The Cover of War

by Travis Stone

  Chaske gave him the thumbs-up.

  They picked up the Mekong River, weaving a dark pattern into the green below, and followed it to the buttressed plateau that marked the Laotian boarder. The chopper tilted to the right and began to descend.

  Chaske pinched his nose and blew to unblock his ears. He turned to Blue. 'Switch on,' he said. 'It's game time.'

  Blue said: 'You beauty,' and worked the action of his MP-5.

  Ahead, cloud choked the myriad of deep, jungle filled valleys for as far as Chaske could see, and below, a new, smaller river lured them toward danger.

  'We're over Laos,' Golota said. '11,000 feet.'

  Chaske motioned to the cloud bank below. 'Should conceal us from ground based eyes.'

  'The radar at Lima will have us.'

  Chaske nodded. He hadn't considered that.

  Golota said: 'They'll see we're off course.'

  'Once we go nap-of-the-earth, we'll break contact.'

  'If they don't shoot us down first.'

  The Cayuse hit a down-draft and the tone of the blades deepened.

  Golota said: '9,000 feet,' toggled the series of switches, which Chaske guessed changed the fuel tanks, and then aimed the chopper at a bulky feature, protruding through the mist.

  'We should get under the cloud now, John.'

  'No,' Golota said. 'Stay high - stay safe.'

  Chaske checked the map. 'It'll be hard to pin-point the drop-zone.'

  'Probably impossible,' Golota said.

  Chaske felt deep apprehension: to come all this way and not find the DZ would be devastating. 'We'll have to risk going under it,' he said.

  'Like fuck.'

  Cam came out of her trance and leaned into the front. She pointed to a hole in the cloud, and said: 'Down there.'

  Chaske felt relieved, and realized that he had been anxiously awaiting her guidance.

  'This is bullshit,' Golota said. 'She's gunna get us wasted.'

  The chopper dropped below the rocky pinnacles, which thrust up through the cloud on their right, and its blades hushed to a whir.

  This is it, Chaske thought. Do or die. 'Go for the cloud break,' he told Golota.

  'I can't believe you're buying this shit.'

  The tone of the blades deepened again as Golota bled off air-speed. He flew the machine close to the pinnacles, and then banked toward the cloud break. Over the valley's mid-point, he tipped the Cayuse into a descending cork-screw.

  Fog instantly engulfed the chopper and everything went white.

  The glare blinded Chaske and he lost situational awareness. He said to Golota: 'You got it under control?'

  'Can't see shit.'

  'You got it?'

  'I've lost it.'

  'Pull up.'

  'I need a reference.'

  The cloud peeled away and Chaske got his first clear view of the valley: a vast expanse of dark, rolling jungle, laced with a web of streams, gorges, and rocky peaks.

  Golota said: 'We're too low.'

  Chaske gripped the seat and his gut rippled. 'Where the hell are we?'

  'Lost. We gotta climb out west. Confirm our position.'

  Cam pointed to a jungle plateau further up the valley, and said: 'One zero six, Chaske.'

  'Make a circle of the plateau, John.'

  'You're fucking mad.'

  * * *

  The young NVA soldier raised the hand-held-surface-to-air-missile skyward and butterflies filled his stomach.

  This would be the first time he had ever fired the weapon, as they were of such value that live practice was not possible.

  Nerves fueled the boy's excitement, and he looked up through a gap in the canopy, waiting for the American helicopter to appear. He could feel the weight of responsibility; he did not want to miss.

  The hum of rotor-blades got steadily louder; then he saw it. The chopper flew overhead, moving away from him. The boy felt pleased: his father had told him that a tail shot was the best. He held the barrel steady on his shoulder, closed one eye, and looked through the sight-ring with the other. He felt disappointed; the chopper was only small. He had hoped to shoot down one of the big ones.

  He held his breath, centered the chopper in the sight-ring, and pulled the trigger. The launcher jerked and the missile flashed up through the trees, trailing a cone of orange flame.

  Then he felt terrible disappointment: the helicopter turned rapidly, and it looked like the rocket would to miss to its rear. Perhaps his father had been wrong about the tail shot being the best.

  But then the missile suddenly arced toward the machine, and he hopped on one leg, willing the missile to the hit the helicopter.

