The Kit Carson Scout: The Special Forces Squad has been sent to Cambodia (Vietnam Ground Zero Military Thrillers Book 6)

by Eric Helm

  “That damned reporter again,” snarled Crinshaw.

  “Your office, General. Now.”

  The sergeant behind the desk looked uncertain. “Do you want me to call security, General?”

  “No! No, damn it, I don’t want you to call anybody. Take a walk.”

  “Are you sure, sir?”

  “Yes, damn it. Do as I say. Take the afternoon off. I don’t care. Just get out of here and don’t come back.”

  “Yes, sir.” The sergeant got.

  “All right, Mr Maxwell. Now you’d better explain yourself and you’d better do it pretty damned quick before I call the MPs myself and have you thrown out of here on your ass.” He reached for the telephone.

  Maxwell pulled his jacket aside enough to show the Swenson .45 in the Milt Sparks shoulder rig. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you, General Crinshaw. At least not just yet.”

  Crinshaw turned positively livid. “You’re the one who’d better be careful, boy. Am I to take it that you are threatening a general officer?”

  Maxwell finally lost his cool. “You can take it any goddamned way you like, you Georgia cracker. But you damned well better listen to what I have to say first. Because if I go down, I’m taking you and Jirasek with me. All the way to the bottom. Now why don’t you be a good little general and go have a look at what’s taped to the bottom of your desk? Then we’ll have our little talk. And while you’re at it, shut off those goddamned air conditioners. I’m sick to death of freezing my balls off every time I have to come into this stinking cesspool of an office.”

  “Fetterman! What’s the situation?” yelled Gerber, ducking as a wild burst of AK-47 fire ripped open the air over his head. He couldn’t believe how quickly things had turned to shit. Ten minutes ago he and Kepler had been counting the trucks in another convoy. Now it sounded like the entire NVA army had made today Kill Mack Gerber Day. There was another sustained burst of AK fire, and then Fetterman shouted back.

  “We got two of the Tais dead, another hit, and Tyme is hit. Where in the hell did these guys come from?”

  “How bad? We gotta move,” Gerber yelled back.

  “Do you think you can walk, Boom-Boom?” asked Fetterman as he finished tying a pressure dressing around the young man’s thigh. He flattened abruptly on top of the light weapons specialist as a long rattle of bullets splattered into the trees next to them.

  “Get me to my fucking feet and I can run,” snapped Tyme.

  Fetterman glanced through the trees at where Krung was huddled with the rest of the Tais. The wiry tribesman shook his head. “We carry him, Sergeant Tony. No problem.”

  Fetterman gave him a hard look.

  “I know, Sergeant Tony, but he not slow us down. Corporal Bhat my friend long time now. He can make it if we carry him. We no leave our men in the field for VC.”

  “All right, but you’ve got to keep up.”

  Krung nodded.

  “Ready to move, sir!” Fetterman shouted back at Gerber. “Just give the word.”

  “Right. When I give the word, try working around to the left. We’ll see if we can’t flank these bastards and then break contact.”

  “Anybody seen our Kit Carson?”

  “Over here, Captain,” called Kit. She had slid in under the overhanging branches of a medium-sized pine tree. Anderson was stretched out next to her, almost covering her with his huge body, as if to protect her from the bullets knocking pine needles out of the branches over their heads.

  “Cat, get your ass down, for Christ’s sake! The scout can take care of herself,” yelled Gerber, then to Kit, “We’re going to need a defensible position, a rocky hilltop, a draw we can keep them from coming up, something like that. One that’s got a clear enough area for a chopper to get in and pick us up. You got any ideas where we can find one, you better start thinking about how to get us there.”

  There was another burst of firing from Fetterman’s direction. It was immediately answered by the rattle of M-16s.

  “Bocker! Get hold of B-Team and get them working on an extraction. We’re not going to be able to outrun these guys forever.”

  “Patched into the relay ship now,” came back the reply.

  “Is everybody accounted for? Where’s T.J.?”

  “Over here, Captain,” Washington called out.

  Gerber glanced at Kepler. “You okay?”

  The intel sergeant nodded.

  “Right. Fetterman, can you see those guys?”

  “I can see some of them. That is, I can see their muzzle-flashes.”

