the Last Run (1987)

by Leonard B Scott

  Once outside, Shane angrily turned around. "I'm not doing it! The son of a bitch can go fuck himself!"

  Childs lowered his head and spoke quiedy. "He's right."

  "No! No, Jerry, God damn it! You can't mean it."

  Childs looked up at his major with eyes set. "He'll relieve you. He'll relieve you on the spot and order the mission himself. Believe me, I know. Ed, he's looking at a bigger picture than you and me. He don't see faces, he sees only statistics. He's got a job to do, a shitty job in a shitty war, and he knows he's right. He'll do it and he'll be able to live with himself after it's over." Childs stepped closer, almost as if pleading. "God damn, Ed, you gotta do it! We know those men. They're ours. With our experience we can plan out the mission, and they'll have a chance. If Ellis takes over . . . then it's finished for them."

  Shane stared at his sergeant for a long time, then lowered his head. "Ellis may be able to live with himself, but how about me? How am I if I order that mission?"

  Childs turned slowly and began walking toward the TOC steps. He paused in the entrance and looked over his shoulder. "How ya gonna live if you walk away from it?"

  Childs stepped into the lighted room, walked to the radio, and sat down. He avoided the stares from the others by looking up at the hanging aerial photo map.

  Colonel Ellis, still waiting, was about to speak to Childs when Shane walked down the steps and strode up to the seated Air Force liaison. "How much time we got?"

  The Air Force officer quickly lifted his wrist. "Uh . . . one hour and twenty-one minutes."

  Shane nodded toward the radio. "Jerry, call Foley and have him relay to Gibson he's going to hit the general. . . . Tell him to plan the hit to coincide with the B-52 strike. Other info will follow in fifteen minutes."

  Shane looked into the surprised face of the Air Force major. "Get me a pair of Phantom-4s over the Stadium once the bomb run is over. Gibson will direct them if they're needed. And make sure others are standing by."

  Shane turned to the Army Air liaison.4 'I want two sets of Guns orbiting a couple of miles from the Stadium. Once the bombing is complete, have them report immediately to Gibson for instructions. Have two more sets ready, and get two Slicks rigged with ropes so we can McGuire-rig the teams out if needed."

  Both liaisons reached for telephones as Shane looked up at Colonel Ellis without showing any expression. "Sir, you better call Corps and make sure no paper-pusher denies or fails to understand the importance of these requests. I need first priority on every air asset this Corps has till this is over."

  Ellis stared at Shane for an instant, then smiled. "You've got it!"

  Childs finished his radio transmission to Foley as Shane yanked the aerial photo from the wall and spread it on the table.

  "Jerry, give me the exact location of the team and the NVA camp . . ."

  Sergeant Thong stood in front of the tired private and smiled. "You have cut enough wood for today, Nuu. Stack what you have cut by the hut. You will find a cup of cool tea on the first step for you."

  The young soldier wiped his sweat-beaded brow with his shirt sleeve and began to offer his thanks when a signal corporal yelled out to Thong.

  "Comrade Thong, you are needed!"

  Thong walked to the terrain model where the signalman was standing holding two pieces of string.

  "Old one, Colonel Sy wants you to place the string on your model to represent the phone communications wire we laid this morning."

  Thong beamed with pride. Colonel Sy respected his skills and knew he would place the strings expertly.

  The old sergeant had seen the signal team walk into camp earlier that morning holding the bamboo pole, unreeling the spool of commo wire. Thong took the first string. "Tell me now exactly the route of the wire team."

  The signalman knelt at the western end of the model. "The Second Division Headquarters is located directly across the valley and five hundred meters into the forest. We ran the wire out to the edge of the open fields, then, to hide it, we skirted along the mountains to the north. It is along the path hidden by the trees."

  Thong knew the trail. It was the trail they had taken to reach their present camp.

  "And the second string?"

  The signalman pointed to the ring of mountains to the north. We ran wire from the Thirty-third Regiment down the mountain to the trail and followed the same path to here."

  "Is the Thirty-third still camped along the top of the mountain?" asked Thong.

  "Yes, they are twenty-five hundred meters from the Second Division Headquarters and three kilometers from this camp."

  Thong placed the string and stepped back to look at his work. "The phones are working now?"

  "Of course. I do not walk all this way for nothing. Your general can talk to anyone in the Second Division. Do you want to see for yourself?"

  Thong smiled. "No, I am too tired. I just laid your phone wire across the valley."

  The signalman laughed and walked toward the boulder outcrop to his new field phones.

  The headquarters radioman tossed off his headset and hollered to his communications seigeant. He had just received a message from the radio relay team that they had picked up American traffic on their radio.

  The seigeant read the message and quickly walked over to Colonel Sy, who was updating his maps for a briefing to the general.

  "Comrade, the radio team has heard several messages over the radio on the FM frequency. They say messages are being relayed by a plane."

  Colonel Sy immediately dropped his pencil and grabbed the report. Radio traffic on FM frequency meant ground units! Planes used higher frequencies to communicate. FM transmission was limited by distance, which meant American units were somewhere close by . . . but where? The colonel spun around to the easel map. The Americans could be anywhere in a twenty-mile radius.