  * * *

  Golota felt vulnerable.

  He said to Chaske: 'This is crazy. We should climb out-'

  Golota saw the flash of the rocket engine out of the corner of his left eye and reacted instantly. He jerked hard left on the stick, stomped on the rudder pedal, and twisted the throttle to its limit.

  He knew it would not be enough.

  The explosion rocked the 800lb machine violently. Golota felt the airframe twist and shrapnel pelt the Cayuse's skin. The warning Betty came on with a loud whooping; all of the engine gauges snapped to zero; and the instrument panel lit up red.

  Golota felt sick.

  An engine flame-out was his worst fear above the rain-forest. He fought for control, but got no stick response.

  'What the fuck was that,' Chaske yelled.

  Golota heard the discomfort in Chaske's voice. Had it not been for his dire situation, Golota would've enjoyed it.

  'We shoulda' pulled out, asshole.'

  The chopper began to shake.

  Golota jerked the stick and still nothing happened. He automatically scanned the five main gauges whilst angling the blades for autorotation. He knew he had to act quickly to save himself.

  The chopper's shaking became epileptic.

  Golota didn't have enough time or altitude to restart the engine. He knew they were going to crash. He yelled: 'We're goin' in.'

  Below, the canopy's dark green mat quickly separated out into individual trees until leaves and branches filled his vision and he knew the flimsy machine would be ripped apart with him inside it.

  His autorotation began slowing the rate-of-descent.

  Not enough, he thought.

  He saw the point of impact - the top a massive tree - and he visualized the drop to the jungle floor, one-hundred feet below. He gained a small amount of stick control and pulled the nose up.

  The chopper hit the tree with a bone jarring crunch of tearing metal; the thick branches grabbing the machine like a catcher's mitt snatching a baseball.

  Golota's chest slammed into the instrument panel. His helmet hit the Perspex. His balls felt like they'd popped.

  The chopper groaned to a stop in the branches. The tree didn't even sway.

  Everything went quiet.

  * * *

  One hundred feet beneath the impaled Cayuse, mist swirled through the rain-forest.

  Chaske peered down into the haze. They had all heard it - voices.

  Human shapes materialized below.

  A patrol, Chaske thought.

  Chaske knew the NVA soldiers who had shot them down would search for the wreckage, but he had not expected them to arrive in minutes. He held his breath. The branches concealed most, but not all of the Cayuse from view.

  If they look up, he thought. We're dead.

  Slowly, the patrol went beneath them and moved off into the undergrowth.

  After an uncomfortable silence, Golota said: 'We gotta get down.'

  The Cayuse moved. It was not stable.

  Blue said: 'The bloody thing'll fall out.'

  'Stay still,' Chaske said. 'I'll tie it off.'

  Smoothly, Blue handed Chaske a coiled repelling line. Chaske unbuckled his harness, eased open the door, and climbed onto a branch. The Cayuse groaned with the transfer of weight. Chaske saw the ground and vertigo tingled through his body.
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  Chaske tied-off each skid to a branch, then let the line fall to the ground. Blue went down first, then Golota. Chaske threaded the line through his figure-of-eight, and Cam climbed to his back; her arms and legs gripping his neck and waist with surprising strength. He stepped off the branch and they swung into space. With expert control, he took the tension off the line and descended the one-hundred feet to the forest floor. On the ground, Chaske surveyed the prehistoric terrain. Moss and vines hung from the trees, age-old growth mauled massive boulders, the canopy blocked the sky, and sandal prints covered the loam.

  Cam said: 'We must move.'

  Golota sneered. 'What a genius?'

  'What direction?' Chaske said. Less than four hours ago he had been in Saigon's teaming streets; the remote rain-forest was pure contrast.

  Cam pointed to where two blades of sunlight sliced through the canopy, illuminating the undergrowth. 'This is our path. We follow the light.'

  Golota squared up to Chaske. 'It's time to stop this bullshit.'

  Chaske rolled his shoulders.

  Golota eyeballed Blue. 'Things have changed. We ditch this bullshit and head east - to friendly forces. This place is crawling with gooks. The mission is impossible now. East is our only chance of survival.'

  Chaske said: 'You're free to go, Golota. I'll pay you when we get back.'