  “Give ’em two rounds from the M-79. When the second one pops, we’ll move.”

  “Right!” Fetterman snatched up Tyme’s M-79, guessed at the range and fired. He flattened as the round hit, blowing up a big geyser of dirt and branches, and used the opportunity to reload. He came back up to where he could see, increased the range slightly and let loose another round. The point of impact was directly on top of one of the muzzle-flashes. Fetterman leaped to his feet, dragging Tyme up with him, and shouted, “Go!”

  The air was filled with the rattle of M-16s and the deeper throated hammering of AK-47s. If any of the VC were using rifles or carbines, their individual cracks and pops were drowned out by the din of automatic weapons. Gerber and Kepler were last men out as the patrol collapsed in upon itself and broke to the side. While Kepler sprayed the trees with his M-16, Gerber pulled two HC smoke grenades from his shoulder harness, yanked out the pins and threw them as far toward the enemy positions as he could. They immediately billowed out dense white clouds. Gerber stooped and snatched up his M-16 from where he’d let it drop when he’d pulled the grenades.

  “Run!” he yelled at Kepler.

  “I don’t have to be told twice,” said Crinshaw irritably. “You want them pulled out. Now I hope you don’t have to be told twice. Just give it up, and we’ll forget any of this ever happened. It’s not too late to stop this madness.”

  “That, General, is precisely what I’m trying to do,” said Maxwell. “Now, then, do you want to make the necessary phone calls, or do you want me to do it for you?”

  “You just don’t get it, do you, boy? You just don’t see the big picture. This isn’t just my idea, you know. Big people made the decision on this thing. Important people. They’re not gonna appreciate your tryin’ to muck it up.”

  “I’ll take my chances on winning friends and influencing people later. Right now I think you’d better be more concerned about how much they’re going to appreciate having the full story of this little fiasco smeared all over page one of every newspaper in America, not to mention the six o’clock network news. Now are you going to pick up the phone, or not?”

  “It’s not that simple. I can’t stop the bombers. They’ve already been scrambled from Udorn by now. This thing has taken months to coordinate. I don’t have the authority to stop them. Your boss doesn’t either. We’re not in control of this. I don’t even know who is. We’re just the trigger mechanism.”

  “I don’t expect you to stop the B-52s. I do expect you to give the necessary clearance to allow Army Aviation to go in there and pull Gerber’s team out before the bombs start falling. That was the original plan, wasn’t it? To pull them out at the last minute and let the B-52s plaster the VC? Wasn’t that the plan until you saw the opportunity to get rid of a troublesome officer and his irksome men by making sure that they didn’t get pulled out in time?”

  “Bah. You’re talking nonsense now. You make it sound like I wanted those boys dead.”

  “No, not wanted. Want. You’d still like nothing better. And you planned it, all right, Crinshaw. That’s why you told me in this very office that there’d be no airlift, that Gerber and his patrol would have to get out on their own.”

  “You’ve got no proof of that.”

  “Haven’t I, General?” said Maxwell, nodding significantly at the tape recorder. “I wouldn’t be too sure about what I have and haven’t got proof of if I were you. Are you willing to gamble a general co
urt-martial on just how long I’ve had that thing taped to the underside of your desk? I believe the Uniform Code of Military Justice still prescribes the death penalty for premeditated murder.”

  “You can’t prove that! I’ve done nothing. There’s no way that you can prove anything like a murder charge while I’m sitting in Saigon and they’re in Cambodia.”

  “Perhaps you’re right. The trial board might decide it was only negligent homicide. But they’ll be looking for a lot of scapegoats after this hits the presses. They’ll need somebody fairly important to hang a responsibility tag on. My guess is they’ll think a brigadier general is just about important enough to satisfy the blood lust of the media. Oh, I’ll probably be given the choice of resigning without pension or being fired, but you, General, you and Jirasek, they’ll crucify you. They’ll nail your asses to a fucking cross. You want something to think about, you think about that for a while. But don’t think about it for too damned long, because if you do, and Gerber’s team dies, I just might decide to save you all the embarrassment. I might just show you what a trigger mechanism is really all about.”

