by Travis Stone
Chaske heard the whistle clearly this time. Despite the cover, he knew the NVA would close in. It wouldn't be long.
He looked back at the faces of his team. Will I get them all killed?
Chaske carried only one claymore. He stopped to set it up. Stringing a short tripwire between two saplings, the anti-personal mine took sixty seconds to lay. He made a clear footprint several feet past the tripwire and felt a pang of regret - it would kill.
Chaske pushed forward, lifting their pace. The others followed silently. Then he saw something that stunned him: the greenery opened up to reveal a one-hundred foot wall of rock, blocking their path. Chaske felt trapped. He followed the rock-wall, but guessed it could go for miles. Further along the cliff, a waterfall pounded the rocks. Chaske felt like he was being corralled. With the rock-face blocking his right, and the NVA behind, he could only follow the wall.
A whistle blew to his left. We're surrounded.
The whistle blew louder. They'll have us in minutes.
The foliage ahead moved. Someone was in front of him. Chaske raised his MP-5. The top-half of a man appeared and disappeared. Chaske's finger hooked the trigger. Behind him the claymore went off with a heavy thump, which echoed through the trees.
Chaske's focus stayed on the point where the man had disappeared.
Blue raised his weapon; he had seen the man too.
'Wait here,' Chaske whispered. 'I'll take him quietly.'
Chaske unsheathed his knife and slipped into the scrub. He moved fast and silently to the point where the man had appeared, and felt a stab of fright. The man was gone.
Did he see me?
Then Chaske saw him only feet away. Not wanting to give the man any chance to react, Chaske charged. In the seconds before contact, the two locked eyes and Chaske knew instantly that something was wrong.
He's a Montagnard.
The Montagnard held up big hands. 'I help you,' he said. 'I help you.'
Chaske's knife stopped an inch from the Montagnard's chest 'How?'
The Montagnard's eyes opened to circles. 'Come. You in danger. Come.'
'Where?'
He pointed to the rock-face. 'Up.'
Chaske's instinct was to trust the Montagnard. Chaske turned. Blue was behind him, followed by the rest of the team.
Blue eyed the Montagnard. 'What's the go, Top?'
Chaske said: 'Everyone follow me.'
* * *
Chaske jogged behind the Montagnard, who wore only a loin cloth. Fat veins wrapped around his stocky calves, and the skin of his bare feet was thick and hard.
The Montagnard led them to the base of the cliff, near the waterfall. Trees grew from every crack. Moss and water dribbled down the rock. Vines drooped to the forest floor. The waterfall rumbled beside them.
Golota yelled above the torrent: 'He's leading us into a killing-zone.'
'He's a Montagnard,' Chaske said. 'I trust him.'
Golota's eyes were bloodshot and he scratched hard at his neck. 'We should never've come here, Thorn.'
The Montagnard began to climb. He used plants, vines, and crevasses to scale the rock. He climbed quickly. Then he stopped and motioned for Chaske to follow.
Golota said: 'We'll be easy meat up there.'
Chaske felt that Golota was right. But there's no time.
The Montagnard beckoned frantically.
Chaske put his hands on the rock and began to climb.
Within minutes the team had gained sixty feet of elevation. Cam and Amai's climbing skills stunned him - they scaled the rock better than any of the men.
The Montagnard stopped on a ledge beside the waterfall. Chaske climbed up beside him and looked down into the jungle. It was a long way down. Then the Montagnard disappeared behind the sheet of water and Chaske understood. Chaske turned and helped Cam up onto the ledge.
The Yard's face came through the water. 'Hurry.'
One-by-one, the team slipped behind the waterfall.
'Careful.' The Montagnard said. 'Big fall.'
Chaske was last through. He looked down and saw the first NVA soldiers, creeping toward the rock-face. The claymore had made them cautious. Chaske shrank back through the veil of water and found himself in a cavernous area with the rest of the team.
* * *
'They can't just disappear,' Triet yelled over the roar of the waterfall.
Thanh's head shook. 'We were right behind them.'
Triet looked up. His men covered the rock-face like termites. 'They must be up there. There's no where else.'