  Lieutenant Huy, bringing out another easel for the briefing, noticed his colonel's distress. "What is wrong, comrade?"

  The colonel pointed at the map. "Call the Second Division Headquarters and tell them American units may be in the area. Have them send out patrols to search outside their camp. Then call the Thirty-third Regiment on the mountain. Tell them to send two platoons to this location. Have one take the valley trail and the other patrol along the rim of the mountains. Have them also check the stream you visited the other day and the trail behind us."

  The lieutenant began to pick up the phone handset, but paused. "Do you want me to wake the general and tell him?"

  The colonel shook his head.4 'No, the Americans may be miles from here. This is only a precaution. He needs his rest. I will tell him later."

  The lieutenant rang the field phone handle and began talking.

  Sergeant Zubeck and his team lay in a depression made by a large, uprooted tree only fifty feet from the mountain trail. Zubeck waited with the radio handset held to his ear. Five minutes before, he had overheard Gibson receive orders to make a hit on a general. Zubeck knew the recon mission was over. Gibson would be ordering him to come to their location or to move back to the cave entrance and wait.

  The static in the radio suddenly turned into silence, then a voice whispered, "Zulu One, move back to First Base and secure it. We will be running after hit so don't fire on us. We will arrive at approximately 1415. Over."

  Zubeck whispered a quick, "Roger. Out," and tossed the handset to his radio operator. "Okay guys, we're going back to the cave to set up a defensive position. The other team has found an NVA headquarters and they're going to grease a big general. They'll be running back to the cave, so no shooting unless you're sure it's not our guys. Let's move it."

  Lieutenant Gibson motioned to the small terrain model he'd made and whispered, "It's simple. Russian and I will be hidden on the ledge. When the first B-52 bombs hit across the valley, the dinks will be confused and run for cover. The general will run out of his hut, and Russian will pop him with the silencer. Nobody will know what happened. Matt and Rose will be on the left flank of the ledge. Woodp
ecker and Thumper on the right. If we're seen and they try to flank us, you guys blow 'em away and throw gas to slow 'em down. If the general isn't in the hut, he'll probably be in a briefing area just below the ledge, so he'll be an even easier target. Either way, if you see us jump up and start running, everybody run. We all come back to here, where Preacher will be securing the patrol base. We'll grab our rucks and run to the cave entrance, where Zubeck's team will be waiting. Any questions?"

  Russian pointed to the old Montagnard. "What about Toan?"

  Gibson shook his head. "We don't need him involved in this, but I can't let him go. He'll stay here with Preacher."

  Gibson looked at his watch. It was forty minutes before the bombs hit. "Okay, that's it, then. Remember, I'll be carrying the radio. If something happens to me, make sure one of you gets the radio . . . it's our lifeline outta here." Gibson looked into the painted faces and smiled. "Well, let's go kill us a general."

  Major Shane, sipping coffee from a brown-stained cup, watched Childs scratch Bitch's stomach. The yellow mongrel was sprawled on her back on the floor, whimpering in ecstasy. Childs looked up, self-conscious of Shane's stare, and abruptly sat up. Bitch lay perfecdy still for a moment, then turned over and began whining for more.

  "Go on, Jerry, I won't tell anybody," said Shane, smiling.

  Childs looked at his watch. It was ten before two. "Jesus H. Christ, I wish this was over!"

  Shane stood and stretched his back. "In ten minutes hundreds of men will be dead. Most will never know what happened. God, it's a horrible thought.''

  The Air Force major leaned up in his chair. "But it's only gooks. What do you care?"

  Shane looked over his raised coffee cup at the major. "You ever see what your bombs do?"

  "Sure, I've seen the pictures. So what?"

  Shane sat down tiredly and leaned back. "Never mind."

  The Army air liaison walked down the steps into the TOC. "Ed, the Slicks are rigged with the McGuire rigs you ordered. I hope we don't have to use them. Men are awfully vulnerable hanging from those ropes."

  The Air Force major put his feet up on the desk. "How's that work, anyway?"

  The Army pilot sat down. "We lower ropes down from the bird. The team hooks in with snap-links and we lift them out. We only use it when there's no LZs 'cause the Slick is a sitting target, too."

  "They won't have to use them if they get to the cave, right?"

  The Army pilot lowered his head. "Yeah, if they make it to the cave."

  Senior Sergeant Tran Quy held up his hand to stop his platoon. He looked at his map to confirm his location to call back to the Thirty-third Regiment Headquarters and report his progress. His thirty-man platoon had been ordered to move out immediately and patrol the mountain trail that led to General Due's headquarters. According to the map he was only a kilometer from the stream and waterfall. He took the radio handset and called the headquarters to give his exact location. He did this to coordinate his movement with the other platoon from his company, which was taking the valley trail. If they reached the stream at the same time, they could mistake each other for the enemy. The headquarters radioman reported the other platoon was two kilometers away from the stream.

