Edge of War rdr-2

by Larry Bond

  “Steady!” commanded Silas.

  Silas knew he was playing more than a simple game of chicken. His primary concern was to accomplish his mission. At the same time, he had to do so without starting a war. Sinking the frigate and the cruiser would be personally satisfying — would it ever — but would have an immense impact on geopolitics.

  Even firing a warning shot would be considered an act of war under the circumstances. Indeed, it could easily backfire, as the cruiser’s dual water-cooled 130s on the forecastle might actually give it an edge in a quick gun battle. Silas had to be prepared to fight, but under the circumstances couldn’t take the first shot himself.

  On the other hand, Silas couldn’t appear to back down. And he certainly wasn’t about to let his ship get rammed.

  Chicken indeed.

  “Crew, we’re going right by the Chinese,” said the captain over the ship’s 1MC system. “They’re trying to bluff us. Be very prepared to fire back. If they give us just cause, we will sink them. Until that point, we must not, and we shall not, blink.”

  The frigate was churning through the water. Silas drew a breath, mentally calculating the angle.

  No doubt at this point. They were going to hit.

  The video cameras aboard ship were rolling. They could show that the Chinese had caused this. But would he be able to get close enough to launch the helicopter, then recover it?

  “Helm, stand by,” said Silas.

  “He’s heaving to!” yelled the watchman.

  “Give me everything, engine room,” said Silas, though in fact the engines were already at 110 percent. “Helm, avoid collision. Maintain us as close to course as possible.”

  The Chinese frigate turned off, but its momentum was such that Silas could have reached out and spit on the crewmen.

  He was tempted.

  * * *

  “Captain, we are within range for helicopter launch,” said the exec ten minutes later.

  “Get ‘em off the ship,” said Silas.

  By then, the Chinese frigate had moved off to a more comfortable distance. The cruiser was now almost alongside her. Silas pulled up his binoculars, watching the missile launcher on the cruiser carefully. The Seahawk was an easy target at this range, even staying low and using the McCampbell as a screen.

  One missile launch and he’d sink the cruiser. And the frigate.

  If their crews were any good, they’d get a few shots in on their own. At this range, on the open sea, anything could happen.

  Anything.

  He was ready.

  “Seahawk is away, sir!”

  “Steady,” said Silas. “Steady.”

  A moment later, he knew the Chinese weren’t going to interfere. He’d won. This battle, at least.

  “Helicopter is out of range of their antiair weapons,” said Lieutenant Commander Li a minute later. Her voice was noticeably calmer — not casual, but no longer tense. “Pilot reports they are on course and on schedule.”

  “Steady as she goes, Commander. Remind the crew that we have more to do.”

  “Aye, aye, Captain.”

  25

  Bai Sau, southern Vietnam

  Mara’s boat was in the lead as they started across the bay. A breeze kicked up, sending sprays of water across the bow. She angled her face to dull some of the effects of the wind.

  The inner bay area was still a major tourist spot, a favorite of many residents from the Ho Chi Minh area who drove down on weekends to enjoy the sand and sun. But the oil boom was steadily encroaching on paradise, and for a few years now the eastern end of the large cove had been dominated by an oil-storage area and a small refinery. Three ships sat at harbor, taking on fuel for export. To the south, barges were stacked two deep in a line extending along a half-mile pier, waiting to disgorge raw petroleum collected from offshore platforms. Workboats were parked in another line against the wharf, some idling, others seemingly abandoned.

  It was nearly 8 a.m., and in theory the workday should be well under way. But the war had disrupted regular routines, and Mara saw few people on the wharf.

  Once they were across the bay, they took the boats back to the west, cruising past a swampy delta area toward an inlet populated by fishermen and their families. Only about half the fleet had gone out, leaving the channel glutted but passable. The two boats moved slowly, crossing the occasional swell from a nearby motorboat.

