by Larry Bond
The weeds were actually a berm separating two fields. Though flooded, the next one was only ankle-deep with water. There was a pair of buildings at the far side, maybe thirty yards away. Zeus, the AK now in his right fist, began trotting in their direction.
The shelling had stopped.
The buildings were small farmhouses, similar to the hovels he’d seen before. Zeus pounded on the door of the nearest one.
The words he’d heard earlier came to him: “Xin châo!”
Hello! A strange thing to say in the middle of a war.
No one answered. He looked at the soldier, gesturing that he should say something as well. The man yelled something of his own, a different phrase, but again there was no answer.
They ran to the next building. This one had a window at the front, next to the door; Zeus knocked on the glass and yelled. When no one answered, he pounded on the door, then found it unlocked.
They went in. The front room was some sort of family room, with chairs and cupboards. There was a wet spot in the corner opposite the door, apparently where water had come up from below. They searched the house quickly—there were only three other rooms: a kitchen, a bedroom with a small bed and a crib, and a bath. All were deserted.
“Stay here,” Zeus told the soldier, gesturing. “I’ll be back with the others.”
He went outside, calmer now, heart no longer throbbing. The road they’d been headed toward was across another field directly in front of the house; he could see the crown running in a backward Z to the north.
There were more buildings on his left. From here they looked deserted.
Starting back toward the flooded paddy, Zeus tried to triangulate where the other boat would have been when he was thrown overboard. Somewhere to his right, he decided, and he angled that way, climbing over a row of half-submerged vegetation dividing the fields. Another cluster of houses, four or five them, sat along a flooded lane just beyond a sparse cropping of trees. These were much bigger houses than the one he had left the soldier at, a much more logical place to gather the missile teams. Zeus decided to head for them and check them out.
The closest building was a bamboo-roofed two-story house whose lower level was perched on stilts, apparently protection against flooding. A porch ran around this level, plantation style.
When he was ten yards away, he saw a man emerge from the lower level of the house, walking out of a basement room. Zeus raised his arm to wave at the man. The man froze, then threw himself down.
“Friend! Friend!” yelled Zeus, running toward him. He couldn’t remember the Vietnamese word.
“Friend!” he repeated, leaping over a small hedge. As he landed, he saw the man cower. Zeus raised his eyes, looking toward the corner of the building. There was another man there, and a second, and a third.
“Hey!” he yelled.
One of the men spun toward him. He had a uniform, and a gun. The rifle barked.
Zeus hit the dirt. The rifle was a QBZ-95 bullpup, easily identified as Chinese.
As was the uniform of the man aiming at him.
~ * ~
15
The Gulf of Tonkin
The lead ship, the Filipino Star, was less than a half mile off the port bow when Silas had her hailed via radio.
“We are an American warship, and we intend to inspect your cargo according to UN sanction 2014-3-2 forbidding the passage of military aid to the belligerents in Southeast Asia,” declared Silas. “Prepare to be boarded.”
The seas were still heavy, and sending a rigid hulled craft across would be risky. But with the sun up now and the last squall of the storm drifting northward, Silas would do so anyway. The McLane had no helicopter at the moment; it had been used to transport the SEALs and had not yet returned.
“No answer, Captain,” said the communications mate.
“Try it again, broadcasting on all channels,” said Silas. “We’ve been patient all night.”
Indeed, the merchant ships had sat off his bow now for quite a while. Since they weren’t moving forward and with the Chinese cruiser and her frigate nearly thirty miles to the east, Silas had bided his time.
Those were, after all, his orders. The merchant ships were just to the east of Vietnam’s coastal waters, in open seas. Technically, he could stop them whenever he wanted to inspect the manifest, but the admiral had directed that he wait until the ships were clearly embarked toward Hai Phong—which to Silas meant inside the twelve-mile limit.
But the cruiser had just changed course for him. It was time to bring things to a head.
After the message was repeated, Silas had the helmsman adjust his course to get a little closer. He wanted to make things as easy as possible for the boarding craft.
He had a sudden inspiration and ordered weapons to have the forward gun track across, making it very clear to the cargo vessel that he was prepared for business.
“Boarding party, stand by,” ordered Silas over the ship’s intercom system.
“Captain, the merchant vessel is turning off,” said the helmsman. “Moving northeastward, sir. All ships.”
A few seconds later, Lt. Commander Li reported that all of the Chinese merchant ships had changed direction. They were heading back toward China.
“Do you plan to pursue?” Li asked.
Silas wanted to. But his orders were to get the ships to leave peaceably if possible.
