His team had moved toward the Stadium at first light, following a densely vegetated streambed. They'd moved only three kilometers when the point man froze in his tracks and slowly sank to the ground. The morning ground fog had dissipated, and when the point man parted a stand of large ferns he found himself staring at rows of strung-up blue hammocks full of lounging NVA.
The team had walked part of the way into a huge NVA camp. Selando had tried to back the team out, but several NVA had awakened close to the stream and had started a small fire. Now they were eating. The camp was only fifteen feet from the six men hiding in the bamboo thicket. Selando was afraid to breathe, let alone try and whisper a message.
Lieutenant Foley tried calling again. Selando carefully pushed the side bar twice to break squelch.
Foley immediately sat up in his seat. The squelch breaks meant Selando had a radio problem or couldn't talk.
"One-three, this is Three Alfa. If you are having radio problems break squelch twice."
There was nothing but static in the headphones. Foley held his breath for an instant then hit the floor switch again. "One-three, if you're in trouble break squelch twice." The static in his earphones stopped two distinctive times.
"Shit!" blurted Foley to himself. "One-three, are there dinks close by?"
Again there were two breaks.
"One-three, understand you're close to dinks. Are you close to their camp?"
Selando squeezed twice, wishing he could yell. "Hell, yes, we're close-you wanna talk to some of 'em?"
"One-three, this is important. Break squelch once for each kilometer you're away from the Stadium."
Selando pressed the bar three times. Foley's palms were slippery from sweat. He shut his eyes, forcing his brain to think of other questions he should ask. He pressed the switch. "One- three, I'll remain on station and alert Guns. Get out of there as soon as possible. I'm going off push to report your situation, then I'll be back."
J. D. Gibson watched Sergeant Zubeck and his team disappear up the slope, then motioned for Wade to move the team out. The two teams had split according to plan. Zubeck would recon the ring of hills to the north and he and Wade's team would check out those to the south. Russian led, with Toan walking close behind. The old man had told Russian of a trail that ran along the ring of mountains and of the spirit house only a short distance away.
The Czech crossed the stream and began climbing the steep slope. The team had seen footprints on the creek's bank and held their weapons ready. Rose had whispered that the prints were only a day old.
The TOC was a beehive of activity. Childs had received the excited message from Lieutenant Foley about Selando's predicament only minutes before. All the officers were gathered around maps, talking to their respective units by telephone, reporting the NVA camp location. The Army liaison had already alerted two sets of Guns. The Air Force liaison had called for a pair of F-4s to stand by and was waiting to get a time for a B-52 mission. Colonel Ellis was talking to Corps Headquarters.
Major Shane sat silently in his chair. He looked at Childs worriedly and glanced back at the map.
Childs walked over and sat down beside him. "Don't worry, Ed, they're in a good hide position. They'll be able to wait it out and get away."
Shane nodded without taking his eyes from the map.
The Air Force liaison set down his phone and stood up. "We've got a B-52 cell diverted to us! The 307th out of Thailand is diverting three B-52s. They'll be over target in three hours."
Shane glared at Colonel Ellis, then at the Air Force major. "They're not dropping if the team is still in there!"
Ellis raised his hand as if quieting a child. "Of course, Ed. There will be no drop if your men are in danger, but we should think positively and let the mission stand as is."
Shane stood up without taking his eyes from the colonel. "Okay, but they don't drop unless I say."
Ellis forced a smile and spoke softly. "It's your ball game."
Russian moved slowly, stopping every few minutes to listen and "feel" out what lay ahead. The rocky trail they followed was a killer. It ran along the top rim of the mountains. To the left was an almost sheer vertical drop to the river far below. To the right the land sloped moderately to the Stadium valley. Towering pines and mahoganies interspersed with magnificent teaks destroyed all undergrowth under the thick canopy. There was no place to take cover to let an enemy patrol pass. Russian would have to see them first and pray it was only one or two men. He could kill them quiedy with the silenced British Sterling. If there were more, there would be a fight-a fight they couldn't win. And, of course, if he or the team was seen first, they'd die.
Russian wiped his sweaty hands on his trousers and grasped the weapon again. On the trail up ahead was a group of large boulders. They would make good cover for an NVA trail watcher or sentry.
Russian whispered to Toan to stay down and motioned Wade and Rose to cover him. The two men took up firing positions as Russian crept forward cautiously to check out the danger.
Russian hunched over his submachine gun and swung it along his arc of vision. The closer he came to the boulders the more apprehensive he became. The rocks were waist-high and constituted a natural defensive position because of the way they formed a partial circle with plenty of firing positions. Russian sneaked around the rocks, anticipating a sleeping soldier on the other side, but there was none. He took a deep breath and began to raise his arm to wave the others up. A noise froze his arm in mid-flight. His feeling of relief from a second before was blocked out by a sudden cold jab of fear. The noise was distant, but it was unmistakably man-made, and it told him they were in trouble.