  Golota pointed at Cam. 'You're on a suicide mission if you're taking orders from this gook bitch.'

  Blue pushed past Golota. 'I'll take point.'

  'You've gotta death-wish.'

  Blue led Cam and Chaske though the illuminated section of scrub and between two giant boulders, which funneled them onto the leeward side of a steep hill. Chaske knew Golota would follow, but he would've preferred him to go his own way. They picked up an animal trail that cut above a steep bluff system. Chaske could just hear the stream, gurgling hundreds of feet below. They skirted the bluffs for several hours, and then the animal trail cut back into the forest. After a climb, they broke out onto a gently rising plateau.

  Cam pointed to a low ridge, a-few-hundred feet ahead. 'Up there.'

  Chaske gave Blue a nod and the Australian rushed thirty yards ahead and dropped behind a giant log, which looked like it could have fallen a-thousand years ago. Blue immediately gave the danger signal - a clenched fist - and then signaled for Chaske to come forward. Chaske got to the log and Blue crawled into a gap beneath it. Chaske looked in and saw that the cavity provided a clear view of the forest ahead.

  'What's up Blue?'

  Blue pointed uphill.

  Chaske saw something glint in the undergrowth. It glinted again. 'What is it?'

  'A tin.' Blue said. 'Good ole Yankee chow can I reckon.'

  Now that Blue had pointed it out, Chaske saw it easily. The can was nailed to the base of the tree.

  'Zip booby-trap,' Blue said. 'They take the pin out of a grenade and put it in a can. Trip-wire pulls out the grenade and Bob's-ya-uncle.'

  'What'd you think?'

  'This far in,' Blue said. 'I'd say it's an early-warning device.'

  Chaske said: 'We need to get to the top of this ridge-' he froze. Experience told him something was wrong.

  We're being watched.

  50

  Danny woke and the truth hit him. He refused to believe it, but it made no difference. He was incased in dirt.

  He was in hell.

  Panic took him and he thrashed the clay. Then someone was dragging him by his feet, out through the small door and into the main tunnel. He looked up. It was Triet's stoat-faced cohort. In the tunnel, Danny felt incredible relief; the tunnel that had initially terrified him, now felt spacious.

  Triet squatted beside him holding a lantern. Danny would never forget the look of violence in his eyes.

  Stoatface locked Danny's right arm under his and wrenched Danny's right shoulder out of its socket.

  Pain screamed inside Danny’s head and he writhed as agony wracked his body.

  Christ, he thought. Why? 'Why?' Then he saw the satisfied look on Triet's face and felt terrific fear.

  Stoatface's hands grabbed his other arm.

  'Please NO!'

  The crack and the pain came together.

  Danny heard their laughter through the ringing in his ears.

  With both shoulders dislocated, they dragged Danny back into his cell. Every movement caused agony. The cell door jammed on part of the dead baboon. Triet kicked the carcass into the cell, and then kicked Danny in the groin.

  Pain exploded through Danny's body.

  A black aperture closed around him and Triet's face telescoped away.

  Just before he blacked out, Danny heard Triet say: 'When we come back - it'll be worse.'

  * * *

  Amai heard everything.

  The cruelty was for her benefit.

  It's my fault, she thought. But Danny is alive.

  The sound of Danny's suffering strengthened her determination.

  I will get out of here, she swore to herself. I will get to him.

  Triet dragged her back to her cell, where she could no longer hear Danny's mournful groaning.

  The poor soul, she thought. The poor, poor soul.

  She looked up at Triet from the dirt. Reptilian eyes had replaced his once zealous gaze. He was no longer the revolutionary she had met on the Ho Chi Minh Trail; that man was dead.

  'I hate you,' she said through clenched teeth.

  'Shut up you double-crossing bitch?'

  She backed into the wall. 'What's wrong with you?' She said. 'Why are you doing this?'

  He lit one of his foreign cigarettes, drew back, and then exhaled. 'I know all about your traitorous plans.'

  Her jaw dropped and she tasted his smoke.

  'Deny it.' He jerked his thumb in Danny's direction. 'You were going to run away with him.'

  How could he know? She thought.

