“Gene.”
“Don’t worry, Jim,” he said, not breaking eye contact with Nguyen. But don’t think I wouldn’t like to. He grabbed a handful of the colonel’s black hair, jerked him to his feet, and half-shoved, half threw him at Brian, three feet away.
“Get that fucker tied up, and gag him,” Jim ordered. “Quick. We’re out of here.”
“Wolves coming in three,” Roland yelled.
Gene turned just in time to see the Wolves appear far out, over the treetops. They were coming in low from the west, to extract them.
The squad had moved to encircle Brian and the now docile Nguyen and secure their position for extraction. Gunfire and rocket explosions filled the morning air. Brian, gripping Nguyen’s arm, was shifting his weight so he could throw his prisoner down to handcuff him.
“Fuck you!” Nguyen, in a burst of motion flipped Brian to the ground and snatched the K-bar knife from his H-harness before any of the squad could move. He took a few fast steps backward, putting him a good eight feet from Brian.
Almost instantly back on his feet, Brian swung his Stoner up and aimed. By then, the entire squad had Nguyen in their weapons’ sights.
“Come on, you fucking American pigs!” Nguyen yelled, brandishing the knife. “I’m not going back alive!”
“Drop the knife,” Jim ordered.
“Dau-mau-mee, ” Nguyen replied. “Come and get it.”
Gene ached to trigger the 60. But their orders were to capture the colonel if at all possible, and he seemed to know it.
“Wolves,” Roland shouted, “two minutes out.”
“Drop the fucking knife,” Jim yelled at Nguyen, “or we’ll blow you away.”
“Do it!” Nguyen yelled back. “You American assholes are weak. You die easy, like Willie, like the Green Beret officer, like the French. This is our country. You’ll never defeat us.”
Jim spoke to Brian, standing just to his right. “Take him out.”
“No!” Gene shouted. “No! Wait! Jim, he knew Willie’s name! He has an informant back at the Float!”
“Wolves, one minute out,” Roland yelled. “What do I tell them?”
“Nothing,” Jim yelled back. “Let them come in. You got this, Gene?”
“Yes, sir. I can take him alive.”
Gene handed Jim the 60, pulled the bandoliered ammunition off over his head, and dropped the belts to the ground.
Nguyen, poised and waiting, wore a half-smile.
Gene walked slowly to within three feet of him.
“If Gene gets into trouble,” Jim commanded, “blow the fucker’s head off.”
Gene moved closer, and Nguyen slashed out with Brian’s razor sharp knife, missing—but not by much. As they circled each other, Nguyen slashed out twice more, but was blocked each time. Then, suddenly, he charged, in an attempt to stab.
Gene grabbed Nguyen’s arm as he thrust the blade toward his stomach, and twisted it while stepping forward and under, flipping the colonel to the ground. Controlling Nguyen’s arm, he used a wristlock until the knife fell from the colonel’s grip. When he reached down to retrieve the K-bar, Nguyen kicked him in the head. He lost his grip on the colonel’s arm, and suddenly they were in a wrestling match. The other SEALs closed in to club Nguyen into submission, but suddenly firing erupted close by.
“Contact! Contact!” Cruz yelled, and Gene heard him open fire, just as Nguyen went for his eyes. Now it really was one-on-one.
“On line with Cruz!” Jim yelled to the squad.”
As Gene and Nguyen fought, the rest of the SEALs opened up, trying to drive the enemy back into the jungle’s edge. Forces from the camp they had passed had heard the firing and were moving in to assist Nguyen’s troops. They had started to run right into the clearing when Cruz spotted them.
“Roland,” Jim shouted, “radio the Wolves to pull out. It’s a hot LZ!”
Overhead, the helos were thirty to forty feet from the deck when they got the call, and quickly pulled up.
Gene and Nguyen were in hand-to-hand combat, and Gene found fighting with Nguyen like doing battle with a wild animal. His twists and lunges were powerful, and he was incredibly fast. In addition, Gene was handicapped by his Levi’s and jungle boots. Nguyen had landed several hand-strikes, and Gene had a bloody nose and a gash above his left eye.
