Take Back the Night: A Novel of Vietnam (The Jim Hollister Trilogy Book 3)

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Take Back the Night: A Novel of Vietnam (The Jim Hollister Trilogy Book 3) Page 35

by Dennis Foley


  “I’d like you to find a place for me to land. Over,” Hollister said.

  “Stand by,” Depplemeier said.

  Tennant held the chopper into a tight turn, allowing Hollister to see Depplemeier below. The adviser-captain spun his radio operator around and appeared to Hollister to be changing the frequency on the radio.

  “Betcha he’s calling his boss,” Tennant said.

  “Looks that way,” Hollister said. “Let’s just hope Michaelson or General Quinn has Valentine too busy to wind his ass or scratch his watch.”

  Depplemeier appeared to be unsuccessful in his attempts. He switched the frequency back and looked around. “Killer Six, this is Five-Six. I’ve got a clearing over to the northeast.”

  Hollister could see Depplemeier pointing toward a small landing zone.

  “It’ll take me about zero five to secure it. But I have to tell you this is very inconvenient for me.”

  Hollister caught Tennant’s eye. “He’s got his fucking nerve,” Tennant said over the intercom.

  “Okay. I’ll just orbit ’til you get it secured,” Hollister said, a clear wash of sarcasm in his voice.

  “Can you tell me the nature of your visit?” Depplemeier asked.

  “Sure can. Once I’m on the ground,” Hollister said. “Let me know when I can land. Out.”

  “Cut the crap,” Hollister said. “I don’t care to hear the reasons. That woman is a local national—not a combatant and not a POW. On top of that you fuckers kidnapped her—”

  “I resent that, Captain,” Depplemeier said.

  Hollister leaned closer to Depplemeier—his face only inches from the sweating adviser. “I’m gonna kick your ass all over this fucking landing zone if I’m not putting her on my chopper in three minutes. You got that?”

  Depplemeier pulled back from Hollister and turned. “She’s over here. But I am telling you, right now, I will report this intrusion and your threat to the general.”

  Hollister fell in behind Depplemeier as he walked off the landing zone. “Depplemeier—shut the fuck up!”

  The trail led to a small clearing under a large tree that had somehow survived years of bombing. There, Hollister saw the interrogation team. A Vietnamese sergeant and two other soldiers stood over Jrae, her brother, Pek, and one of the other prisoners snatched by the Rangers. The three squatted, their arms tied behind them—their elbows pulled together painfully by a piece of twine.

  As Hollister got closer he could tell the two men had been beaten. Their faces were bruised and swollen. He was unable to tell if Jrae had been hurt. She sat with her head dropped, her hair falling across her face.

  Hollister rushed up to Jrae. He dropped to his knees and pulled his demo knife from his belt to cut the line holding her elbows together. She whimpered and slumped forward, crying.

  Hollister grabbed her gently and helped her to sit up. He brushed her hair from her face and saw the trails of tears and evidence of the punishment she must have taken from the Vietnamese sergeant and his assistants. Her lower lip was split, her right eyebrow had another cut through it, and her cheeks were red and swollen.

  Hollister didn’t telegraph his move. He simply rose and came around at the same time, catching the Vietnamese sergeant in the side of his jaw with his open palm—his full weight behind the blow. Every man on the ground heard the report of the slap. As the soldier reeled back Hollister stepped forward and brought his leg up, kicking the sergeant in the crotch—doubling him over in pain.

  The other two soldiers reacted by spinning their weapons to point them at Hollister.

  Hollister stepped toward the first soldier—making clear and promising eye contact. “I’ll shove that fucking rifle up your ass and break it off!”

  The soldier got the message and quickly dropped his weapon and his confrontational attitude.

  The other did the same.

  Hollister waved his hand at the other prisoners. “Untie these men.”

  “I’ll see you are court-martialed for this!” Depplemeier yelled, still keeping his distance.

  Hollister ignored the hysterical captain and dropped back to his knees to look at Jrae. “You okay? Can you walk?”

  Jrae whispered a barely audible, “Yes, Captain. Yes, I think so.”