He could go ahead. But if they really were packed with men, his boarding party would be in a dangerous situation. In the end, he’d probably ending up sinking every damn ship around him, which was what he wanted to do. But he’d also lose some good men in the process.
“I intend to hold my position off Hai Phong,” he told Li. “If the Chinese want to just turn and run, that’s okay with me.”
Belatedly, Silas remembered that the admiral had directed that he contact him before issuing the Chinese an ultimatum.
Ooops.
He smiled to himself. Even when he didn’t do it on purpose, he seemed to drift toward insubordination.
“Arrange a secure video link to fleet,” he told his communications mate. “I’ll take it in my quarters, after I’ve changed.”
~ * ~
16
Inland from Halong Bay
Neither Zeus nor the soldier who’d spotted him moved, both too surprised by the other to react.
A burst of gunfire cut through the weeds. The soldier ducked back around the corner. Zeus dropped to the ground.
The gunfire came from beyond the house. It was from AK-47s. Zeus guessed what was happening, though he couldn’t see—the Vietnamese soldiers had come ashore and stumbled on the men here.
He had their retreat cut off. Zeus edged to his right, trying to work himself into a position where he could get an angle on the Chinese soldiers if they stayed where they were. Dampness seeped up his pants legs, and from his chest around toward his back. The ground oozed with water.
The Chinese soldiers were at the front of the building, behind a barricade or a wall under the porch between the stilts. They didn’t seem to be returning fire.
Were they simply conserving ammo? Or were they out of bullets.
They ought to conserve their ammo, Zeus thought. Sure as hell they’re going to need it.
A low berm ran across the field a few yards away, disappearing into the water on the right. He got up, intending to throw himself against it, but just as he reached it he fell into a drainage ditch that ran along the other side. As he struggled to pull himself against the raised dirt, gunfire stoked up, from both sides this time. Zeus pushed along the ditch until he was parallel with the front of the house. He saw a green uniform moving beneath the porch and fired a quick burst; the man jerked almost upright, then slumped down.
There were two or three men behind him, maybe a fourth. Zeus fired a burst, but couldn’t see into the shadows to even know if he’d hit them.
They didn’t fire back. The Vietnamese stopped firing as well.
The truth was, th
e Chinese were in a good spot. They could probably hold their position for some time unless the Vietnamese rushed them. And in that case the Vietnamese were sure to take at least some losses.
They hesitated, probably calculating the odds. Zeus looked to his left, toward the back of the house. He might be able to backtrack, and come up from the other side. As long as the Chinese remained pinned down, he could probably sneak close enough to surprise them.
Should have thought of that earlier. Now it would be harder.
There was a shout from the area of the house. Zeus looked back. One of the Chinese soldiers had tied a piece of cloth to the end of his gun, and was waving it in front of his position.
The cloth was green, but it got the message across. They wanted to surrender.
What a break, thought Zeus.
He moved to his right, trying to get into a better position to cover the Chinese soldiers as they came out.
Someone shouted something from the Vietnamese side. There was an answer from the Chinese.
The man who had raised his gun to signal the surrender started moving along the front of the house, toward Zeus, holding the flag. The Vietnamese barked something. The man stopped, threw down the gun, and held his hands high.
Zeus was close enough to see the private insignia on his uniform.
The Vietnamese soldier said something else. The Chinese private began moving out. Two more men popped up and joined him. Their hands were high in the air.
“All right! All right!” yelled Zeus, wanting the Vietnamese to know he was there. “I’m here! It’s Zeus! The American!”
He rose slowly, his AK-47 pointed in the direction of the house. He was ready to drop; he glanced to his right, trying to see if the Vietnamese saw him.
There were two Vietnamese soldiers moving forward in the field in front of the house, sloshing through the water. Four more men were behind them. All had their guns trained on the three Chinese soldiers.
One of the men had been wounded; his arm hung down.
The Chinese soldiers waited. One of them glanced at the body of the man Zeus had shot. He lay facedown in the mud, clearly dead.
They were kids, eighteen maybe at most. They were shivering, probably with fright.
One of the Vietnamese soldiers told them to drop on the ground, and they complied.
Zeus moved to his left, peering toward the bottom of the house to make sure there was no one left inside. He glanced at the Vietnamese soldiers, waved to make sure they saw him, then cautiously moved under the house, his finger resting ever so lightly against the trigger.
It was empty.
He started to relax, backing out.
Something flashed on his right.
He turned in time to see the Vietnamese soldiers who’d come forward to accept the Chinese surrender lace the prisoners with several dozen rounds.
~ * ~
There was nothing, no sound except the bullets leaving the gun. Zeus heard nothing—not the cries of the boys killed, not the tears of their betrayal, not the unrequited hatred of their murderers.
