by Travis Stone
Immediately a clattering noise filled Patrick's ears. 'That's the fourth convoy coming down the string . . . ZIL One Fifty Sevens if I'm not mistaken . . . aging fleet; first vehicle has extensive bearing wear-'
'Don't be a smart ass.'
The tape went quiet.
Patrick said: 'Convoy's moved out of sensor range.'
'What's that sound?'
'Could be voices, Sir.'
'American or Dink?'
'Impossible to tell, Sir. Sounds like the microphone's damaged. Probably packed with mud on deployment. Most do.'
The colonel looked at him. 'What's that tapping noise?'
'Dunno? Could be-'
Together they said: 'Morse-code.'
'How's your Morse, son?'
'Five-by, Sir.'
'What's it saying?'
Patrick brought both hands up and pressed the headset to his ears. 'Series of letters and numbers,' he said feeling light-headed. 'A message.'
'What?'
Patrick took a red biro from his top pocket and wrote the message on the palm of his hand. The Colonel leaned over his shoulder and Patrick showed him his palm.
The Colonel read aloud: 'Lima, One-Zero-six-seven. Team of eight needs evac. Holding war critical info. Moving to clearing 300 yards west. Hurry.'
Patrick turned to face the Colonel. 'First part makes no sense?'
The Colonel's eyes betrayed the first sign of real emotion that Patrick had ever seen from him.
The Colonel stood to his full six-foot-four-inches and put his hands behind his head. 'First part's a Special-Ops authenticator code.'
'Could be a trap Sir . . . Think about it. Charlie finds a sensor and lures us in with a fake rescue mission - classic move.'
'That's a genuine code,' the Colonel said. 'There's a SOG Team out there needs rescue - holding war critical info. Who's closest?'
'Ubon.'
'Get me the 40th Aerospace Rescue on the line - NOW!'
* * *
The direct-line from the ISC to the 40th ARR operations room at Ubon Ratchanthani was answered in two rings.
A distant voice barked: 'Operations, 40th-'
'CIMCO here,' Colonel Bull Anderson said. 'I got a mission on. Do you have choppers ready for a priority extraction in Laos?'
'I can do better,' the man from 40thARR said. 'I got two Jolly Greens in the air over the Thai boarder.'
Bull Anderson's face went hot. 'Turn em round. Mission is war critical.'
Patrick handed him a slip of paper with co-ordinates scribbled on it.
The Colonel took the paper and said into the telephone receiver: 'Take co-ordinates.'
'Go ahead.'
'Fifteen degrees, fifty-four dash one-one point niner eight November, by one-zero-six degrees, fifty-four dash eighteen point three-niner Echo. Elevation is eleven-hundred-and seventy-one feet. Confirm.'
'Rodger, Bull. Mission is go.'
68
Blue glared at the damaged sensor. 'Ya reckon anyone got the message, mate?'
'Better hope so.' If not, I've killed us all.
The howling of the search dogs divided into several distinctive barks.
'They're onto us.' Blue said. 'We gotta move.'
Chaske decided to leave the ACOUSID behind. It could serve no further purpose; either their SOS had been received by the ISC - or it hadn't.
With Blue on his heels, Chaske threw aside caution and sprinted down the center of the Ho Chi Minh Trail, to where the rest of the team lay hidden.
Chaske arrived heaving. 'Let's move,' he said. 'I think there's a clearing three hundred yards west.'
'You think.' Golota said. 'Those dogs'll have us in minutes.'
Chaske snarled. 'Follow me.'
Chaske knew in his own mind that the chances of getting the team out alive were dropping by the second; but he would not give up. He could only hope Nakhon Phanom had received their SOS.
He ran across the road and into the jungle. Would they even respond if they had? He thought. Will these people die because of me?
He smashed branches aside, no longer caring about stealth. He wondered who today's duty CIMCO was. He hoped it was someone like Colonel Bull Anderson - the ex-SOG Commander would read the situation correctly.
Panic bubbled inside him. Would a lesser operator send choppers into a hot location on sketchy intelligence?