  Quy smiled to himself. His men were moving more quickly than Sergeant Chuong's third platoon. Chuong was young and overly cautious.

  Quy put his map inside his shirt and waved his men forward. He would reach the stream first and wait for the third platoon before continuing. His men would gain strength from laughing at their slower third platoon comrades and he would be able to chide his fellow platoon leader for being so cautious.

  Russian crawled into position behind the gnarled roots of the strangler fig and peered down into the camp. The general was not in the briefing area, but several other high-ranking officers were. They seemed to be preparing for a briefing. The general's hut was thirty-five meters away with no obstructions to hamper his shot.

  Gibson slid in beside him and tapped his leg twice, signaling that the others were in position. Russian raised his Sterling and rested it on the roots to steady his aim.

  Gibson looked at his watch and felt his stomach tighten. It was almost time. He backed away from Russian to give him room and crawled to the other side of the tree. When the bombs hit he would peer over the ledge and back up Russian if he missed.

  Sergeant Zubeck dipped his hands into the refreshing stream and splashed his face with cool water. His team had refilled their canteens and had taken a defensive position in front of the cave entrance. Zubeck walked to the large boulder with the small tree growing from its top and looked over his men's position. It wasn't the best place to be. There was high ground on both sides of the stream, but it was all he could do. His men were hidden behind small Ixmlders and clumps of bamboo, facing the stream toward the valley. They'd placed their Claymores out and were ready.

  Zubeck sat down next to his radio operator and looked at his watch. "Charlie," he whispered, "it's almost show time."

  General Sang, the Second Division commander, folded the letter he wrote to his wife and put it into his shirt pocket. He stood up and walked out of the open tent. The huge camp was quiet except for the loud voices of the political officers giving classes to assembled groups of men. Sang strolled to the closest group and sat down. He didn't listen to the officer, but instead looked around at the magnificent beauty of the forest. The sun's rays penetrated the thick canopy in only a few places, allowing narrow shafts of golden light to spot the forest floor.

  General Sang reached out a hand for one of the spots when the ground suddenly shook. He jumped to his feet just as a horrible "Crunch-Barooom" traveled the five hundred meters from the first bomb's detonation. The men around him screamed in terror and ran in all directions for protection as he stood frozen in disbelief. The rumbling of the first explosion was quickly blotted out by a continuous succession of other earthshaking explosions that grew louder in intensity as they approached. The ground pitched and rolled, knocking him down as the hurricane-force wind and shock waves rushed through the trees carrying smoke, dirt, debris, and death. Crack, Crack, Boom, Crack, Boom, Boom.

  Sang grabbed the exposed roots of a tree to stop himself from rolling on the lurching ground. He screamed in agony; he felt as if his brain was being sucked out through his bulging eyeballs by the concussion. He could no longer breathe or hear, but he held tight to the roots. Suddenly, he was yanked upward viciously. He last saw his hands and severed arms still holding the roots as he was flung skyward.

  Russian held the Sterling tighter, trying to ignore the thunderous explosions across the valley. Blocking out the yelling and screaming from the camp below, he sighted down the barrel toward the hut and waited for his target.

  Private Nuu stood under the general's elevated hut, afraid to move. He was scared and confused by the horrible rumbling and screaming from the camp. He looked at the hut floor above him and yelled for his sergeant.

  Sergeant Thong dropped the mango he was cutting as the hut vibrated from the violent eruptions. General Due sprang wide- eyed from his bed and rushed for the door. He took one step out the door and turned, yelling for Thong. The old sergeant had followed but stopped just inside the doorway upon seeing the dark clouds billowing across the valley.

  Russian aimed at the general's chest and began to pull the trigger. The general grabbed Thong with one hand and shoved him toward the steps. Russian saw his target blocked just as he squeezed the trigger. Thong jerked sideways with the bullet's impact and clutched the general. He slid down the general's chest, smearing blood on his khaki shirt. He tried to speak and raised his hand as if for forgiveness as a second bullet ripped through his outreached hand into the general's shoulder and knocked him off the porch.

  The general hit heavily on his back and lay gasping. Above him his old friend lay on the porch jerking spasmodically, his head and arm dangling over the ledge.

  Russian looked over the smoking barrel for his target, but the general had fallen from vi
ew. J. D. Gibson cursed under his breath, seeing what had happened, and crawled to a higher vantage point. He could just see the general lying on the ground and that he was moving. Shit! Gibson brought his rifle up, knowing he had to finish the job.

  Nuu had heard the footsteps on the porch and couldn't believe his eyes when the general fell to the ground only a few meters away. Nuu forgot his fear and ran to help his leader.

  Gibson raised his rifle and took aim, but his target was partially blocked by a soldier who'd just run from under the hut. Gibson fired anyway.

  Nuu's right leg jerked out in front of him uncontrollably and he fell forward. He tried to catch his balance but was suddenly knocked violently to the side. He struck the ground beside the general, screaming in excruciating pain. He felt as if his lower body was burning from within. He gagged and jerked as he bounced and rolled on the ground trying to find release from the burning, tormenting agony.