Chapter Sixteen
Jason noticed a solitary guard in a US army uniform was sheltering from the rain in a small wooden guard hut. The glow of his cigarette gave his position away. Jason checked his gun, tucked it in the back of his pants, and coolly walked towards the man. It wasn’t long before the guard positioned his rifle in Jason’s direction.
“Who goes there? This is a restricted area,” the guard shouted. He then repeated it in Vietnamese. Jason was impressed the guard could speak it. Unable to speak Vietnamese, Jason replied in Chinese.
“I don’t speak Thai, just English and Vietnamese,” the guard said, thinking Jason was talking Thai. Jason kept walking forward. He knew Thai and Chinese were similar. He had no idea how to speak Vietnamese. They used an alphabet system, something completely different to Chinese.
“It’s okay, I can also speak English,” Jason said.
“You sound Australian or is it English?” The guard loomed up next to him, looking at him with unbelieving eyes. “What are you doing out here? You’re soaked. Is your father in the Air Force? You’ve a US cadet uniform on.”
Jason shook the guard's hand. He found it strange how people always trusted children. He knew that’s why George Young had always used him for missions. No one would suspect a sweet looking, blond haired, blue-eyed boy was about to do what Jason had in mind.
“Want some gum?” The guard placed his rifle against the wall and dug in his pocket and pulled out some gum. Jason leapt on one leg twisted on his hips and threw a roundhouse kick at the guard, sending him sprawling on the ground in the corner. By the time he turned and looked up, Jason had his revolver pointing at him.
“I don’t want to hurt you, so just do as I ask,” Jason ordered.
The guard coughed and rubbed his wounded stomach. “You already hurt me. You don’t look like a Charlie.”
Jason had heard others at the academy mention the name Charlie. It was the nickname they gave to the Vietcong. From what he had heard, they used the word Victor Charlie on the radio for the letters VC or Vietcong. Later it was shortened to just Charlie. “That’s because I’m not a Charlie. Did you hear about the ten prisoners being held captive?”
The guard tried to stand, but Jason waved the pistol in his face. “Yes of course I have,” he replied. “They have about six days left. I doubt President Ford will dare get involved. Why?”
“Where are they being held?” Jason asked.
“I don’t know son. I’m just a guard. Somewhere in 'Nam.”
Jason walked towards the guard. He ordered him not to move. He placed his hand on the guards shoulder, dug his fingers into his neck, and squeezed his carotid artery. The guard groaned in pain and struggled; within moments he passed out.
Jason snuck around the airport and soon found something he could use, a Cessna single engine propeller plane. He had never actually flown one but had seen them at the English airport. He had trained at and heard how easy they were to fly. He spent fifteen minutes checking fuel, oil, and flaps. Once his flight check was complete, he removed the tail tie down.
He studied his maps. They were of no real use until he was over Vietnam. He planned to fly south for two miles. That would bring him to the coast. He would then follow the coastline east along the Gulf of Thailand; he marked his course on the map. He wanted to wait until first light but he was forced into action. The guard had regained consciousness and sounded the alarm.
With no time to spare, Jason started the engine. He grinned when it roared into life. Placing his backpack on his seat gave him the extra height he needed to see out the cockpit. He noticed a US Army Jeep heading in his direction. Like any pilot, he would have liked to warm the engine and hold it on the brakes for a while. However, he had to move. He released the brakes and the little plane lurched forward. The Jeep was getting closer. Jason’s path was blocked. He wouldn’t be able to make it to the main runway. He opened the throttles and it shot forward.
The Jeep contained two US army soldiers; they caught up and kept with Jason as he sped across at an angle to the runway. One guard gestured with his rifle to stop. They pointed a spot lamp into the cockpit. Jason looked at the guard and smiled, making sure the guard got a good look at him. He said something to his colleague; he could clearly see it was a boy in the aircraft. They seemed unsure what to do. Before they could decide, the choice was made for them. The plane was moving too fast to get in front of now and getting close to the perimeter fence.