  He helped her to her feet and steadied her, then turned to Pek and motioned toward the landing zone. “Tell him to come with us,” he said.

  Jrae looked at Pek. He got to his feet, having understood Hollister’s instructions.

  “Depplemeier … get your ass over to that landing zone and set up something that looks like real security. Your goddamn people look like they are waiting for a fucking bus.”

  Depplemeier spoke in hushed tones over his radio and glared at Hollister, but made no moves.

  “Now!” Hollister pulled the radio handset off his harness. Dropping all radio procedure, he called Tennant in the chopper. “Dale. Come get us.”

  Tennant responded by pulling out of orbit to set up his landing.

  Depplemeier stood his ground as Hollister moved in his direction, helping Jrae along the path.

  “I’ll see you are raked over the coals for this. I’ll make sure your ass is in as big a sling as I can find,” Depplemeier babbled.

  Hollister jerked his pistol from its holster and pulled the hammer back. He pointed the weapon at Depplemeier. “Last chance, asshole. Get some security on that PZ, or I promise you I’ll call in a medevac for a friendly-fire casualty.”

  Depplemeier gave in and yelled some instructions to the ARVNs in very bad Vietnamese. They made a pretense of security by doubling the number of men on the PZ and getting them down into prone firing positions.

  His radio operator rushed to his side and thrust the handset toward his face.

  Depplemeier turned away from Hollister and answered the radio call. Again, he spoke in heated but hushed tones to keep Hollister from hearing him.

  Hollister led Jrae and Pek to the side of the PZ to wait for Tennant to bring the pickup chopper in.

  Depplemeier ran over to Hollister and waved his hands in the air. “General Valentine said you are to immediately release my prisoners and leave this area. You are interfering with our operations and jeopardizing the lives of the people we advise.”

  “He knows you have this woman and her brother out here?” Hollister asked.

  “Of course he does. And he wants you to get the hell out of here and leave us to our business.”

  “Great. Now that I know for sure he’s behind this, you can get him back on the radio and tell him to start packing.”

  “What the hell does that mean?”

  “You figure it out.”

  Tennant lined his slick up with the landing zone and began his approach-descent.

  Hollister raised the handset to his face and spoke above the chopper’s blade noise. “We’re on the east side of the Papa Zulu. Over.”

  “Rog. I got an eyeball on you. Can you give me a little smoke?” Tennant said. “The winds have gotten a little squirrelly since I put you in.”

  “Stand by,” Hollister said. He pulled a smoke grenade off the packtray holding his radio. With one firm pull, Hollister yanked the cotter pin from the striker on the smoke grenade. He tossed it into an off-center spot in the clearing and watched the spring-mounted spoon fly in another direction. The grenade hit the ground, and brilliant purple smoke spread from it.

  “Killer Six. Got goofy grape,” Tennant announced more for the benefit of the circling pilots than himself and Hollister.

  Hollister spoke into the mouthpiece of his handset. “Roger. Goofy grape. That’s us. Anytime you’re ready.”

  “Inbound. Out.”

  Hollister turned to Jrae and Pek. They squatted timidly under the overhang of a tree bordering the landing zone.

  “You have really gone too far. You Rangers think that your shit’s so hot. Well, you’re going to find out screwing with my ARVNs was a stupid move,” Depplemeier said, careful to keep his distance from Hollist
er.

  Hollister raised his hand and pointed at the few soldiers standing on the margin of the landing zone. “Listen, asshole. You get your fucking ARVNs organized and put somebody outside this circle—now! There isn’t a bad guy inside of five miles that doesn’t know we’re here and just how many of us there are. So, try to do something right and get some fucking security out.”

  Tennant slipped the nose of the C & C over the end of the landing zone, flared it to slow his forward airspeed, and settled.

  Hollister waved for Jrae and Pek to join him—on the way to the spot on the ground where he guessed Tennant would put it down.

  The trio began to run, at a crouch, toward the landing chopper. Hollister hesitated long enough to look up and check out the location of the two circling Cobras and Easy’s chase ship.

  Hollister slid to a stop at the side of the chopper and waited for Jrae to catch up. Without letting her lose momentum, he grabbed her by the waist and arm and lifted her up and shoved her into the chopper.