~ * ~
Zeus fell to his knee, unsure what exactly was happening, ready if there were more Chinese, if it was a trap. He told himself not to fire until he saw a target.
He reminded himself that bullets were more critical than fear.
The Vietnamese were shouting. Zeus remained on his knee. Finally, he heard someone yelling in Vietnamese-accented English.
“Clear!”
Zeus rose slowly. Two Vietnamese soldiers ran up, nodded at him, then went into the underside of the building. One fired into the body Zeus had already killed.
“Don’t waste bullets,” Zeus told him.
He walked toward the front of the building. Eight soldiers were standing near the bodies of the dead Chinese.
“What the hell happened?” demanded Zeus. “Why did you fire?”
“Major Murph!” said one of the team leaders, a sergeant. “Major Murph, you found us.”
“Why did you shoot them?”
“Chinese.”
“Yeah, but they were surrendering. Did one of them fire?”
The sergeant looked at him as if he didn’t understand. Maybe he didn’t.
“You killed them when they were surrendering,” said Zeus.
The man shook his head lightly, not comprehending. It was possible someone had gotten nervous and pressed his trigger. Maybe there were other extenuating circumstances. It was too late to undo now.
Zeus felt his stomach grip him from the inside.
“How many of us?” he said, struggling to stay calm. He raised his hand and made a circular gesture. “How many?”
The sergeant said something in Vietnamese.
“Is this all?” Zeus asked. He circled again with his hand.
“All. Yes.”
“We have a man in that house, over there.” Zeus pointed beyond the field. “Our man.” He tapped his chest. “Do you understand?”
“Our man. One.”
“Right. Hook up with him, and meet me near the road,” said Zeus. He tried miming it with his hand. “Okay? I’m going down to the water and see if I can find anyone else. Where is Major Chaū?”
“Chaū?” The sergeant shook his head grimly.
“By the road. Meet me. Don’t kill our guy.”
“Yes,” said the sergeant.
~ * ~
The field was separated from the stream by a row of trees and submerged rocks. Zeus slipped through the trees, trying to see where he was.
A boot floated in the water nearby. It turned on the current, revealing the hacked edge of a lower leg.
Zeus steeled himself, balancing amid the trees. He could see the semisubmerged hulk of the PBR ten yards away, on his left. Two bodies floated in the water near it.
Both sailors.
Slinging his rifle over his shoulder, Zeus shimmied up one of the trees, trying to get a better view. He could see at least one other body beyond the PBR. It was a soldier’s.
Chaū?
Zeus hugged the tree and turned in the other direction, looking for the Stolkraft. He found it grounded on some debris about thirty yards downstream. A shell blast had broken the hull in two, and the sides bowed up, as if the boat were a deck of cards waiting to be shuffled.
Zeus counted three bodies on the deck. Several missile containers, and ammunition boxes were there as well. A few were stuck in the mud nearby. They could all be salvaged.
Zeus pushed himself higher on the tree, looking toward the opposite shore. He saw no sign of the Chinese there. There was a rise a little more than a mile beyond. He guessed that there was a roadway through or near the swamp, and that the Chinese had gathered their tanks there. A scout near the water would have seen the boats, and sent back information about them. Or maybe he’d just fired to provoke the Vietnamese and alert the tanks.
The theory gave him a working target. They’d move up in that direction and look for the tanks—or whatever it was that had hit them.
Zeus shimmied down the tree trunk, his legs and palms scraping though the trunk was smooth.
As he started back up through the field, he heard the whine of vehicles moving in the distance. He put his head down and started to run. He crossed to the right side of the house, running past the bodies of the Chinese soldiers, who’d been left where they fell.
A mistake, thought Zeus. If the Chinese saw them, they’d know exactly what had happened.
But there was no time to do anything about it. The ground was shaking with the approach of the armored vehicles, moving on the dirt road in the field beyond the houses. Zeus ran up along the woods to the opening where he had crossed earlier. He was about five or six steps away when he heard the swoosh of a Kornet missile streaking across the open yard.
A loud crack followed, as if lightning had hit a massive redwood and felled it with one burst. A second missile zipped into the air, but this time there was no explosion. Instead, a Chinese ZTZ99’s 120mm began to fire, tossin
g shells in the direction of the house where Zeus had left the soldier.
Another missile—an explosion, small-arms gunfire, a shout and a scream.
The air reverberated, the ground shaking as the Vietnamese engaged the force of tanks that had moved down the road. Zeus, realizing that he would not be able to run across to the buildings without being caught in the crossfire, changed course and headed toward his left, hoping to come up around the Chinese force.