Tropical leaves swatted his face and body as he led the way forward. He could hear Golota, panting behind him.
Then he saw it.
Ahead, the dark jungle rolled down from all sides into a bright green meadow. The clearing was less than half the size of a football field. Near its center lay a massive rotten log.
The NVA dogs wailed behind him. Chaske broke into the clearing, and yelled: 'Get to the log.'
'What're you doing?' Golota yelled. 'Everyone split-up. Escape-and-evade.'
Chaske knew that if they split-up, they would all be killed or captured. 'Stick together,' he yelled. 'Trust me.'
Chaske hoped that the rescue would come; he'd done all he could.
Gunfire crackled behind him.
'Get to the log.' Chaske yelled.
* * *
Amai's mind was hazy.
Chaske had said run to the log, and that was her only focus.
Danny was running next to her; his face set in grim determination. He looked at her and smiled. Nothing could have given her more hope.
Then she imagined bullets ripping his body apart.
They made the log and tucked in behind it. Hundreds of giant woodlice covered the rotten bark, wriggling like maggots on a carcass. She stood and peered over the top and saw the hunched shapes of Triet's soldiers moving in the scrub. Bullets slammed into the log, spraying woodchips and grubs into her hair.
She dropped. We're all going to die. She imagined bullets penetrating her body and her blood soaking the course grass.
Then her body began to vibrate.
She felt it in her bowels. She turned. Two enormous helicopters were flying up the valley toward them. The sight injected her with hope.
The redhead yelled: 'Jolly Greens. Six o'clock.' In a crouch, he moved back from the log and threw a canister onto the grass behind them. Red smoke poured from the canister, and in perfect sync, the big helicopters turned toward it. Amai realized they were traveling very fast.
Bullets sprayed over the log and into the sky.
The ungainly helicopters were coming straight for the clearing, and Amai feared they would crash directly into the log. Then their noses tilted up and their tails dropped down and they slowed, filling the clearing with a deafening, gale-force blast. They hung overhead and streams of orange tracer fire arced from their stubby winglets, down into the jungle.
Amai thought: We're going to be saved.
She heard a hiss. Something flashed up into the sky. The closest helicopter jolted as if it had hit something, and then turned side-on. Black smoke poured from its rear and the second helicopter had to move to get out of its way. Then it went out of control and crashed into the jungle, exploding in a fireball.
The second helicopter started howling and turned away. Bullets pinged off its hull and a string of bright flares popped from its rear. Another rocket went up: it chased a flare and went off with a bang.
The helicopter disappeared behind the thick column of smoke, rolling up from the crashed machine, and Amai felt a horrible emptiness.
It's going to leave us.
Triet's troops kept firing at the log.
There's nowhere to go, she thought.
The crashed helicopter exploded again. She saw Danny's face; he looked dazed.
Then the ground shook and the sky roared.
Low above the jungle, the underside of the helicopter reappeared, filling her vision with a big yellow number 106. Its downdraft forced Amai to the ground. Another rocket streaked over the clearing, but the helicopter held its course and set-down behind the log.
Chaske yelled: 'Get to the chopper,' a
nd manically fired his stubby gun at Triet's advancing men.
Amai grabbed Danny's hand and pulled him toward the machine.
* * *
Danny could see the door-gunner, lips flared and teeth clenched, hanging onto his bucking minigun like a crazed bull-rider.
Bullets sparked off the Jolly green giant's rotors and fuselage. Its turbines howled.
Danny followed Amai into the spacious cabin. The others piled in behind.
Danny looked out into the clearing and couldn't process what he saw.
Bullets were thumping into Chaske's back like darts into a dartboard. Danny watched in horror. Bullets kept hitting Chaske. Chaske stumbled. Blood ejected from his mouth.
Danny clambered for the door; his brother was hurt - he had to get to him.
Arms tackled Danny to the floor as a chain of bullets raked the chopper.
Danny felt the massive airframe tighten, crouch, and then lurch upward.
He reached for Chaske's outstretched hands, but was too far away. Danny had no control. He lay on the non-slip floor, staring into Chaske's grayish face as the chopper lifted off.