  To emphasize the point, Maxwell pulled the Swenson .45 from its holster and laid it on the blotter of Crinshaw’s desk. He let his hand rest lightly on top of it.

  “Now I know you’re bluffing,” said Crinshaw. “You wouldn’t dare.”

  Maxwell sighed. “God, I get tired of people telling me what I wouldn’t do. They usually do it just before they die. It’s so depressing.”

  He picked up the pistol and snapped off the safety. In the quiet of Crinshaw’s office, without the air-conditioning running, the sound seemed very loud.

  “Crinshaw,” said Maxwell heavily, sounding almost sad, “I’ve killed lots more important people than you.”

  He picked up the telephone receiver in his left hand and tossed it at the general, who fumbled the catch, but got it on the second try.

  “Why don’t you give Jirasek a phone call and ask him what he thinks I would and wouldn’t do. Just be nice and calm and take your time. Explain the whole situation to him, so he understands about the tapes and Miss Morrow, too. Then, if you’re still breathing, you might want to put a call through to the Crusaders at Tay Ninh, and have them go pick up Gerber’s patrol. I think they’d be the closest. I’d have Air America do it, but I’m not sure we could get the word to them in time. They have such a limited number of aircraft available to them. Besides, I think it would be so much nicer to have army boys picked up by the army, don’t you? A great heroic rescue, and all that. There might even be some medals to hand out afterward. Be a pity if you weren’t around to do it. So you just take all the time you need talking to Mr. Jirasek, only remember, time’s getting short. For everyone.”

  “Are you sure this is the right one?” panted Gerber. He was out of breath and sweating heavily.

  Kit nodded vigorously. “This draw runs straight to the top. There is only a narrow trail down the back, and both sides are nearly vertical. Maybe not impossible to climb, but very difficult. The top is a flat oval with big rocks around the edges, but the center is fairly clear and flat. There is room for a helicopter to land, perhaps two, if one of them makes — what do you call it? — a slope landing. With just the one skid touching, like so.” She gestured with her hands, holding one palm out flat, with the tips of her fingers touching the back of her other fist.

  “An incline landing,” said Kepler. “It must be pretty tight up there. You sure this is a good idea, Captain, pulling the wagons into a circle like this? Maybe we ought to break up and try to E&E individually.”

  “None of this has been a good idea, Derek. Not from the start. I don’t see where we’ve got much choice. Fetterman says there’s a bunch of them out in front of us, and we know they’ve got troops back to the south. If we go east, we’ve got all that open ground to cross, and then we’ll hit the Ho Chi Minh Trail. Right now that doesn’t seem like too good an idea. Besides, I’m not figuring on pulling anybody’s wagons in a circle unless we have to. If we can make it to the top, we’ll have a look around, see what the enemy’s disposition is. Maybe we can slip down that narrow trail Kit mentioned and break away to the north, then work our way back east toward the burned area and the river.”

  As if to punctuate Gerber’s statement, the sound of probing fire could be heard in the distance in front of them, back east, between them and the border.

  “Yes, sir,” said Kepler. He glanced at Kit, and then uneasily at the steep sides of the ravine they would have to move up. “I just hope the VC haven’t already used that trail and are up there waiting for us.”

  “So do I, Sergeant,” said Kit icily. “Or have you forgotten what the VC do to scouts who have chieu hoied?”

  “I haven’t forgotten. I’m just wondering if there are any of those around.”

  “That’s enough, Derek. We’ve got better things to do than argue,” Gerber interrupted. “Get them moving up the hill, Sergeant.”

  “Yes, sir,” replied Kepler. He still didn’t like the idea.

  “Cat!” Gerber yelled to Anderson. “Drop off about fifty meters up the ravine and lay something to slow them down if they come our way. T.J., help him out. Let’s go.”

  The climb was more than just grueling. It was brutal. In a state park on a crisp fall day, it would have been a challenging hike, but with each of them carrying between sixty and eighty pounds of gear and ammunition, it was a nightmare. When they finally pushed through the last of the brush and crossed the bare slope leading to the top, Gerber’s heart was pounding as if it was trying to escape from his rib cage. Chest heaving, he staggered to the top for a look, with Bocker, bowed beneath the weight of the radio, struggling along beside him. What they saw below was far from encouraging.