  Over Triet's left shoulder, the lantern light showed clear evidence of her digging; the small hole perfectly aligned with the lock-bolt. She looked away, fearing his eyes would follow hers.

  'Well?' he said.

  'I just wanted to get away from the war. Don't you understand?'

  Triet was still, but the threat of violence surrounded him. 'Did you ever notice that I was in love with you?'

  . . . 'Yes,' she whispered. 'I just never felt the same way.' She felt a terrible guilt - all of this was her fault. 'But that is no reason to torture me. To kill me. Look what you've become, Triet. A monster.'

  Triet leaned into her cell. 'Danny will go to Ha Noi. To Hoa Lo prison. He will never leave Vietnam.'

  Amai shook.

  'What awaits him there will be far worse than death.'

  'You creep.'

  'He will beg for death, every single day, for the rest of his natural life.'

  She hit the ground with her hands.

  'And you,' Triet said. 'You will suffer alongside him.'

  51

  Green eyes the size billiard balls returned Chaske's gaze.

  The powerful form of a male tiger stood motionless, not forty feet away. Chaske had seen several tigers in the Asian jungles, but this was by far the biggest. Chaske adjusted his position under the log and raised his MP-5. He did not want to fire and give away their position; but he would if he had to.

  The tiger broke eye contact and turned. Chaske relaxed and the tiger began to slink away. Then Chaske went rigid.

  Blue said: 'Oh fuck.'

  In disbelief, Chaske watched the tiger pad toward the tripwire. He wanted desperately to stop what was about to happen, but he could only watch.

  The explosion shattered the silence.

  The blast-force threw the four hundred pound animal into the air like stuffed toy. Debris rained down on the log-hide. The thin tree which had held the grenade had gone.

  The forest reclaimed its quiet, as leaf-litter, dust, and fur hovered in the air.

  Blue said: 'Every ear within ten-klicks would've heard that.'

  Golota po
inted to the top of the ridgeline and Chaske saw the silhouetted forms of NVA soldiers, descending the slope toward them. Chaske got everyone under the log, and watched the silhouettes get steadily bigger.

  A platoon, he thought.

  The soldiers stopped and disarmed another booby-trap before advancing.

  Chaske's eyes found the tiger's, thirty feet away. It let out a low growl. The once magnificent apex predator was too injured to move.

  The NVA didn't hear the tiger. They continued down through the trees, looking for human infiltrators. Chaske willed them to stop and turn around, but they didn't. At the point where the grenade had felled the tree, they stopped. Chaske could see the grave looks on their faces. Then they came toward the log.

  Chaske held his breath. Will they see us?

  They got within yards. He saw sandaled feet, dirty toenails, and stocky calves. Chaske's muscles tightened, anticipating the fight. Two more steps and I'll pull the trigger.

  Then someone started laughing and the NVA relaxed. One of them had found the tiger.

  Chaske stayed tense. He looked into the tiger's eyes as an NVA soldier took its life; the single shot echoing down the plateau.

  Happy that the tiger had triggered their alarm, the NVA skinned and butchered the animal, and then continued on down hill.

  They all crawled out from under the log.

  Cam said: 'They spoke of our chopper.'

  Golota rose up to his full height, glaring at her. 'If you're psychic, why didn't you know that was going to happen?'

  Chaske watched Cam's face; she stayed calm and impassive.

  'It doesn't work like that.'

  Golota snarled. 'If you're leading us on a goddamn goose chase, I'll cut your throat.'

  Chaske stepped between them and Cam stopped him with her arm. 'The visions,' she said to Golota. 'Come in bits-and-pieces. It takes time - days sometimes-' She stopped.

  Golota wasn't listening. He had scored his point and was staring into the jungle.

  Golota said: 'Would be good to know if there're anymore ambushes out there.' He rounded on Chaske. 'Pity she's full-of-shit.'

  'C'mon,' Chaske said. 'Let's go.' He led them the several hundred yards to the ridgeline, lay on his stomach, and surveyed the landscape below. The crest of the heavily forested hill ran down into a large basin. A dark river cut through its center, flowing swiftly from right to left. A mountain range of rock and bluffs dominated the right, and across the river, a dome shaped hill stood in thick jungle. As he watched, a light mist began sifting up the valley from his left, carrying the haunting calls of strange animals.