* * *
Chaske looked into Danny's eyes.
He tried to speak. He wanted to yell get outta here, but it felt like he was underwater.
Blood filled his mouth. His life would end in seconds, but he felt deep satisfaction.
The Jolly Green's downdraft flattened him to the ground.
He saw Amai's face in the door, right beside Danny's. Chaske smiled. He could see the strong bond of love between the two. He did not doubt Amai's genuineness; he could see it in her eyes. The fact that she had become an enemy spy was purely a consequence of time and place.
Because of me, Chaske thought. They have a chance to stop Tet. They have a chance at life.
A cylinder of intense light replaced the screaming chopper.
Pain vanished.
Love engulfed him.
He saw his entire life play out in a second. He knew where he had failed and where he had succeeded.
And then he was in the light. He was the light. His organic body, no longer required, would remain in the organic world.
His was now a world of pure energy.
* * *
Danny felt the chopper tilt forward and accelerate.
Chaske vanished below. Bullets ricocheted off the hull. Jungle flashed past. The undercarriage clipped tree tops. They went through the column of black smoke, and then started to climb.
Danny's mind spiraled into a vortex of despair.
They had left Chaske behind. His brother would die.
Amai dropped beside Danny. His mind was screaming. He could hear Blue yelling at the pilot to go back, and Golota yelling not to.
The pilot yelled: 'It's too damn hot down there. We're lucky to be alive. There's no-way we can get back in.'
Danny got up from the steel floor and screamed at the pilot to turn around.
'We did the best we can.'
'Go back!'
'It's suicide, son. We can't.'
Several of the helicopter's large, rectangular windscreens were obscured by cracks and the instrument panel was a Christmas-tree of blinking red and orange lights.
Danny dropped into the webbing bench-seat behind the pilot. That's it then, he thought. Chaske's gone. There's nothing I can do.
Amai sat beside him and put her arms around his neck. It felt like his insides had been gouged out.
Chaske's gone . . . My God, he's gone.
* * *
Amai yelled at co-pilot: 'We need to radio General Weyand immediately. We have urgent information.'
'No-can-do, sweetie,' he said. 'We got orders to bring you straight in to Ubon.'
'What?'
'Colonel Anderson's comin' in from Nakhon to debrief you himself. You're permitted no external contact.'
'You don't understand-'
'Orders, sweetie . . . No radio.'
She slumped back into the webbing beside Danny. There would be more delay.
Danny looked terrible; she couldn't imagine what he was feeling.
'Chaske.' . . . She didn't know what to say.
He gripped her hand. 'He died for us.'
The airstrip at Ubon appeared in the windscreen and the wounded helicopter descended toward it. They landed in the middle of the runway. A fire-engine and an armed escort awaited them. American MPs put them into a jeep, drove them to a large building, and marched them into a small, wood paneled room.
'Wait here,' an MP said before locking the door.
A ceiling-fan chopped the air above her. Danny sat on her right, Cam on her left. The redhead and Golota paced the room and argued constantly.
A man came in and slammed the door. He was a big man - a Colonel - his barrel chest stretched into a uniform jacket that looked a size to small. The expression on his face was rage.
The Colonel dumped a file onto the desk. 'I've just got off the blower with General Weyand,' he said, obviously struggling to suppress his rage. 'What the goddamn hell were you people doing in the middle of the Ho Trail on a goddamn unauthorized mission? I lost a goddamn chopper on this goddamn it.'
Amai thought of Chaske. She could feel the pain of Danny's loss.
The redhead said: 'We lost Chaske on this one Bull. We left him out there.'
The Colonel's shovel like hand went up to his forehead.
Amai stood up. 'Sir-'
'Who the hell are you?' The Colonel said, eying her black Viet Cong pajamas.
'Sir. We must speak to General Weyand, A.S.A.P.'
The Colonel looked at the Golota. 'What is she? What the fuck's going on here?'
Golota stayed quiet.
'Colonel.' Danny said. 'We have important information for General Weyand. He knows me personally.'
The Colonel scoffed. 'A civilian and a VC girl?'