  He turned to help Pek and found him already crawling over the lip of the cargo deck. Hollister put his hand on the deck and vaulted up into the chopper. Without a break in his motion, he reached up and slapped Moody on the helmet and yelled, “Go! Go! Go!”

  Hollister rolled farther inside the chopper and began to settle in for the ride when he heard the whoosh and then saw the impact and detonation of an RPG. It came from the tree line on the far side of the landing zone. The round hit the skin of the chopper behind the left door gunner’s seat and just above the skids and the fuel cell. The gunner’s face and shoulder disappeared in a froth of blood and bone, and the blast threw Jrae and Pek into Hollister.

  Before he could right himself, the chopper began to lose the few feet of altitude it had gained. Hollister looked up from the floor of the chopper at Tennant, who was trying to control the chopper—headed for the trees at the end of the LZ.

  Hollister reached out to steady Jrae with one hand while his other automatically searched for something to hold on to. His fingers found the left rear leg of the peter pilot’s seat and locked on to it.

  The chopper continued to float toward the trees until Tennant finally yelled out for everyone to brace themselves. The chopper seemed to collapse into a large thicket with a sigh.

  At the last moment before the chopper sank into the fifteen-foot-tall mesh of barbed nettles, Hollister caught sight of Depplemeier’s soldiers behind the chopper. They were almost a hundred meters away and firing furiously in all directions, some of their small-arms fire passing over the chopper.

  He tried to find his radio to tell Depplemeier to stop the firing and realized it was all the way back under the other door gunner’s seat.

  Tennant kept repeating his Mayday call as long as the radio would transmit and then popped the quick release on his seat restraints. “Get out! Get out!”

  CHAPTER 32

  HOLLISTER HEARD THE UNMISTAKABLE sound of another RPG firing at something or someone several dozen meters behind the chopper.

  The chopper leaned toward the left, and it was all Hollister could do to hold himself and Jrae on the slanted cargo deck. With Tennant’s instructions clear, he let go of the seat and grabbed Jrae.

  They slid out of the chopper and fell into the thicket. The dense growth acted to break their fall. Hollister pulled Jrae close to his chest as their momentum caused them to roll off the cushion of impenetrable growth. Followed by Pek, they landed on the hard ground, unable to see anything more than a foot away from them.

  “Dale?” Hollister said.

  “Over here,” Tennant said. He waved his hands and shook the brush.

  “You and Moody okay?”

  “Yeah,” Tennant replied.

  “Where’s your crew chief?”

  “I’m over here,” the crew chief said.

  Hollister turned to find the soldier barely three feet away. His face was covered with little scratches—all bleeding. But through it, he smiled broadly and held up Hollister’s handset to let him know he had grabbed the radio on exit. “Great! Good man.”

  The firing around them continued. Enough of it was coming toward the crash site to make Hollister even more concerned about their safety. “Listen up,” he yelled, loud enough for the others to hear. “It doesn’t make much difference who’s shooting at us. Good guys or bad, we’re going to take some hits if we stand up. So stay tight to the dirt until I can do something about it.”

  Hollister reached out for Jrae and pressed down on her shoulder—emphasizing the danger for her. She understood and stayed close to the ground. He then found the coiled cord to his handset and followed it from the radio connector out to the handset.

  Pressing it to his face, he tried to reach the gunships orbiting above. “Raider Three-Six, this is Killer Six. You got a visual on us?”

  “Rog. That you stacked up to the November Echo of the Lima Zulu?”

  “Affirm. We need to get this incoming off our back to get out of here.”

  “Lemme come in there and see if I can tell who’s doing what to who. Stand by.”

  Joe Raymond slipped sideways into a rapid descent. Just above the trees, he jerked it back level and skimmed across the landing zone and over Hollister’s position. “Hot dog,” Raymond said. “I got a bunch a little fuckers in uniform carrying weapons just west of you.”

  “Can you lay some fire on them so we can get back to the landing zone?”

  “Negative. Negative. They are dead-on centered between you and the perimeter. If I try to get in there, I’m going to be too close to you or to the other friendlies,” Raymond said.