The sound of the firefight filled the air, and Gene recognized the sound of his own 60, just as Nguyen twisted loose and jumped back. He was almost smiling when Gene landed his first blow. His snap kick to Nguyen’s midsection sent the colonel back four feet.
“How do you know Willie’s name?” Gene asked as they circled each other, trying to find an opening for their next move.
“You Americans think we’re stupid,” Nguyen said. “We have men everywhere. I even know who you are now.”
He bolted forward with lightning speed, landing another blow to Gene’s jaw, and followed it with a kick to his stomach. When Gene doubled over, Nguyen came up with a knee to his head, sending him backward to the ground.
The squad had stopped the enemy from coming into the clearing, but were still receiving heavy fire from the jungle’s edge. There was no way of knowing how many enemy there were, nor whether they had radio contact with Nguyen’s other forces.
“Roland,” Jim called, glancing back at Gene and Nguyen, “have the Wolves lay down some rockets into their position, slow them down enough so we can get Nguyen secured.
Doc, Alex, Cruz—maintain fire! Roland, over here with me to call in and direct the Wolves’ rocket strike. Brian, get back there and help Gene,” Jim yelled. “Kill that fucker if you have to.”
Nguyen, winded, was standing over Gene. “You are Michaels,” he said triumphantly. “I have heard that you have searched for me a long time.” He moved in again, fast.
Gene rose to one knee and landed a powerful blow to Nguyen’s sternum, stopping him in his tracks.
As the colonel sucked for air, Gene got to his feet and saw Brian sighting his Stoner.
“No!” Gene screamed. “No! He’s mine! I’ve got him!” He wiped his bloody face with his sleeve, clearing his left eye so he could see.
“Gene,” Brian shouted back, “Jim said to kill him.”
“Goddammit, Brian, just get the Wolves in here. I’ll take him.”
Nguyen laughed. “Your time has run out. You stupid Americans. My troops surround you. You SEALs are nothing. You are little children to us. Toy soldiers.”
Gene heard only the words “little children,” and in the purple haze of rage that engulfed him he saw only Tong’s small daughters, dead in the burned-out village.
“Fuck you, you sonofabitch! You’re going back to hang!”
He went after Nguyen in a fury of kicks and blows that Nguyen no longer could block.
Now hurt, the colonel still fought, landing several more blows to Gene’s face and body. But the purple haze had turned on, and Gene no longer felt pain.
He dropped to the ground, and with a swift motion swept the colonel’s legs from under him. As Nguyen hit the ground, Gene followed with a heel to his chest. Nguyen buckled, his head lifting. Gene landed a smashing blow to the head, and Nguyen lay motionless. It was over.
Brian knelt, rolled Nguyen on his face, then handcuffed and gagged him.
“Wolves in for a hot extraction!” Jim yelled. “Get ready to move!”
The squad ran to surround them. Gene was bent over, breathing hard, and Brian was standing guard over Nguyen.
The Wolves came in fast. Gene sucked up a lungful of air, and with all the strength he had left, jerked Nguyen’s limp body up, threw him over his shoulder, and carried him to the helo. At the doorway, he threw him inside, then climbed slowly in, himself, followed by Jim, Roland, and Brian.
Cruz, Alex, and Doc boarded the second helo, and seconds later they were lifting off.
Jim stared at him. “Jesus, Gene. You okay?”
Gene grinned, slowly getting to his knees. “Yes, sir. Couldn’t be better.” Ngu
yen was just coming around. He had a shocked expression, as though he couldn’t believe he was secured in their helicopter.
His smile gone, Gene reached in his pocket. He pulled out the epaulet he’d found in Tong’s wife’s hand and threw it in the colonel’s face. “Here’s your badge of honor, you sonofabitch. May you burn in hell.” Then he took his usual seat in the doorway and went silent, staring down at the jungle below.