Thanh nodded thoughtfully. 'A platoon of regulars are probing toward us from the west. They have search-dogs.'
Triet forced a smile.
Thanh continued: 'They won't get far either way.'
Triet lifted the rat from his shirt pocket. He held her between both hands and kissed her nose. 'Beautiful,' he crooned. He put the rat away and thought of Amai. Killing her was everything to him now.
She and her rescuers were Tet's last obstacle.
Despite his hate, he felt admiration: Amai had an incredible ability to escape and survive. She had guts - that was why she had been such a valuable asset.
His eyes searched the rock-face, and he thought: What would I do if I were her?
The waterfall roared beside him.
59
Colonel Hitchcock poured his third whiskey, drank half the glass, and then picked up the last file on his desk.
This one had merit. Two Viet Cong prisoners had been caught near Cu Chi, both carrying false identification and detailed maps, which apparently showed infiltration routes into Saigon. Hitchcock thought of Nash's hunch and his face went hot. He moved his glasses down his nose and read the name on the report: Lt. D.P Bryant.
Bryant, Hitchcock thought. He's a Negro. Intelligence staff should be whites only.
Hitchcock binned the report.
All this nonsense about an enemy attack on Saigon annoyed Hitchcock. He could see why his junior-ranks were sucked into such naive ways of thinking; they were immature, they lacked the experience to view the bigger-picture. They jumped at shadows because they knew no better. But Hitchcock did.
They will not attack Saigon, he thought. The enemy doesn't have the capability.
Hitchcock smirked. Under torture Thi had confirmed what all the quality intelligence pointed to: the build up of forces near the Marine Base at Khe Sanh. An attack on the outpost was imminent.
Now that's something they are capable of, he thought. Giap will oversee it himself . . . They want Khe Sanh to be another Dien Bien Phu.
He picked up the phone, stated who he was, and demanded to be connected to the Commander at Khe Sanh. There was a series of clicks as the operator connected him. Hitchcock put his finger into his nostril and started loosening a hard piece of mucus. If the NVA attacks Khe Sanh, he thought. We will crush them.
60
A bitter chill raised a thousand bumps over Amai's skin.
The cave was dark and damp and the force of the waterfall stirred up a cold breeze. She had not dared to look over the edge - a fall from here would be a horrible death.
Amai looked out through the semi-translucent veil to the rock-face and saw the dim shapes of Triet's soldiers. Golota stood by the water, peering out and grinding his teeth. Then Golota tensed and raised his hand.
Amai watched three soldiers climb onto the ledge. She held her breath.
A whistle blew, and the soldiers began to climb down.
Amai let out her breath, but Golota stayed ridged. She saw why: one of the soldiers didn't go down; his shimmering body came close to the water. Then he reached out and touched its surface.
The soldier's thin hand appeared in the cavern; his fingers curling as they entered the space.
He'll find us, Amai thought.
Golota moved like lightening. He grabbed the hand and yanked the soldier into the cave.
The teenage soldier's eyes bulged as he realized the situation.
Like a bull-frog st
riking a fly, Golota's right hand shot out and clamped around the boy's throat. Golota began to squeeze. The boy made an awful rasping sound.
Amai was horrified. She wanted to look away, but couldn't.
The boy's body shook. Golota held on.
Then without warning, the boy thrashed like a stunned eel, and drove his knee into Golota's groin. Golota let go. The boy chopped Golota's neck with the edge of his hand.
Golota stumbled backwards, toward the precipice. The boy saw his chance, crashed onto Golota, and drove him to the edge.
Amai lunged forward, grabbed the boy's pajamas, and pushed him as hard as she could. The falling water struck the boy, slammed him into the rock, and washed him down the cliff face.
Golota looked about to fall. Amai grabbed Golota's hand and pulled him back from the sheer drop.
Danny came to her.
'Christ,' Chaske said. 'The NVA'll see the body.'
The redhead got down on his hands-and-knees and looked over the edge. Chaske held his boots and he leaned out further.
'I see him. He's hung up bout halfway down. He's dead.'