  “Shit! Got any suggestions, Joe?”

  “Stand by a sec.” Raymond rolled into a turn and headed back. He prowled the right side of the landing zone. Two green tracers leaped from the nearby tree line, searching for the underside of the Cobra. The shots were unsuccessful, but confirmed Joe’s location of some of the enemy forces. At the southern end of the landing zone, Raymond pulled up and headed north again.

  “You’re goin’ ta have to go east, then south to hook back around to link up with the friendlies,” he said.

  “I was afraid you were going to say that. Okay, thanks. Break. Autumn Notion Five-Six. This is Campus Killer Six.”

  Depplemeier answered the radio call, a trace of panic in his voice. “This is Five-Six.”

  “Did you copy mine with Raider Three-Six?”

  “Affirm. Over.”

  “I’m going to try to work my way back to your location. I’ve got the survivors from the chopper with me. Make sure your people know we are coming your way. I don’t want to take any friendly fire. You got that?”

  “Roger. I’ll pass the word.”

  “And you’d better tighten up your perimeter so that we can put some fire on the targets the guns can identity.”

  “Roger.”

  “Expect me in four-five to an hour. It’s going to take a while to pick my way back.”

  “It’s going to be dark by then.”

  “Yeah. I know. Out,” Hollister said.

  Hollister moved to a point with some concealment and pulled Jrae close. He motioned for the others—Pek, Tennant, Moody, and the crew chief—to join him in a tight knot.

  “Listen. We have a few problems here.” He raised his hand and pointed to a spot along the line between them and the ARVNs. “We’ve got bad guys to get around before we can get back to the inside of the perimeter.”

  Tennant looked up at the horizon.

  “I know. I know. It’s gonna be dark pretty soon.”

  Jrae explained Hollister’s words to Pek. He waved his hand in the direction of a game path. She turned to Hollister. “My brother knows this area well. He said he will take us to the ARVNs. He says it will be safe. He knows where to go.”

  Hollister nodded to recognize the gesture. “Tell him we can’t walk the trails. If we do, we will surely be ambushed.”

  They conferred again in their native dialect. Jrae turned again to
Hollister. “He said he will stay away from the trails. But it will be slow.”

  “Tell him that is good,” Hollister said.

  He turned to the others. “Okay, folks, you are grunts now. What have we got?” Hollister raised his M-16.

  The crew chief raised his machine gun. He had pulled it off the chopper mount. That left him with a nearly unmanageable weapon with no bipod to rest it on while firing it. It also had no rear stock or butt to place up against the shooter’s shoulder. Instead, there were a pair of handgrips and a butterfly thumb-trigger, designed for firing from a chopper.

  “How much ammo do you have?” Hollister asked.

  “’Bout five hundred rounds,” the crew chief said.

  “Okay. You’re going to have to hold what you’ve got until we get in a world of shit. If it gets to needing that machine gun, I want you to wedge it into the crotch of a tree or prop it up on something that’ll keep it from walking across Cambodia, and press that barrel toward the ground. Shoot dirt. You got me?”

  “Sir?”

  “You won’t have shit for accuracy. So let’s take advantage of what we know. All of your targets will be standing, squatting, kneeling, or lying down. Try to spray the area between you and them. A ricochet is more likely to hit them than trying to aim at them and watch the tracers jump up over their heads.”

  The crew chief nodded and clutched his machine gun close to his chest.

  Hollister turned to the two pilots.

  Tennant pulled out his .45 pistol.

  “Ammo?” Hollister asked.

  “Got two eight-round clips.”

  “Great. Shoot only if you have a target and only if he’s within twenty-five feet of you. Anything else is wasted ammo.”

  Moody held up his .38 revolver. “Just got six rounds in the weapon.”

  Hollister shook his head. “Okay. Same deal with you. Don’t shoot unless you can make it worth your effort.”

  Jrae translated again while Hollister outlined the order of march. He wanted the small party to move in three elements. Pek out front—on point. Then Hollister, Jrae, and Moody. The rear element would be Tennant and the crew chief to cover their rear.

 

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