rucksack and let’s take a look at some of that alien stuff you've been carrying”

  They all moved over to the corner of the room where a large circular table was positioned and Sarge removed the precious contents of the bag and unceremoniously dumped them upon the table.

  Little ‘S’ and Spook began picking up document after document and shaking their heads – “What?” Asked Sarge.

  “The diagrams are more or less blueprints – we can figure them out but the documents are written in… in... what are they Spook? (Spook handling page after page just shook his head) “It is a language that looks like a mixture between Egyptian Hieroglyphics, Chinese and early Samaritan Cuneiform,” explained Little ‘S’. “This is going to take some time to figure this out – if ever! We need an Alien ‘Rosetta Stone’ to decipher these hen-scratching I’m afraid.”

  “Hey,” said Sarge. “What is this ‘Rosetta Stone’ thing? If we need one where the hell do I go to get it?”

  “Hold on Pop!” said Junior. “It’s not that easy. You see the Rosetta Stone was a real stone found in Egypt by Napoleon’s men in 1799 at a place called Rosetta. It had been carved with text made up of three different translations of the same passage. Two of the carved texts were ancient Egyptian Hieroglyphics and ancient Egyptian Demotic the third was Classical Greek. Using this stone as a means to translate the ancient writing modern scientist were, for the first time, able to read the Hieroglyphic inscription on the ancient Egyptian temples and tombs. Those guys knew Greek but not Egyptian Hieroglyphics so knowing one helped figure out the other. ”

  “Now,” continued Little ‘S’. You see what we need is some way to match the alien words with English words hence a ‘Rosetta Stone’ for the Orion crowd.”

  * * * * *

  Tinker jumped up, yelled, “I’ve got it...! I’ve got it…! I’ve got our ‘Rosetta Stone!’ I’ve got it!” She screamed in delight. At the same time she began throwing things out of her bag – "Now where is it...? Where is it...? Here it is! My notebook!

  When I first arrived at Pac Toul I, like you, could not read or understand anything those ‘people’ had written. So as I found out what a symbol or, I guess, their word was I jotted it down in my notebook. I had to do this for months until I had translated their symbols and 'manuals' into something that I could read. Here it is! It’s in Mandarin Chinese but both you guys can read Mandarin!”

  “Eureka!” Said Spook imitating, supposedly, the words Archimedes yelled when he discovered the principles of buoyancy. “Now we can get started!”

  The remainder of the day was spent at the table with one looking at a symbol on the document another looking up the Chinese equivalent in Tinker’s notebook and another translating that word and writing it down in English.

  Sarge said, “This is going to take a long time, but you know guys, we’ve got a long time before we reach New Orleans!”

  * * * * *

  Around 1500 hours (3 pm) they left their hotel rooms and ventured outside – oh, no. No one had looked out the window from their hotel rooms – it was raining cats and dogs. The lightning was flashing and the thunder was rumbling – shut your eyes they thought and we are back in that Cambodian swamp. The rain was really coming down and the wind was driving it in sheets as they approached the line of river-taxis parked in a long row at the dock that led from a long ramp to the International Hotel.

  Sarge went up to the first boat and asked the captain, “You think it will rain today?” The captain of the boat started screaming, what were probably obscenities at him, flailed his arms into the air and carried on like a mad
man.

  Sarge, rightly so, figured he was not their driver!

  Sarge continued this questioning down the line of taxis; with the drivers getting more and more irate and vocal the farther he went.

  Sarge thought to himself, ‘those idiot Kim brothers, did they not ever think that it might actually rain! And I’m out here in a monsoon asked stupid taxi drivers ‘You think it will rain today?’ no wonder they are cussing me like a red-headed stepchild.

  Idiot Kim brothers!!!

  Finally he approached, yet one more soon to be, another abusive taxi driver, “You think it will rain today? This time the driver grinned and replied, “No I do not believe it will.”

  ‘Idiot Kim brothers’ thought Sarge, still fuming.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  RIVER TAXI RIDE TO HELL

  Loading themselves into the taxi during a raging monsoon thunderstorm did not seem the best of ideas. But the boat captain acted as though this was business as usual so they settled back and each grabbed something to hang on to for dear life.