Russian looked back at the team. They had heard the noise, too, and were facing down the slope with weapons readied.
Toan sat on the trail crying silendy. The sound below him, that of a man chopping wood, meant the lowlanders were still in his valley. A man didn't chop wood unless he felt safe, and he wouldn't feel safe unless there were many others of his kind nearby. The old man got up slowly and moved closer to Russian. He pointed down the slope and whispered, "The hunter's hut and spirit house rest below a stone ledge three hundred paces down."
Gibson directed the team into the protection of the rocks as Russian told him what Toan had said. The lieutenant knelt down. "Wade, you and Russian will go with me. We'll sneak down and check out the huts. Thumper, you organize a defensive position here. We'll be back in thirty minutes. If we're not back in that time wait five more minutes and head back to the cave. Questions?"
No one spoke.
Gibson smiled. "Okay, that's it, let's see what we got."
The three men took off their packs and began crawling down the slope.
Sergeant Selando sighed inwardly with relief and thanked God and every saint he could remember as the NVA soldiers left their positions and joined a large gathering a hundred meters away for what looked like a class of some sort.
Selando led the team as they cautiously crawled out of the thicket into the streambed and crept down die bank to escape. In ten minutes they had only traveled one hundred meters, but had reached the end of the camp. Every painstaking foot was another foot closer to survival. Safety was only a few more hundred meters away.
Selando breathed easier but couldn't chance getting to his feet to make better time. Their low profile in the shallow water was barely noticeable. He crawled on, praying for strength, praying that no sentries were posted by the creek.
Fifteen minutes later he raised his exhausted body from the water and fell on a carpet of moss. He had no more strength. His muscles seemed like spongy rubber. The others joined him on the bank, trying not to wheeze or throw up. The radio operator held out the handset to his team leader with the last of his energy. Selando dragged the handset over his heaving chest and pushed the side bar.
Lieutenant Foley sat in the backseat of the small plane, eating C ration pound cake. The earphones crackled and the whispering voice of Selando ran through his earphones. F
oley nearly choked on the half-eaten cake.
"Three Alfa, this is One-three. We're out. Over."
Foley slammed his foot on the transmit button.
"Thank God, One-three. Report everything you saw. How big was the camp? Which direction did it spread? What was your exact location? How many did you see? What was their activity? Give it all to me nowl Over."
Selando gasped in several breaths and began whispering back the information.
Russian crawled toward the distinct smell of smoke. Wade and Gibson inched along the ground behind the Czech. They knew they'd found something big. They had crawled down the slope for a hundred meters before smelling the faint trace of smoke. In another fifty meters they heard voices along with the chopping sound. Russian halted. They'd come to an expanse of smooth rock covered with moss. Russian could see the valley, but not what was direcdy ahead. He motioned for the others to wait, and he crawled forward. He moved for twenty feet and stopped. There was no rock ahead, only sky. From the sounds and the faint cloud of smoke, he knew he was on a ledge. Somewhere below was what they were looking for. He inched up to the rock's edge and peered over. One glance was enough. He quickly lay flat and pushed back.
Russian crawled back to the others and got so close to Wade's face to whisper that they touched noses. "It is a camp."
Gibson began to crawl forward but Russian put out his hand. "Is too dangerous here."
Gibson understood immediately. A man's head peering over the ledge would be easily seen. He raised up and saw a tree next to the ledge fifty feet away. A strangler fig had attached its twisting tentacles to its base and to a nearby boulder, providing cover and an observation point.
Gibson crawled toward the tree. The others followed.
The message that came through the radio speaker caused Major Shane to smile. Team One-three was out of danger and heading for the pickup zone.
The Air Force liaison tapped Colonel Ellis's shoulder. "Sir, can we go with the B-52 mission now?"
Ellis listened to the last words of Foley's transmission and stood up.
"Ed, what's the status from the other teams? Are they far enough away to go with the strike?"
Shane studied the map for a minute, calculating the distance. The minimum safe distance from a B-52 bomb run was 1500 meters. The team's teeth would ratde and they'd be shaken a bit, but if they took cover, they could ride it out safely. It was five kilometers from the western end of the Stadium, where the NVA camp was located, to the eastern end. Shane motioned the Air Force officer over and handed him a red grease pencil. "Mark on the map how the strike will go in."
The officer drew a long rectangle box as he explained: "The three BUFs will come in at 30,000 feet at four hundred knots in a vee formation. They're carrying 108 five-hundred-pound MARK 82s apiece. They'll make their strike perpendicular to the western end of the Stadium, guided by ground-based radar. There's a five- hundred-meter plus or minus error factor ..."
Shane computed the error factor and looked up at Ellis. "Sir, they'll be safe enough. Go with it."
The Air Force liaison shrugged his shoulders. "Why don't you just pull the two other teams? We found the camp."
Shane was about to answer when Ellis clapped the young Air Force major on the back and pointed to the map.
