by Eric Helm
It was no good. She just couldn’t do it. The will to live was too strong. She lowered the muzzle and carefully let down the hammer.
“All right!” she called. “All right. I’m coming out. Don’t shoot. Here comes the gun.”
She emptied the cartridges from the pistol and tossed it up the stairway.
Morrow shrugged off the pack and let it drop to the floor of the team house. Hands raised high over her head, she walked slowly up the stairs into the late-afternoon sunlight.
There were two men waiting on either side at the top of the stairs with grenades in their hands. The little bastard had meant it, all right.
Morrow felt herself suddenly pushed forward from behind. Someone grabbed her arms and twisted them behind her back, holding them while someone else used a thin cord to tie her wrists and elbows together. It hurt like hell, and it gave her a funny, stiff posture. She felt hands at her waist, and someone took away the pistol belt with the canteen and bowie knife on it.
A few yards away she could see Novak. The young lieutenant’s nose and mouth had been bloodied, but he seemed otherwise undamaged. He was tied in the same way as Morrow, except that a short hobble was tied between his ankles, permitting him to walk with a shuffling gait but not to run or kick out at anyone.
“So, Miss Morrow, you like the big knife, too. Yes?” said Dung. “The Lieutenant Novak, he like also the big knife, same-same as you. I like too the knife, but mine is so very smaller. Mine make little cuts, but you and Lieutenant Novak’s knives, they make big cut. Yes? I think maybe later we see how big cuts. Yes?”
“Dung, you stinking pile of shit,” growled Novak. “You promised you’d let her live if she gave up.”
“Yes-yes. That true,” said Major Dung. He walked forward and took hold of Morrow’s chin, twisting her off balance so he could admire the line of her face.
He looked over at Novak.
“It very true I promise she no be put to die if surrender. But that all I promise. Miss Morrow kill twos of my men. For this she must be make to suffer. The Front’s eyes no see her as journalist anymore. She enemy soldier now.”
Without warning, he turned and punched Morrow hard in the stomach. When she doubled up, he kneed her in the teeth.
Novak lunged, even though his hands and feet were tied. It was a heroic gesture, a stupid, silly thing to do, but he did it, anyway. Then a rifle butt connected behind his ear, and the inside of his head exploded in fireworks. He slumped to the ground, dazed but not quite unconscious. He was dimly aware of his face pressing into the ocher dirt and the voices speaking around him. Their Vietnamese was too fast for him to follow, despite the short course he’d taken at the U.S. Army Language School, but he saw two of them pick Morrow up beneath the armpits and drag her off in the direction of the Vietnamese quarters.
Major Dung walked over and booted Novak in the ribs to get his attention.
“You will please to listen most carefully when it is that I am wish to speak with you, Lieutenant Novak,” said Dung. “You are soldier no longer. You now prisoner of the Front. You must cooperate or you will be shoot to die. No more foolishness! Does this be clear to you?”
Novak remained silent, and Dung drew back his foot to kick the American again.
“All right,” said Novak. “You’ve made your point. No more foolishness.” Then he vowed to himself that, the next time he went for Dung, he’d make sure he could finish the job.
A VC soldier came up carrying the NLF flag. He spoke slowly enough so that this time Novak was able to follow the conversation.
“Comrade Major, I have the honor to report that all resistance has ceased. The camp is ours. The men are asking for permission to run up our glorious flag as a symbol of our victory.”
“The men will have to be patient just a little bit longer,” Dung replied. “I have received a message from the Americans’ headquarters that the other Americans and their Tai mercenary soldiers are returning soon. They were not expected back for several days.
“It was a stroke of luck for us that so many of them were outside the camp when we were ready to put our plan into action. It made our victory much easier and much less costly. Now we will capitalize on that victory. Our many long months of planning enabled us to infiltrate key positions here. True, we were dealt a serious setback with the death of Major Vo, but the plan remained sound and we followed it to victory. Now, because of that, we find ourselves in the position of a unique opportunity.