Behind him, Jim got on the radio. “Mission accomplished,” he said. “We have a package coming in.” He turned to Brian and Roland. “You two make sure nobody says a word about Nguyen or the possibility of an informant on Seafloat.”
“What’s going to happen to Nguyen?” Brian asked.
“He won’t be given to the South Vietnamese. He’ll be interrogated by U.S. only. If the informant gets wind of his capture, he may split before he can be identified. When we touch down there’ll be a helo waiting. Brian and I will transfer him immediately. No one will even sec him.”
Gene, sitting in the doorway, saw that the sun was barely up. The diversion had broken contact, and all forces were heading back to their bases.
“Jim,” Brian yelled, over the noise of the helo’s engines, “I’m sorry, man. I never thought he’d try to escape.”
Gene turned around. From the look on Brian’s face, he was really pissed at himself.
“Don’t worry about it,” Jim yelled back. “I didn’t expect it either. His only chance to survive was to make a break and attempt to reach the tree line.”
“Yeah,” Brian said, “but look at Gene. He’s a bloody mess!”
“His choice,” Jim said, and they all laughed.
“Great fight, though,” Gene said. “Admit it.”
“Hoo-Ya!” they yelled.
Brian burst out laughing. “Great fight, all right, but the best is yet to come.”
Gene looked around. “What do you mean, the best is yet to come?”
“When we land, who do you think is gonna be waiting?”
“Who?”
“Hah!” Roland laughed. “I know—Doc!”
Gene cringed. “Oh, man. Do I look that bad?”
“Worse,” Jim said, and they laughed again.
Well, Gene consoled himself, the diversion had worked, and with Nguyen all trussed up on the floor a few feet away, they’d sure as hell achieved their objective. Once the colonel had given them the intel, he’d be tried by his own people, and they’d hang him for sure. Payback time, for all his crimes…and for Willie. Let Doc do his worst. It was time to celebrate. He leaned against the door frame and relaxed.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
EXCITEMENT RAN HIGH WITH the guys. The sounds of their voices filled the helo as they flew back to Seafloat.
“Man, we did it—Jim, good op, you bad-ass—did you see how many there were? The dumb shits, did they bite the big one—I can’t believe we walked through the center of them—and Gene, what a fight—”
He couldn’t see who was saying what, but he knew their voices. Below, the dark green of the jungle seemed to stretch away forever. It undulated, like the sea, and like it, concealed for all their secrets beneath its surface.
“You okay, Gene?”
“Yeah.”
“Good. You did good,” Jim said. “I knew what you planned, what was running through your brain. Marc Kenau told me before he went home.”
His fingers tightened around the 60. Treetops flowed away below.
“I knew, though, you’d do what was right. Didn’t say anything because it was something you had to do by yourself if you were to survive.” Jim rested his hand on Gene’s shoulder. “It’s over. Let it go.
He looked at his lieutenant and felt the burn of unshed tears. “Yeah, it’s over, but it still hurts.”
Jim squeezed his shoulder. “Just hang in there. The hurt will go away—in time.”
It was over now. Really over. And here they were, ready to go back to The World. Nobody’d had to go on the op, yet they all had, knowing at the outset it would be the hardest, most dangerous situation they’d faced, and the largest number they’d gone against. They’d all believed that not all of them would make it back.
“—walked right through the middle of their damned camp!” somebody said behind him.
Yeah, he thought, a perfect op. The squad had drawn fire, but achieved their mission objective, and they were going home. The diversion forces, though—they’d taken a massive number of enemy rounds. Nobody knew their status yet.
“Hey, Gene!” Cruz yelled. “You still have the magic. Still nobody ever greased or bad hurt with you along.”
He turned around, just in time to hear Alex’s reply.
“You forget the prayer you asked for when we started out?”
Cruz, startled, stared at him.
The rest of the squad shot looks at one another.
“Gene,” Jim said, “you have one of thanks for us?”
He sighed, resigned to following through, and bowed his head. “Dear Lord, thank You for protecting us. Thank You for the justice done this day. Amen.”
“Amen,” they chorused, and grinned. “Hoo-Ya!”