  On the shoreline, buildings stood shoulder to shoulder, leaning against each other. A few were large, solid-looking structures, metal-sided warehouses and small fish-processing factories. But most were shacks, small houses built fifty or sixty years earlier, witness to several generations’ worth of hardships and war.

  A handful of children watched them come in, staring in curiosity.

  Mạ stared at them as if they were animals she had never seen before.

  “Wave,” said Josh.

  He prodded her to raise her hand. When she didn’t, he waved his own. The children ran away.

  What kind of life is she going to have? thought Mara. What kind of life are any of those kids going to have?

  They found a place to tie up at the southeast, forty or fifty feet from the road.

  “The airport’s a mile that way,” said Mara, pointing to the east. “Let’s start walking.”

  The first quarter mile took them around the outskirts of the residential area. The swamp to their left had only recently been filled for new construction; two buildings had been started but not yet completed.

  They took a turn to the right and entered a dense pack of houses, crisscrossed by narrow roads and even tighter alleys. Unlike the houses they had passed before landing, these were vacation homes. On the whole their owners were much better off than the fishermen farther to the west. Four- and five-story buildings dotted the area.

  The SEALs had tucked their weapons back into their rucksacks, but people stared at them as they passed. It was clear that they were out of place.

  “What do you figure someone’s going to call the cops on us?” Kerfer asked, catching up to Mara.

  “We look like oil workers,” said Mara. “There are plenty of Russians around.”

  “With a kid?”

  “What do you want to do, stuff her into one of the rucks?”

  “I thought of that.”

  “If the police come, I’ll do the talking,” said Mara.

  He frowned at her.

  “What do you want me to tell you?” said Mara, exasperated. “We won’t be bothered?”

  “Don’t get bitchy on me.”

  “You’re the one that’s being bitchy,” she told him. “Just relax. If we can find a motel, we can check in.”

  “What are we using for money? Your good looks?”

  “Get us further than yours,” said Josh behind them.

  The SEALs laughed. Mara felt her face flush slightly.

  There were no police or soldiers in front of the airport, and while Mara initially took that as a good sign, it turned out to be the opposite. The doors to the terminal were locked; a handwritten message taped to one of them declared that it had been closed, and that only military flights would be using the strip for the near future. Sure enough, there were a small number of soldiers in the back, working on helicopters and guarding a pair of MiG fighters near the hangars. Mara decided they’d be better off finding a different place to wait.

  There was a hotel across the highway from the airport. From the outside, at least, it looked on par with a Motel 6 back in the States. The architecture was similar, and the rooms were spread out among three buildings.

  Mara left the others outside and went in with Little Joe, whose clothes seemed the neatest. The clerk eyed them dubiously.

  “Some of my friends and I need rooms for the night,” she said in Vietnamese.

  The clerk held up his hands and said they had none.

  “You have no rooms?” said Mara.

  “Many reservations.”

  “There are no rooms for anyone?”


  “Very sorry.”

  The reception area was small, with a pair of Western-style couches and some fake flowers. There was no one inside, but of course that didn’t mean the hotel was empty. Still, Mara had a hard time believing that there were no rooms available.

  “I know hotels sometimes keep places for special guests,” she said. “Perhaps if we paid extra.”

  “No. I’m very sorry,” said the man. “All rooms are reserved.”

  “Is there a place where we could shower?” she asked.

  “I’m sorry.”

  Mara thought of using Mạ, whom she’d left outside, to plead her case. But she worried that Kerfer was right about the girl making people more suspicious.

  “Could you recommend another hotel?” Mara asked.

  “We are all booked,” said the man. “Because of the war.”

  “There’s nothing else?”

  “No. I am sorry.”

  Mara gradually wheedled more information out of him. The oil companies had booked the hotel rooms for their employees, whom they were trying to evacuate. A cruise ship was supposed to be on its way to take them away.

  The only problem was that the cruise ship was two days overdue.