“In half an hour six of the big American helicopters, the ones they call Chinook, will be bringing the others back into the camp. We must ensure that from the air they see only their camp, where work will appear to be going on normally. If they are curious about the damage, I will explain it was the result of a mortar attack, and they will believe this is so. When they land, we will turn the weapons of the camp upon them and destroy their valuable helicopters and kill all Americans and Tai inside. It will be a fitting tribute to our departed Comrade Vo,” Dung concluded smilingly.
“It is a brilliant plan, Comrade Major. It will bring great honor to the Front and to you.”
“Thank you, Comrade. I am merely utilizing my initiative, as the ARVN and Americans have so carefully taught me.”
They all laughed at that. All of them except Novak, who kept his mouth shut and his ears open.
“After we have destroyed the American helicopters, Comrade Major, then may we hoist our flag in victory?”
“By all means. But hoist this with it. Beneath our flag, of course.” Dung reached inside his jungle jacket and handed the man a large bundle.
“What is it?” asked the VC soldier.
“It is a Chinese flag.”
“A Chinese flag, Comrade Major? I do not understand.”
“It, too, is a kind of tribute. To the man who planned this operation. I promised him that it would one day fly over this camp.”
The VC soldier looked puzzled. “As you wish, Comrade Major.”
Novak had no idea what in hell they were talking about with the Chinese flag, then remembered that Morrow had told him about a Chinese officer who had served as an advisor to the VC in this area and who had given them such a hard time in Hong Kong. Suddenly it all began to make a twisted kind of sense.
“It is bigger than our flag, Comrade Major,” the man protested.
“It does not matter, Comrade. Ours will be above it.” He handed the man a key. “This is for the small storage shed near the helipad. Please assist Comrade Binh in taking this prisoner there. Then you may return to your platoon. Binh will remain to guard the prisoner. Everyone else must change into enemy uniforms or get out of sight. I will go now to make the necessary preparations. The rest of you men must come with me.”
Novak’s mind raced. In the E and E course they had always taught that you should make your escape attempt as soon as possible after capture. In the first twenty-four hours. It was said that your odds of a successful escape would diminish greatly after that because of the poor food and harsh living conditions a prisoner could expect. Unfortunately, the course hadn’t covered what you were supposed to do when you were tied hand and foot.
This would likely be his best chance. There were only two men on him at the moment, and they weren’t expecting any trouble because he’d been butt stroked and was tied up. Everyone else had temporarily cleared out of the American compound, except a couple of guys who were busy looting the dispensary of all its medical supplies, and they were preoccupied inside the building just now.
He thought of making another attempt to get to the demolition panels in either the command post or the fire control tower, if he could figure out a way to get free, but had to reject those ideas. Dung was sure to have someone on guard in the command bunker, and Novak would stick out like a sore thumb if he tried to get up the ladder.
Whatever he was going to do, he was going to have to do it pretty damned quick because Captain Gerber and the rest of them were about to fly into a lethal trap.
�
��Di!” said one of the guards. “Di, mau!” He prodded Novak with the toe of his boot to get him moving.
Then suddenly Novak saw it. It had been there all along. Just hanging right there in plain sight. The VC who had taken his web gear after they marched him out of the command post — what had Dung called him? Binh? Anyway, the one with the burp gun. He still had Novak’s web gear slung over one shoulder. And on the web gear hung the knife. Now if he could just con one of the guards into using it…
“Di!” the guard insisted. “Di! Di!”
Novak struggled clumsily to his feet, shaking his head and stumbling, doing his best to give the impression of a man who had just been hit on the head with a rifle butt and is still a bit groggy. It wasn’t very hard to give a convincing performance.
Carefully Novak took two shuffling steps, tangled his feet in the hobble and fell. The landing was a bit rougher than he would have liked because he couldn’t use his hands to break his fall, but he’d been sacked enough times on the football field to know how to go limp and tuck his head in so he wouldn’t injure anything seriously.