  As they pulled away from the dock and headed downriver they failed to notice another craft farther down the line of taxis slip out into the river behind them.

  This second craft was larger and faster than their tiny taxi. It was trailing approximately 200 meters behind them. The river was treacherous with wind driven waves that threatened to swamp them at any time. The driver was doing all he could to maintain a course downstream with the howling wind and large waves; however, the waves and wind were about to become the least of their worries – a more fearsome and formidable force was approaching from their rear.

  * * * * *

  From off their stern could be heard the popping of firecrackers – firecrackers? Why Sarge wondered would anyone be shooting fireworks in this kind of weather?

  He turned in his seat and looked back upriver – he could see flashes of light flickering on the forward deck of a following craft.

  ‘Flashes of light!’ He thought. ‘Hell that can’t be flashes of innocuous light – those are muzzle flashes! Someone is firing at us!’ He punched Little ‘S’ and Spook, as they turned to face Sarge he motioned with his hand toward the following boat and made the sign of a gun with his thumb and forefinger.

  They immediately recognized his pantomime and just as quickly saw the gun flashes; however, they had no weapons to defend themselves. Their M-16s had been abandoned in Turin when they changed into civilian clothes to meet the idiot Kim brothers at the bus station.

  Their situation was desperate. It was about to get worse!

  The rear craft being bigger and faster than the little water taxi was beginning to narrow the distance to Sarge’s boat. As the distance closed the firing ceased, obviously whoever was in the rear boat intended to overtake the taxi and capture the occupants. Were they river bandits? Kidnappers? What were their plans?

  * * * * *

  The larger craft was about to pull along the right side of their little taxi – Sarge could now see into the wheelhouse - What...! No…! Sarge could plainly see that damn blue beret…. It was Colonel Nikita Ergorov, “Thumper," the son-of a bitch himself.

  He was sparing them the privilege of being quickly machine-gunned to death for the privilege of Sarge turning over his rucksack full of P.H.O.T.O. documents. Then he would slowly machine gun them to death!

  The Colonel, rightly so, had assumed that the Americans escaped Pac Toul with vital information and he intended to get his hands on it!

  “Thumper” suspended the automatic weapon fire as he pulled alongside the taxi. The little watercraft was not built for this kind of endurance running; they were pushing its tiny engine to its maximum capacity and it was withstanding the test and doing a good job.

  The taxi was dipping and bobbing and seemed to almost leap from one wave to another but the Colonel’s craft was effortlessly matching their speed.

  * * * * *

  Sarge glanced downriver and saw they were approaching a river bridge he decided it was time to use his ‘ace-in-the-hole’.

  He slowly unbuckled a side strap and reached into the ruck’ Little ‘S’ was now carrying. And as the Scout did when he killed the cobra in the cave, Sarge ‘with a singular motion so swift and silent’ pulled out the Tokarev pistol. The same gun he had taken from the Colonel at the cabin. It was returned to him when he left the 75th Evac Hospital. Big ‘S’ took careful aim with his good arm and fired.

  Even with only one arm Sarge’s shooting prowess was still exceptional. The bullet left the muzzle of Sarge’s pistol traveled a straight and true course directly from the barrel, across the narrow channel of water separating the two boats, and directly into the bridge house of the Colonel’s boat, striking the pilot just above his left ear.

  Instant death caused him to involuntarily jerk the boat’s wheel to his left and the Colonel’s boat bumped into Sarge’s water taxi.

  For a moment both boats were running side by side – Sarge, without thinking and acting on instinct only, jumped from the water taxi onto the deck of the Russian’s boat. He landed hard and took quite a tumble inflecting considerable pain to his already injured shoulder. As he was regaining his footing he glanced downstream and shockingly saw they were only a mere second or two from crashing into the bridge’s concrete abutment.

  The water taxi was quick to veer left to miss the solid concrete and steel mass but the Colonel’s boat was not to be so fortunate - no one was at the helm.

  Sarge, seeing the inevitable impending disaster, leaped over the side just as the boat crashed headlong into the immovable concrete pier.