Jason applied full throttle. The engine spluttered, but after he adjusted the choke it carried on, with enough speed. Jason pulled back on the tiller, and the tiny plane roared up into the night sky. The plane's wings clutched the air, pulling the plane up and just missing the top of the fence by a few feet.
That was too close, Jason said to himself. His pulse pounded.
In a few minutes, the flying thief broke free of the clouds. Using the compass, he flew south. He was concerned with the height he flew at. He needed to navigate with the coastline. Too high and he wouldn’t be able to see it, too low and he could hit a tree or power line. It took just a few minutes to reach the coast. The moonlight reflected off the water. There to the right was the beach. The pale sand caught his eye.
Relax and concentrate, he told himself. Jason turned east and followed the thin line of white water breaking on the shoreline below.
*
News of the aircraft's theft was picked up by US military intelligence and the CIA. The guard who was attacked was debriefed. He explained who his attacker was. His story was hard to believe until the security guards who had chased the aircraft in the Jeep also said they witnessed a boy at the aircraft's controls. News spread back to the United States and Department of Defence. Max Fisher had spent the last nine hours organizing a search party for Jason. When he heard the news, he almost didn’t want to believe it, but the witness accounts matched Jason’s description.
They added it all up and realized Jason must have snuck on board a plane and made his way to Thailand. Max Fisher called his superior; at first, he found the story hard to believe and asked to read the report on the boy. It wasn’t long before they knew everything about him. Fisher put in a call to George Young. When he explained what happened George laughed.
“Welcome to my world, Mr. Fisher. That boy isn't easy to control. I heard he got into a dust up with some of your MPs.” George laughed again.
“Yes, put some in the hospital, but that’s irrelevant now. Do you think he may actually try and reach Vietnam and attempt to rescue his father? It’s a suicide mission. This is pretty real. They will blow him out of the sky, and if he lands and gets caught, the poor boy will never be seen again,” Fisher warned.
“Of course he will try. From what you said, he already made it to Thailand and stolen a plane. He did the same thing here, stole a plane in Spain and flew to France while being chased by the Triads. But don’t worry too much about Jason Steed. If they catch him, it will be them who are never seen of again. I’ve seen him in action. Vicious little blighter he can be, and he’s got a temper that even he can’t control,” George said. “His karate instructor, a Chinese guy Jason calls Wong Tong, taught him an old Chinese fighting technique of inducing an adrenaline rush into his system. It makes him faster, more alert, and bloody deadly. On top of his karate skills, he’s very fast. He knows some of the most lethal of moves in martial arts. He's studied so many types. He’s a great agent to have working for us. He has just two shortfalls.”
“What are his shortfalls?” Max asked.
“His temper. When he loses it, he can go too far. Now that he's getting older and becoming a young teen, it’s getting worse. The other is... well, he’s just a kid. He’s twelve and so of course he thinks like a kid. He’s a great agent as no one would ever suspect a cute blond-haired, blue-eyed boy but you have to make an allowance that he’s also just a kid. Good luck.” George laughed.
“Mr. Young, this is no laughing matter. We need to stop him. It could spark off a major inte
rnational incident.”
“Like I said, welcome to my world. He’s probably already in Vietnam. You won’t hear anything until either he returns the hero or half the bloody country is blown up. Sorry to be so blunt. but that’s Jason. What you get is what you see.”
Max thanked him, although was no further forward. He was surprised by George’s remarks. It was exactly the same as the reports he read on him. However, after meeting Jason, Max liked him. He was a nice, good-looking boy who seemed pretty harmless.
*
Jason followed the coast, eventually leaving Cambodia, and followed the Vietnamese coastline. He was concentrating, looking down following the coastline when the air shook and the blast of a Vietnamese Mig-21 Jet flew passed him. It made Jason jump. He watched it disappear in front of him, ark in the sky, and return. Jason turned his aircraft to lower his altitude. He wasn't very experienced at flying. He had done enough hours to get his license and flown a few times since. He knew he could not out run the Mig with its jet-powered engine. He was also lacking experience. Without a working radio, he couldn't talk his way out of it, so he carried on, descending the aircraft.