  Mara decided it wasn’t worth going to each hotel to hear the same message. Instead, she took Josh, Mạ, and the SEALs up the road to an athletic club, where she spent the last of her Vietnamese money buying them a day pass to the tennis court in the back. She didn’t care about tennis; she wanted the showers.

  * * *

  The shower helped Josh as much as the pills had, though pulling on his sweaty clothes took some of the edge off his improved mood.

  Little Joe had liberated some snacks from a vending machine and shared them with the others. Josh didn’t realize how hungry he was until he ripped into a bag of soy-soaked strips of puffed rice and gobbled them down. But the food only stoked his hunger.

  Mara met them outside near the entrance. She’d changed into a flowery shirt that fell to her thighs.

  “I found it,” she told Josh. “What do you think?”

  “Nice.”

  “It’s a dress. It’s a little tight, but it works.”

  “Stealing clothes,” said Kerfer.

  “It was a barter. Heft mine.”

  Mạ, meanwhile, had found a tennis ball. The SEALs took turns playing with her, improvising a game of little kid soccer as they walked back toward the airport. She smiled and even laughed as they played with her.

  “Maybe there’s hope for her,” said Mara.

  Josh glanced at the CIA officer gazing intently at the little girl he’d rescued. He knew exactly what she meant, but was surprised she was thinking that. Mara had seemed… not uncaring, but focused on her job.

  It made him like her even more.

  They walked down along the western side of the airport, along the far end of the runway. Only a field separated them from the concrete strip, and they had a clear view of the back of the complex.

  The airport’s main runway was a thousand meters, long enough for a turboprop or perhaps a small jet. But most of the aircraft that used it were helicopters. Three large Russian choppers — civilian Mil Mi-58s — sat in front of hangars.

  “Maybe we oughta take our own chopper,” said Kerfer.

  “Can you fly it?” asked Josh.

  “Don’t get funny with me, kid.”

  “I’m serious.”

  “Flying lessons are next month,” said Kerfer.

  There was no fence at the far end of the field; they could have walked straight onto the runway if they’d wanted. Instead, they walked down the long shrub-lined boulevard that marked the southern edge of the complex, passing a row of new but seemingly deserted warehouses. Josh wondered if they had been abandoned because of the war, or if they were just unused; there was no way to tell. Near the end of the block they saw another hotel complex. Mara went over to see if there were rooms, but soon came out saying there weren’t.

  “What is it with Vietnam and tennis courts?” asked Squeaky as they began walking again. “Tennis courts all over the place here.”

  “It was a big sport when the French were here,” said Josh. “And it was associated with being rich. So when people in the country started having money, they started paying a lot of attention to it.”

  “You’re a big tennis fan?” asked Kerfer.

  “One of our translators gave me the whole story,” said Josh, thinking of Li Huy, who’d told him how good his son was at the sport.

  His ten-year-old son. Now fatherless. As Huy said he had been after what he called the American war.

  Josh glanced down at Mạ.

  “Police car, six o’clock,” said Squeaky.

  * * *

  Mara acted as if the police officers were godsends, speaking as quickly as she could manage, saying they had been told to come here by their company only to find that there were no rooms. The men were oil workers, expecting to get off by ship, but unsure when it was arriving. She and her daughter — they were careful to keep Mạ back by Josh and Kerfer — had come to visit her father and grandfather and were now hoping to get out with the rest of the workers.

  Mara leaned into the car as she spoke, practically pressing her boobs into the nearest officer’s face.

  “Is there a hotel where we could stay?” Mara asked. “Our company will pay the best prices.”

  The policemen began talking among themselves. Mara pressed closer until the cop started to roll up the window.

  She stepped back.

  “Throw yourself at him, why don’t you?” said Kerfer.

  “Don’t speak English,” said Mara in a stage whisper.

  The police car began backing away slowly. Mara put a disappointed look on her face, pretending to be sad that they couldn’t help.