'She isn't VC.' Danny said. 'We were-'
'Shut it. General Weyand had no knowledge of your mission-'
The redhead cut in: 'Chaske gave his life for this one, Bull. At least hear them out.'
The Colonel's meaty head nodded slowly. 'If Chaske died for it, goddamn it,' he said. 'It's the least I can do.'
Danny repeated: 'I know General Weyand personally, Colonel. Please let us talk to him.'
* * *
Amai followed the Colonel down a long corridor to a door marked 'Signals room'.
The door was opened by a skinny soldier with thick, dark hair and buck teeth.
The Colonel said: 'Get these people in contact with General Weyand, A.S.A.P.'
The signalman eyed her strangely. 'General Weyand's down the Delta at the minute. Can only be contacted by radio. Might take a whiles.'
Amai followed Danny into the signals room. The signalman went to his equipment, adjusted several dials, and spoke rapid American jargon into the microphone. The Colonel's body filled the doorway.
Amai kept seeing Chaske's gray face and brown eyes.
'He's on,' the signalman said. 'Who wants it?'
Danny took the microphone.
'Do not re-veal the General's i-dentity, or lo-cation.'
Danny spoke into the microphone: 'Sir. It's Danny Thorn here. Can you hear me?'
General Weyand's voice was heavily metallic: 'Danny. You're alive. What the hell's going on out there?'
Amai listened as Danny told General Weyand about the Tet attacks. She took Danny's hand and waited for Weyand's response.
'It's worth consideration,' Weyand said. 'Thanks Danny. Glade to hear you're alive.'
Amai squeezed Danny's fingers. 'Make him understand.'
'Sir,' Danny said. 'It's imperative that you act on this immediately.'
'I'll need time to consider it. Thanks for your effort. I'll be in touch.'
'You must guarantee me that you'll act right away.'
The line was dead.
'He doesn't believe us,' Amai said. 'He's going to do nothing.'
'There's nothing more we can do.'
&nbs
p; Amai felt sick. She couldn't believe the American Commander's ignorance.
Danny pulled her to him. 'It's not your fault.'
'It is Danny. We both know it. Without me, the attacks wouldn't have been possible.'
69
General Weyand sat in left front seat of a UH-1 Huey, flying from the Mekong Delta to Saigon.
To his left, another fiery sunset boiled over Cambodia, and doubt boiled in his mind. He couldn't get Danny's words out of his head.
Bull Anderson at the Ground Infiltration Surveillance Center had officially informed him that the number of trucks per month traveling down the Ho Chi Minh Trail had increased to over 6000. Bull had unofficially informed him that Danny's brother, Captain Chaske Thorn, was seldom wrong.
What does it mean?
Danny's theory about the North Vietnamese luring his forces out of Saigon so as to initiate a general uprising, just didn't seem credible; but something in the detail sparked his suspicion - something felt wrong.
Weyand decided to call Colonel Hitchcock at MI. He raised him on the chopper's radio.
'Yes, Sir?' Hitchcock's voice was short.
'Colonel, I'm on an un-secure channel, but I'm going to be blunt. Do you believe the enemy will attack Saigon?'
'Sir, call me went you hit the ground.'
'Just tell me what you think, colonel.'
'I'm sorry, Sir. It's a rumor started by my more inexperienced staff. Truth is, the North Vietnamese don't have the military capability.'
The chopper lurched in a pocket of turbulence.
It's not their capabilities that interest me, Weyand thought. It's their intentions. 'And you've encountered nothing to suggest an eminent attack during the Tet ceasefire?'
'Khe Sanh is the Tet target,' Hitchcock said. 'Not Saigon.'
'Thank you Colonel.'
Saigon's muted lights fluttered below, the blades walloped the humid air above.
Saigon is my responsibility, Weyand thought. I'd hate to be the guy that gave it to em on a platter.
A voice that wasn't his own spoke inside his head. It was clear and richly baritone. He wondered whose it could be: his father? His conscience? God?
Weyand sat ridged. The voice had said: The Vietnamese will attack Saigon.