  “Jesus Christ, sir, will you look at that!” Bocker gasped. “There must be a reinforced company down there.”

  “And more over there, and over there,” wheezed Gerber. “Looks like Kepler was right. Time to circle the wagons. We’re not going to be able to get down that way. At least we’ve taken the high ground. They’ll have to come to us.”

  “Yes, sir. Sort of looks like that’s exactly what they plan on doing.”

  “Any word yet from Bates on getting us out of here?”

  “No, sir. There seems to be some kind of snag at his end.”

  “Well, find yourself a good spot and then call him back and tell him to fix it, or our butts are going to be in a meat grinder. And tell him I said I’m not kidding, either.”

  “Right, sir.”

  “Kepler!”

  “Over here, Captain.”

  “Two riflemen and a grenadier to cover the north trail. And pass around the captured weapons and ammo. We’re going to need everything we’ve got.”

  “Right.”

  “Sergeant Krung!”

  “Right here, Captain Mack,” said Krung at his elbow.

  “How’s your injured man doing?”

  “He bleed some, but still okay fight. Sergeant T.J. say be okay fine if we get out of here.”

  “We’ll get out of here,” said Gerber without any real enthusiasm. He was beginning to appreciate how Custer must have felt when he stepped into it at Little Big Horn. “Who was it?”

  “Corporal Bhat wounded. Privates Krak and Mung dead. I bring their weapons and ammo.”

  Gerber nodded his approval. “Good thinking. Tell Re and Jai to set up the M-60 to cover the ravine. When they come at us in force, they’ll have to come that way.”

  “Yes, Captain.”

  As Krung hurried off, Fetterman came bounding up the slope like a deer, skidded to a stop and nearly toppled under the shifting weight of his jungle ruck.

  “Report,” Gerber told him.

  “Sir. A large body of VC to our east and south. Company strength at least, moving our way fast. No way to get past them without getting cut to ribbons. Last casualty count I had, we’d only lost the two Tails. T.J. said Corporal Bhat was doing okay. Just a nick in Tyme.
He’ll need stitching when we get out of this place, but nothing vital hit. We going down the back slope or going to make a stand here?”

  “Here. No choice. Charlie’s got about half a battalion down below.”

  Fetterman glanced around. “Well, we’ve got the high ground, reasonably good cover, most of the ammo’s left. We can probably hold out as long as they don’t have mortars. I guess it could be worse.”

  “Not much. You and Tyme set up with Kepler to cover the north trail. I told him two riflemen and a grenadier, then realized Washington and Anderson are still down the hill. I’ll use them to fill in here and cover the ravine.”

  “Yes, sir. They shouldn’t be too far behind.”

  From below came a short series of shattering explosions.

  “I’d guess that would be them coming now, sir.”

  “Captain Gerber!” It was Bocker. “Some guy on the blower calling himself Linebacker. Says he’s about ten minutes out and wants to know why we haven’t turned on our marker beacon, whatever the hell that means. Says if we can’t do that, they’ll have to bomb the whole grid. Either way he says we’d better get the hell out.”

  “Find out what he’s talking about and then get me Bates. I want to talk to him personally.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  There was a long burst of firing from below, and Washington and Anderson came into view, cranking out rounds behind them as they ran.

  “Get ready,” Gerber said. “This is it. They’re coming.”

  To his horror, he watched helplessly as an RPD opened up somewhere, stitching a long line across the slope of the hill. Anderson was chopped down like a Norwegian pine. Washington ran on for a short distance, realized he was alone, turned and went back for his friend. There was another burst of machine gun fire, and the big black medic went down, too.

  “No!” yelled Gerber.

  Kit was on her feet immediately, sprinting down the hill, conspicuous in her black-and-khaki clothing, long dark hair flowing behind her, face terribly contorted. A long, hideous scream issued from her throat like the cry of some wild animal. She ran past Washington and knelt beside Anderson, but only for an instant. She spun away, ran back to Washington and helped him to his feet. With Washington using his rifle like a cane, they hobbled back up the hill, but were both cut down. For a moment, Gerber thought they, too, were dead. Then he could see Kit crawling forward, desperately trying to drag Washington, who weighed more than twice her weight, with her.