As he descended to the shoreline, he searched to find a landing site. At night, with just the moon, it would be very difficult and dangerous, but he had no option. He could barely make out the beach and what looked like a long, sandy shoreline. The Mig passed him again but this time fired some warning shots. Jason took it down, hoping the beach had no rocks, fences, or debris.
This is your captain speaking; the flight may get a little bumpy, Jason said to himself as he lowered the Cessna down as gentle as he could. The ground was a couple feet lower than he expected. As he lowered, he pushed forward on the tiller and hit a mound of sand. The plane bounced up again. He fought with the controls as sand was thrown into the air. He pushed forward on the tiller again. The plane continued to bounce and speed along the beach. He thrust the engine into reverse and opened the flaps. It veered to the right and shuddered to a halt as it sunk into the soft, wet sand.
He climbed out of the plane and landed in a foot of water. As he made his way up the beach, he could hear a helicopter approaching. He ran into the undergrowth until he was well hidden under a large canopy of trees, shrubs, and palm trees. The helicopter searched the area and found nothing but footprints. By the time troops arrived at the scene, Jason was gone.
Chapter Seventeen
As dawn broke, the area commander, General Chow, walked over to the prisoners. He was a short man with a patch over his left eye. Rumours were that he lost his eye after becoming unconscious when his helicopter crashed. Three days later, rescuers found him. A rat had eaten his eye and part of his cheek. General Chow kicked the bars on the cell door, drinking a mug of coffee. “One sugar or two?” General Chow laughed, slurping his brew.
Jean-Perr, a French sailor, stood and stepped towards the cell door. “Ta Gueule,” he shouted and shook the cell door. General Chow pulled out his revolver and pointed it at him. Defiantly, the Frenchman stood his ground and spat at Chow. In a moment he was dead. The bullet pierced his heart and exited through his back. hitting the wall and narrowly missing Ray Steed's head.
Three guards ran towards the prisoners hut with rifles pointed at the prisoners. Chow laughed and warned the prisoners the same would happen to them if they disrespected him. He adjusted his eye patch with his revolver before slipping it back into his holster and walking along the bamboo walkway. He told some of the guards what a wonderful morning it was.
The Vietnamese would later issue a press release that Jean-Perr was shot while trying to escape. The press release also mentioned the prisoners now only had five days to live unless the demands were met.
*
An emergency conference call was set up with United States President Ford, British Prime Minster Harold Wilson, and French President d’Estaing. Also on the call was the head of intelligence and security from each country. After the preliminarily introductions and niceties, the meeting started. It was agreed that no action could be taken.
President Ford told d’Estaing that he was sorry for his country’s loss and doubted Jean-Perr was actually trying to escape. He carried on and said a military strike was out of the question. The others all agreed. They had to hope and pray that the United Nation negotiators could persuade the Vietnamese to release the nine remaining prisoners.
Prime Minister Harold Wilson was not happy with the situation. He had four British men held that he felt responsible for. He suggested sending in the SAS. The French and US Presidents both disagreed. It would be seen as an act of war, and if the British SAS were captured, what next? Did they want to follow the French and Americans lead and have a failed war with the Vietnamese? Wilson reluctantly agreed. The men agreed to discuss the matter again in four days time, just twenty-four hours before the deadline.
*
Jason walked for no more than a mile until he came across the outskirts of a town. A sign named it Ha Tien. It was early morning. People were up and travelling to work on cycles or on foot. Some travelled in a small buggy pulled by an ox. They stared at Jason. He felt conspicuous. His blond hair and US Amy camouflage uniform didn’t exactly blend in. He turned off the dirt road and went in among some older run down homes. Jason thought they looked like huts since they were mostly made of wooden sticks with grass roofs. He noticed a woman outside her home feeding some chickens in a cage. He approached her.