'Will he stay there?' Chaske said.
'Could drop any second.'
'Can we reach him?'
'No chance.'
Golota paced the cave, cursing.
Amai chewed her fingernails. Several minutes later she saw Triet's men move off.
* * *
Triet winced; his cramps would not settle - not until Amai was dead.
He said to Thanh: 'We will link up with the search-dog teams, and scour every inch of the forest until they are found. Is that clear?'
'Yes. We have ringed the area with anti-aircraft rockets. Any helicopters coming in or out will be shot down.'
The news was like a pain-killer. 'Good, Thanh. She can't destroy Tet. It is the biggest operation in Viet Minh history. The most important ever.'
61
Hitchcock looked at the piece of paper and smiled.
Finally something worth reading.
It was from Corporal Mancini: an invite to an Intelligence staff barbeque, poolside at the unit accommodation. It was the first off-duty party that Hitchcock had been invited to since arriving in Vietnam, and he was secretly excited. He noted the invite stated that there would be strippers, and he called out to Mancini in the adjoining office.
Mancini reported promptly.
'This party, Corporal,' Hitchcock said. 'What date is it?'
'January thirty, Sir. Be there or be square.'
'Okay. Better can the strippers though, son.'
'Sir?'
'Shows a lack of moral integrity don't you think.'
'Ah . . . yes, Sir.'
62
The Montagnard led them out of the cave and onto a steep track. 'We go up.'
Amai felt an intense urgency: she had to report Tet to MACV before it was too late; but they were in the middle of Laos - miles from anywhere.
Is there any chance at all?
If Saigon's population was slaughtered, Amai would never be able to live with herself - her life would be over.
Chaske's lack of urgency frustrated her. He's not taking me seriously? She thought. He doesn't understand?
Outside of this group, no one else knew about Tet; Saigon's survival would come down to her, and her alone. She followed Danny along the narrow track, high above the jungle. Triet was somewhere down there; she knew he would never give up.
What chance do we have?
She wondered what Chaske's plan was. Does he even have one?
Everyone was on edge; they obviously harbored similar doubts.
Even if we do escape Triet, she thought. How will we escape Laos?
Amai knew that it was up to Chaske to lead them to a radio. Without him, Tet would proceed as planned and Triet would win.
The Montagnard stopped them behind a massive crag. 'You never find way down. Too steep.' He smiled proudly. Beside him was a small hole in the ground.
Amai realized it was a natural vertical shaft, and the Montagnard wanted them to climb down it.
Amai saw Danny's face drop.
'Keep back to wall,' the Montagnard said. 'There are steeps for feet and hands.'
* * *
Danny stared at the tiny hole, and thought: What is it with these people? Humans aren't meant to go underground.
One-by-one, the team got into the hole behind the Montagnard. Danny shuddered.
Amai touched his shoulder. 'You can do it. Think of what you've already overcome.'
Danny gritted his teeth and followed Amai down the hole. Images of Triet's underground prison, the baboon, and the terrifying underwater escape mauled him. He put his back to the wall and began to climb down. There was no way he could fall; the shaft was too tight, and sharp steeps had been chiseled into its face. As Danny descended the rock incased him. But something had changed: he was uncomfortable, but the claustrophobic terror was gone. He could do this. He felt strong. He felt like a man.
* * *
Amai reached the bottom of the shaft, crawled into the bright sunlight, and stood up. Vertigo tingled in the soles of her feet. The team was standing halfway down the bluff's perpendicular face, on a path only two feet wide. The fall would be fatal if a mistake was made.
Danny stood behind her; she turned and kissed him.
The Montagnard descended the path as if on flat ground. The team all put their backs to the cliff-face, and shuffled down the path, back into the rain-forest.
They grouped on the forest floor. Amai said to Chaske: 'How will get out of Laos?'
Golota cut-in: 'What is your plan, Thorn? Have you even got one?'
'Eyes open - stay tight - follow me,' Chaske said. 'Let's go.'
The heat intensified in the coalesced foliage. Progress through the vines and vegetation was slow. Amai thought that it was so thick, she could be inches away from a snake, or a tiger, or an NVA soldier, and not even know it.