He let the air go out of himself when he hit, for effect, then lay there until Binh or the guy with the flags in his hands prodded him back up. This time he took three steps before falling.
The guards clearly were getting pissed. They shouted curses and kicked at him. Novak lay there and took it for a minute or so, then fought his way laboriously to his feet with a great deal of exaggerated gasping and wheezing. This time he only took one step.
The guards went absolutely ape. They cussed. They kicked. They threatened. They did everything but shoot him, which, Novak had to admit to himself, he’d been just a little afraid they might do after Dung’s warning not to fool around.
Novak got obediently to his feet and went down after two steps.
The guards gave up and tried to drag him, but there was no way a couple of little VC were going to drag Novak’s great mass. Especially while they were burdened with superfluous equipment, and most especially not while he was letting his whole body go slack so that he’d be nothing but deadweight.
Novak, ever the helpful prisoner, did his best to get up again. Walking very carefully, he took four small, shuffling steps before allowing the hobble to trip him.
Binh finally got the bright idea that Novak kept falling because he kept tripping over the hobble, and in a fit of disgust he yanked the big knife from its sheath. He had to transfer the PPSh-41 to his left hand in order to use the knife to cut through the hobble, and it was at that precise moment, when his legs were free, that Novak struck.
His first kick caught Binh in the groin and set him up for the second, a boot heel strike to the underside of the chin. It sounded as if the man’s jaw broke with the kick. Novak hoped it had.
The burp gun, which Novak couldn’t have used because of the way he was tied, went flying.
He rolled, drew his feet under him and launched himself directly at the VC with his hands full of flags, giving him a head butt to the bridge of the nose. There was a sickening crunch, and the man who had been holding the flags went down.
Both guards were now down and had completely lost interest in Novak. He knew it wouldn’t last, but five or ten seconds was all he would need.
He looked around, spotted the knife where Binh had dropped it when Novak had tried to kick his head off and managed, with considerable effort and contortion to pick it up and stick the blade in the ground. Novak then scooted backward until he could reach the blade and, by rubbing his wrists parallel to the edge, succeeded in cutting through the cord around his wrists. He also succeeded in cutting himself, although the wound was not serious.
Having his wrists free gave Novak a little more flexibility, and he was able to pull the knife out of the ground and reverse it, holding the blade upward between his elbows. The massive blade was just barely long enough to reach that far up Novak’s big arms, but he got the job done, thanks to the razor sharpness of the carefully honed edge. He only had to pause once to stomp on the trachea of the man who had been holding the flags. The guard had forgotten all about his flags and was busy holding his broken nose and complaining about it. His complaints were getting rather noisy, so Novak quieted him down. Permanently.
Not wanting to leave the job half finished, Novak took the knife and drew the blade across the throat of the inert Binh. Some, he supposed, might have called it murder to do that to an unconscious man. Novak preferred to think of it as fighting for his life. It made no sense at all to leave behind an unconscious enemy who might, at any moment, wake and give the alarm. Besides, Binh might well have been dead already, or at least dying. The kick had been intended to kill.
Novak slipped his own web gear over his shoulders and slung Binh’s burp gun. Then he picked up both of the VC bodily, draping one over each shoulder like duffel bags, and hustled them down the steps into the team house, where they would be out of sight until someone came in and found them. He could expect that to be reasonably soon because there were already two bodies in the hootch, but with all the VC getting ready to ambush the helicopters, it might be an hour or better, and that would be time enough.
Novak checked the bodies of the men, looking for anything useful.
Binh had five spare magazines for the burp gun in his web gear, but only two of them were loaded. Novak took the loaded ones and checked the other guard whose weapon was an antiquated French 8mm bolt action rifle that looked as though it might have been designed for shooting around corners, if you could judge anything from the condition of the sights. Novak decided he’d be better off with the burp gun and took the bolt out of the rifle, intending to throw it away when he got the chance. Without a bolt the rifle would be one less weapon for the Viet Cong to use.