  As the instant Sarge was jumping he could see the water taxi descending into the darkness under the bridge. Emerging from the bridge’s darkness into the daylight on the far side of the bridge they heard and felt the reverberation of the crash, saw a tremendous flash of light that illuminated the twilight sky and watched as a plume of black sooty smoke rose gently above the steel river bridge.

  “Damn Pop...! Damn! Why did you have to jump on that boat?” Yelling at the taxi driver, “turn this damn thing around we’re going back!”

  Tinker reached up and grabbed Little ‘S’s’ arm, “I’m sorry Little ‘S’, but he saved us – he gave his life for all of us!”

  “Damn it! Damn it! Hurry up,” he said to the driver who now had the little craft turned around and was again heading into the darkness underneath the bridge. Coming out on the upriver side, boat wreckage was strewn everywhere. Pieces on fire were floating down the river. The water was covered in oil and diesel fuel. The Russian boat was totally destroyed – no one could have survived that crash and explosion. Could they?

  “Hey, ya’ll just goin’ to let me drown? You know I only got one good arm to tread water with!” it was Sarge! Floating in the river but alive…!

  The water taxi pulled up to him and Little ‘S’ and Spook pulled his wet, water logged body from the Chao Phraya River and flopped him on deck. “Damn you Pop, we ought to let you drown! You scared us to death!”

  “You reckon they dump their sewage in this river?” Sarge asked.

  “Damn right, I hope to hell they do! We should have let you drown in their shit, you son-of-a-bitch," Little ‘S’ said trying to look and act mad.

  “Damn Pop…,” he said grabbing and hugging Sarge. “ Damn… I’m glad to see you alive!”

  “Hey…hey…watch the shoulder!!” Sarge said pulling himself away and sitting down on one of the seats. This brief respite gave him the opportunity to look back at the coal black smoke rising high above the bridge railings and he lamented, “I promised you one day it’s goin’ to be my turn and you won’t have the advantage you Russian bastard. TODAY IS THAT DAY!! CHECKMATE!! CHECKMATE!! So long you son-of-a-bitch...CHECKMATE!!”

  Sarge whispered a soft faint prayer, “Thank you God for big favors, and… and… little Russian pistols!”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  ORION II

  Finally.... after battles in the swamp, on
the river and in the air the little group could relax. Colonel Nikita Ergorov, 'Thumper', the Russian Special Forces Blue Beret, was dead... killed in the explosion at the bridge. Wasn't he?"

  After another hour of enduring wave after wave of the raging angry ocean that nearly sank their small craft the appointed rendezvous ship was reached.

  It was barely visible through the rain and white caps from the still tumultuous storm! It was also getting late in the afternoon and although unseen, the sun was beginning to set darkening still further their destination vessel. As they approached closer the name became visible - “Orion II” painted in large white letters on the black and red bow– a cargo ship that looked as if it had seen better days. But they thought ‘a ship in any storm’. They would be safe for the moment on this floating island but was the Colonel dead? They had no way of knowing, they wished they had enough time to carefully search the area around the river bridge but their escape was more important! Anyway, there was no way the Colonel could have survived the crash, explosion and fire.

  The taxi pulled along side the ship and they were taken aboard. The captain met them cordially and had one of his seamen escort them to a cabin. The operative word was “A". There was only one cabin for them and a pretty small one at that. But after sleeping in caves, on wet ground and on the ‘Minnow’ this really wasn’t all that bad! They figured to make the best of it until they arrived in Indonesia to transfer to the “Ocean Pearl". The few days on the ‘Orion II’ were spent further familiarizing themselves with the alien documents otherwise things were uneventful and, thankfully, no more visits from the Colonel. Of course, he was dead, no need to keep worrying about him. Was there?

  The “Ocean Pearl” was a much larger cargo ship – and in the parlance of the sailors – a ‘tramp steamer’. Sailing under the Italian flag she wasn’t the “Ocean Pearl” she was, as the name painted on her stern indicated, in Italian, the “Perla Oceana”.

  Tinker threw out the question –“What is a ‘tramp steamer”? Sarge reluctantly obliged and explained they were cargo ships with no fixed schedule; they pick up a load on the spot market and ship it wherever or to whomever the load was destined.