She looked at him and looked away. Jason took a dollar bill out of his pocket and waved it at her. She looked and laughed at him. He was unsure what she was saying but clearly had the wrong idea. He pointed at his clothing and hers and waved the money again. The woman laughed again. She became hysterical.
Jason took off his jacket and passed it to the woman. She seemed to understand what he wanted and bowed as if apologizing. She went into her home and came out with a cream coloured shirt and brown pants with a hole in the knee. Jason quickly took his off and dressed in them. He kept his pants on and put hers on over the top of his.
“Thank you,” he said. “Why else did you think I was offering you money?” Then it struck him. He felt embarrassed she had probably been around when the US troops had been there. He guessed why they would offer a woman money.
Jason pointed at a straw Vietnamese hat. She picked it up and held out her hand. He passed her another dollar. He thanked her and made his way back to the main road. Immediately, he felt less conspicuous. No one gave him a second glance. He came across a small market. It was nothing more than six or seven make shift stalls. People sold meat, fruit, and clothing. One man was trying to sell old US Army uniforms, hats, and even guns. Jason guessed the man had either stolen them or found them after the US troops pulled out.
As he passed the stall selling meat, he had to take a second look. It was selling what at first he thought was a small pig or even a sheep, but when he looked closer, this thing had canines. It was a skinned dog. The stallholder was cutting another one up, and a woman was buying parts of it. Jason made a mental note not to eat any meat while he was in Vietnam. He studied his map and headed Northeast, He hadn’t travelled very far when he came across a disturbing scene.
A group of six boys around fourteen were beating two younger boys around ten. Jason watched for a while, not sure if he should intervene or not. Eventually, he moved closer. The boys getting beaten looked different but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it.
“Stop it, that’s enough,” he said and repeated it in Chinese, although he doubted they would understand either. They looked at him and surrounded him. One-stepped forward and attempted to hit him. He caught the boys hand sand twisted it. Another came forward, and Jason threw out a kick at the youth, catching him in his stomach. He released the first youth and shouted at them again. They looked at him bewildered and called him a name. "Con lai." Jason never understood what the word meant, but they all started chanting it.
A woman stepped forward with a broom and shouted at the youths, waving it
madly at them. They ran off still chanting the word "con lai." She nodded at Jason and started to walk away. The two smaller children followed her, looking back at Jason and smiling at him with thanks.
“Thank you,” he said to her, brushing himself off. She turned and looked at him and looked around nervously to make sure no one else was watching.
“You speak English?” she asked.
Jason smiled at her. He guessed she was one of the children’s mothers. “Yes Ma'am. I’m glad I found someone else who can.” Jason smiled.
She beckoned Jason to follow her and the children to a nearby home. Jason was stunned by how bare it was inside, containing only a large mattress on the floor, some blankets, a few wooden boxes, chairs, a table, and an oil lamp.
“You’re not from around here. You must be careful. Many people in this village despise children like you, my son, or his friend. Your sort are not welcomed by many,” she said.
Jason looked at the two boys, he was trying to work out which one was her son. They looked different to him. One had dark skin, almost black, but had the eyes of an Asian. The other looked like a westerner, even had red hair, but had the eyes of an Asian.
“Our sort?” Jason asked.
“Yes, you know Amerasian or "con lai" as they called you.”
“Ameri what an? And what does con lai mean in English?” Jason asked. The darker coloured boy passed Jason a cup of water. “Thanks.”
“Con lai means half breed. Your father was an American and so was these boys' fathers. My son is called Yung, but his father called him Ian. Yung's father was killed six years ago when Yung was just three. This is Keong. His mother was forced by an American soldier or so she says. He has never met his father. The correct term is Amerasian”
Jason drunk the water and took it all in. “So you married an American?”
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