The other two bodies had already been stripped of their weapons and equipment, so there was nothing left to interest him.
It was time to move. Novak figured he had between five and fifteen minutes before somebody noticed he was gone and started a search. He aimed to put the time to good use.
He had to figure out some sort of signal to warn Captain Gerber and the others that they were flying into a trap and do it without giving himself away. The radios in the command post were out. Dung would have troops there, maybe even be there himself. Novak rejected the communications bunker, too. Dung was no fool. He would either have put the radios out of commission as soon as the VC attack started or posted a guard there.
But there was one very long shot that just might work. It was a pretty crazy idea, but so what? It was the only game in town.
Novak peeked cautiously out the doorway. The coast was clear. He sprinted into the open, snatched the NLF and Chinese flags from where they’d fallen and ran straight to the dispensary, knowing there were still a couple of VC inside. He figured the enemy was less likely to look for him in a building they already occupied. Or rather on top of a building they already occupied.
The dispensary was the second largest building in the American compound. Built of red brick with a green tiled roof, it was a distinctive structure easily spotted from the air. He’d noticed it coming into camp the day before.
There were some sandbags stacked around the walls and a few scattered about the roof in case of mortar rounds, but it was a halfhearted attempt at protection. Any patients within its walls would be removed to an underground bunker almost as soon as the first round dropped.
Novak slid to a halt and pressed himself against the five-foot-high barrier of sandbags that ran all around the dispensary and which was positioned a short distance from the walls to allow air circulation. He worked his way along it, listening to the sounds of the VC inside, who seemed to be having a great deal of fun breaking things. When he found an opening, he slipped through the sandbags and into the little space between them and the brick wall of the dispensary. He edged his way around to the back and pulled himself up on the roof.
Novak looked at the two flags. The Chinese one was the larger of the two. Quickly he un
folded it and spread it out on top of the dispensary, using a sandbag to anchor each of the four corners. It showed up very nicely against the green roof. And although it was possible someone in the fire control tower might notice it, it would be invisible from the ground.
Novak, however, was not. The exposed roof offered nothing in the way of cover, and he dropped to the ground, taking the NLF flag with him. There was no point putting it on the roof, as well. If anyone in an inbound helicopter looked at the roof of the dispensary, he could hardly help seeing the Chinese flag. And if no one looked, it wouldn’t matter if there were two flags or two hundred.
The important thing now was to get away. As far away from the dispensary as possible so that, if he was discovered, no one would think to check what he’d been doing at the dispensary. He would have to get rid of the NLF flag, too. Both flags missing might be overlooked, but one flag missing and one flag on his person would be sure to attract a lot of awkward questions from Major Dung.
As he came out from between the sandbagged wall and the dispensary, Novak walked smack into a VC coming out of the building with his arms loaded with medical supplies. Novak couldn’t shoot without bringing the whole camp down on his neck, and there was no time for the knife. Using his left hand, he swung the burp gun by the barrel. Hard.
The man’s skull shattered, but so did the stock of the SMG. Novak was now left holding a worthless piece of junk. He reminded himself that guns are for shooting people, not hitting them over the head, and then he ran.
Behind him there was a cry of alarm.
Novak ignored it and made straight for one of the machine gun emplacements on the east wall of the redoubt. Nightfall was only about an hour away. If he could hold them at bay that long, he might be able to exfiltrate and E and E under cover of darkness. If not, he’d pile up as many of them as he could before they finally got him. Resistance to the end. Beyond that he had no plan.
He reached the nearest machine gun bunker and dived inside. The place was already occupied by two of the VC infiltrators who had been masquerading as PF strikers. They weren’t expecting visitors, however. At least none in the form of a two-hundred-seventy-five-pound Green Beret lieutenant. Novak bludgeoned one of the men to death with the burp club and finished the other man off with his knife. Then he assessed his situation.