"The two teams still have to check out the mountains to ensure there aren't more of them. I'm sure the western end holds the main base camp, but it's unlikely the whole division would be there. If the other teams find more, we'll finish them off with your fast movers and our gunships. Somebody needs to be on the ground to direct them, right?"
The major smiled sheepishly, realizing his question had been dumb, and raised his wrist to look at his watch. "Well, gentlemen, I've gotten a lot smarter in the last couple of minutes and, just so you know I'm good for something, it's exactly two hours and ten minutes before bombs away."
Shane nodded toward Childs. "You'd better call Gibson and tell him to warn his teams."
Gibson lay beside the tree, observing from between strangler roots the small NVA camp below. He'd been watching the scene for several minutes and counting the personnel. He knew within seconds it was not the main base camp. There were less than fifty people. But he also knew this camp was special. There had to be big brass here. He'd never seen so many NVA officers and senior enlisted before. They were easy to identify by the K-54 pistols they carried. It had to be a headquarters of some kind. On several occasions he saw soldiers carrying papers to the large hut thirty- five meters from the ledge. Each time the soldiers came back empty-handed. Another interesting thing was a terrain model of the valley fashioned on the ground in the center of the camp. A platoon of regular infantry was camped just below the hut and seemed to have positions dug in facing the valley.
Russian and Wade, lying away from the tree, protected the lieutenant's back. Wade poked Gibson's leg and whispered, "We'd better get back and report this."
Gibson was about to back out when a soldier emerged from the hut. He was extremely tall for a Vietnamese and had silver- gray hair. He had no rank on his khaki shirt, but by the actions of die soldiers who all stopped work to look at him as he walked down the steps, Gibson knew he had to be the big cheese.
Gibson backed out slowly and looked into Wade's anxious face. "It's a headquarters of some kind."
Wade whispered over his shoulder as he started crawling. "Let's get the hell outta here."
Chapter 25
Thumper looked nervously at his watch, then stared down the slope again. "Where are they?" he asked himself for the tenth time. Preacher had received a message twenty minutes before that One-three had found an NVA camp and that a B-52 strike was on the way.
Thumper's eyes caught a movement. He immediately tapped Woodpecker to get ready to fire just in case. Thumper eased the safety off his weapon, but didn't put his finger on the trigger. Lieutenant Gibson's head became distinct, then his shoulders. Thumper marveled at how effectively camouflage fatigues and painted faces made the approaching men difficult to see.
He raised up and walked toward the lieutenant, repeating the radio message in an excited whisper.
Gibson's eyes widened and he looked quickly at his watch. It was 1220. The strike would hit at 1400 hours. He walked past Thumper and held his hand out toward Preacher. The small Indian immediately gave him the handset and whispered, "Zu- beck's team already knows about the strike and has laagered up to wait it out."
"Have they seen anything?" asked Gibson.
"No, sir, they're on a trail on the top of the ridge, but they haven't seen any signs."
Gibson brought the handset to his mouth and smiled. "Wait till the major hears this." He pressed the side bar and began whispering.
The operation center's inhabitants were quiet and still as Fo- ley's voice filled the room, relaying Gibson's report: NVA Headquarters had been found.
Colonel Ellis showed the only reaction by clapping his hands together when Foley reported the sighting of a tall Vietnamese officer with silver hair.
Shane looked at Ellis with a questioning stare. Obviously the Colonel knew something he and the others didn't.
Ellis stood up and spoke in a rasp, as if his throat was parched. "The team has got to kill him."
"Kill who?" asked Shane, perplexed.
Ellis stared at the wall map as if in a trance.
"General Binh Ty Due, the commander of all Communist forces in the south. I thought he'd be in the main camp, but Gibson's description is unmistakable. It's him."
"Sir, you never mentioned him before. We didn't plan.
Ellis interrupted, talking as if to himself. "I didn't think it mattered. He was supposed to be in the main camp. But now . . . now, we've got him!" Ellis's far-off look dissolved and he looked direcdy into Shane's eyes. "Your men have got to kill him!"
Shane shot up out of his chair. "What the hell are you talking about? You heard the report. There are forty men in that camp! It'd be impossible to kill one man and escape."
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p; Ellis's eyes didn't leave Shane's as he spoke coldly. "It's got to be done. The general is more important than the NVA Division-or ten divisions, for that matter. He's the mastermind, the tactical genius of the whole southern war effort. He has to be killed!"
Shane's jaw muscles rippled as his eyes burned holes through the colonel's forehead. "Sir, there is no way that. . ."
Childs stood up abrupdy between the two men, facing his major. "Sir, may I speak to you outside, nowV'
Shane ignored the sergeant and began to finish his reply to Ellis when Childs stepped closer and spoke roughly. "It's important, Sir!"
Shane spun around and marched up the TOC steps, followed closely by the sergeant.
Ellis looked around the room at the other faces staring at him. He knew they felt as Shane did-he was ordering the team to commit suicide.
the Last Run (1987) Page 37