  “What happened?” asked Josh.

  “I think they were afraid that we were going to ask for a favor that they couldn’t grant,” said Mara. “Or maybe they have an emergency somewhere else. Whatever — they’re gone. For now. We ought to find a better place to hang out.”

  “When the fuck is that helo coming?” asked Kerfer. “They said daybreak.”

  “They said after daybreak. Maybe not until noon.”

  “It’s after daybreak. As far as I’m concerned, it’s going on noon.”

  “It’s a Navy helicopter,” said Mara. “Your guess is as good as mine.”

  “Call them.”

  “Every time I call, the Chinese show up,” said Mara.

  She spotted a grove of trees near the highway that ran along the eastern end of the runway, and began walking toward it. Mạ, who was walking with Josh and Little Joe, began sobbing and holding her stomach.

  “What’s with the kid?” Kerfer asked.

  Mara bent and spoke to her. Mạ said she was hungry.

  “We oughta get her some food,” said Kerfer. “How much money you guys got?”

  They dug through their pockets, but the only one with cash was Josh, who found two twenty-thousand-dong notes — about two dollars.

  “The problem is finding someplace to get food,” said Mara. “We haven’t passed anything.”

  “I’m kinda hungry myself,” said Squeaky.

  “You got money you ain’t tellin’ us about?” asked Stevens.

  “I’m just saying.”

  “Maybe we can trade something for food,” said Josh.

  “Yeah, like we won’t shoot you if you give us food,” said Little Joe.

  The others laughed.

  “Not a good idea,” said Mara.

  “Relax,” said Kerfer.

  Mara’s sat phone rang before she could say anything else.

  “This better be good news,” she told DeBiase.

  “Helicopter is inbound. It’ll land in forty-five minutes.”

  “Tell him there’s a concrete turning area at the eastern end of runway thirty,” said Mara, looking directly at it. “It’s kind of between the ends of the two runways.�
��

  “Okay.”

  “We’ll meet him there. The terminal is closed and there are soldiers by the hangars.”

  “I can stay on the line,” offered DeBiase. “In case — ”

  Mara snapped the phone off.

  “Forty-five minutes to pickup,” she told the others.

  “Good,” said Kerfer. He looked down at Mạ and patted her head. “When we get back to the ship, kid, you and me are having the biggest damn bowl of ice cream we can find. I promise you that.”

  26

  Bai Sau

  “He’s near the airport,” Colonel Sun told Jing Yo. “There is an American ship offshore that has just defied the blockade. Most likely he is to meet them. Either they will go to the port, or send a helicopter.”

  “I will do my duty,” said Jing Yo.

  “Ms. Hu had nothing to do with it,” Sun added. “Colonel?”

  “I believe her. But don’t trust her, nonetheless.”

  The colonel cut the connection.

  Jing Yo steered his boat to the southeastern end of the peninsula, where the beach backed into a golf course. The airport was roughly a mile from the water to his north, on the other side of a highway. There were few houses nearby, and fewer people to ask questions.

  “Stay on the beach, near the boat,” Jing Yo told Hyuen Bo after he pulled the boat up onto the sand. “I will be back very soon.”

  “Yo.” She took hold of his arm as he slung the bag containing the grenades and extra ammunition he had taken from Tong’s van over his shoulder.

  “You have to stay,” Jing Yo told her. “Hold on to the shotgun — hide it in the sand in case you need it.”

  “We must escape together.”

  “We will,” said Jing Yo.

  The rocket grenade launchers were in metal boxes. They were cumbersome, since he had to carry the case by the handle as if it were a long suitcase, but it wouldn’t attract as much attention if anyone saw it. He kept one launcher and loaded two of the spare grenades into its box.

  Hyuen Bo wrapped her arms around him and pressed her face into his neck.

  “I love you,” she said.

  “I must do this,” he told her, steeling himself. “I will be back. And we will be together. I promise.”