Chaske had stopped. An obvious trail cut their course.
Golota sneered. 'I suppose you want to follow it, Thorn?'
The trail was stamped with sandal prints. Chaske crossed it and disappeared into the foliage, and behind his back, Golota made a pistol out of his thumb and forefinger, and mimed his execution.
Amai felt deeply apprehensive.
* * *
The midday rains pitter-pattered on the glossy leaves.
Chaske lay on the clotted mud. Ahead, a narrow inland waterway cut through the grayish loam, winding its way into the vastness of Laos. Six sampans lay side-by-side on the bank. Chaske was looking at the sampans.
Blue said: 'Water looks like baby-shit.'
Golota said: 'NVA'll be using it to supply that fucking base.'
'Could be a fast way of getting us outta here,' Chaske said; a rudimentary plan forming in his mind.
When the team had first found Danny and Amai on the beach, and were forced into escape-and-evasion, Chaske had recognized that trying to beat the one-hundred strong NVA pursuit, would never have succeeded in the steep terrain of the Annamite Range. Sure friendly forces would have been closer, but they would never have reached them.
But Chaske had an idea.
To the others, Chaske knew it would sound crazy, so he concealed his intentions, hoping to eventually stumble onto a recognizable section of the Ho Chi Minh Trail. His main problem, aside from Golota, was that he had no idea of his actual location. He was hoping that this waterway would lead him somewhere recognizable - somewhere he might find what he was looking for.
Golota said: 'You're not seriously thinking about stealing a gook boat?'
Chaske thought: Will I lead them to their deaths?
Golota kept on: 'We're fucked anyway, but if we take one of their boats, we're dead men paddling.'
Chaske crushed his doubt. 'Everyone in one boat,' he said. 'Let's move fast.'
Golota rose up. 'You're gunna kill us asshole-'
Chaske stood. 'This is no life-boat democracy Golota-'
'Keep your noise down.'
Golota lunged like an attacking dog.
Chaske reflexively hooked his fist up into Golota's jaw. The shock of the blow reverberated up Chaske's arm. Golota fell onto his back.
Golota rose like a snake, drew his sidearm, and pointed it at Chaske's face. Golota was shaking.
Blue stepped between them. 'You pull that trigger John and the sound'll bring Charlie down on top of us. They're probably close.'
Golota lowered the pistol. 'Have it your way, but its suicide.'
The fifteen foot long sampan smelled of gun-oil. In and around the craft they found straw hats. They each put one on.
When everyone was in the sampan, Chaske pushed it into the channel where it bobbed uncertainly before settling low in the water. Chaske climbed in at the rear and donned his hat, knowing that the disguise would not stand up to scrutiny. He wondered how many other sampans they might encounter traveling toward them.
Is this a mistake?
Above, the interwoven canopy blocked the sky, the trees strangling each other in their ruthless battle for light. A green hue emanated from the leaves, tinting their faces jade. Dragonflies skimmed the water. Clouds of mosquitoes hovered at each bend. Rain tapped against Chaske's hat. The paddles sloshed the brown water.
From the stern, Chaske scanned the jungle. Beyond the bank, visibility was zero. No one would see them unless they were on the water itself. At the bow, Golota held his PPS sub-machinegun in his right hand, and scratched the back of his neck with the other, raising welts on his skin. Chaske wondered when Golota would crack and do something that would get them all killed.
It's only a matter of time, he thought.
Now he regretted bringing Golota, but at the time he had had no choice - he had needed a pilot. Now Chaske had to live with that decision, and do his best to keep the team alive.
He looked up. A lemur's ghostly round eyes watched him from above. The sampan gained speed and Chaske mentally went over his plan.
All at once, he felt the team tense.
They drifted into a snaking left hand bend and Chaske saw the reason for alarm. The waterway widened into muddy banked mangroves, where four women stood hunched on the right bank, scooping tiny shellfish into big woven baskets. The sampan drifted closer and Chaske could see their mouths, stained red from chewing betel nut.