Gene just shook his head.
Johnny was waiting when the Wolves landed at Seafloat, and congratulated Jim, the first one off, then shook hands with the rest of the squad as they debarked. “Well done,” he repeated, “well done.”
“Debrief in an hour,” Jim said on the way to their hootch. “Get some chow, change, and I’ll see you at the briefing room.”
“You sure?” Doc questioned. “We can relax now and party? No more going out?”
“You got it, Doc. It’s party time.”
They yelled as one. “Hoo-Ya!”
Doc wasn’t satisfied. “You wouldn’t bullshit me, would you, sir?”
“No, Doc. Not you, buddy. You can pack tonight and sit on the helo pads for the next four and a half days if you want.” Jim grinned. “We’re done. We’re going home.”
Johnny started to walk away.
“Just a minute,” Jim called. “Let’s debrief now.”
“What about chow?” Roland asked.
“Don’t worry,” Jim said. “Everyone in the hootch. You-O, get beers.” He grinned. “Put them on Johnny’s tab. He’s buying.”
Gene felt the urge of habit, wanted to get the 60 cleaned, have her ready. Just in case. But he waited while Cruz passed out beer. A six-pack each. Around him, tabs started to pop.
“Just a minute, guys,” Jim said. “The debrief first.”
They gathered around him.
“Was it dark out there?”
“Yeah,” they answered.
“Was there mud?”
“Yeah.”
Looking at them, Gene could tell by their expressions that they, like him, were wondering what the hell Jim was doing.
“Did you see any enemy forces?”
Then it dawned on him. Who the hell cared about this last debrief? Jim was just going through the steps.
“Well,” he asked again, “did you see any enemy forces?”
Jim held his can of beer up. The squad did the same.
“Did Gene beat the shit out of Nguyen?”
“Hoo-Ya!” they yelled, and chugged their beers.
“Well,” Jim said, “1 guess we’re done, then. Anybody want to drink with me?”
Gene carried his beer to his rack. There was a letter on his pillow. He picked it up, turned it over. Sealed, but no address. Just “Gene Michaels” written on the front. He shoved it in his back pocket and headed for the door.
“Gene,” Jim called, “aren’t you going to party?”
“Got something to do,” he answered. “Won’t take long.” He went over to the helo pads. Tommy’s squad was getting ready to go out.
He’d wanted a few moments alone, but with all the activity, he decided to wait until dark. He went back to the hootch. Just inside the door, Johnny stopped him.
“Here,” he said, handing back the unopened lette
r to Karen. “Can’t tell you how glad I am I won’t have to send this.”
“No gladder than I am,” Gene answered, stuffing the letter in the back pocket of his jeans with the other one. “But thanks a lot.”
“And this just came in for you.” Johnny smiled and handed over a folded sheet of paper.
Gene opened it. The first word he saw was in big, bold letters: Congratulations!The next words stunned him. You are the proud father of a baby girl. 6 pounds, 3 ounces. Born 0337 September 20, 1970. Both your wife and daughter are doing well.
“Hoo-Ya!” he yelled at the top of his voice.
The squad went heads-up.
“What the hell?” said Cruz.
Gene felt like his grin would split his cheeks, but he couldn’t stop it. “A daddy! Karen! Baby girl! A daddy!” He was so overwhelmed that he couldn’t get a complete sentence out. “Hoo-Ya!”
“Hoo-Ya, Gene!” they yelled back.
He turned to Johnny. “Thank you! Thank you so very much.”
“You’re very damned welcome,” Johnny said, laughing. “See ya.” He waved and headed back to die NILO office.
“Let’s go swimming,” Roland yelled, and the SEALs started stripping.
In minutes, Gene was the only one of the squad left on Seafloat. He jumped on the sandbags, then vaulted on the roof. From ten feet above the water, he yelled, “Hoo-Ya!” leapt outward and up, executing a one-and-a-half forward flip. Lordy, the water felt good.
All around him the river was alive with laughter, grab-assing, dunking, and splashing of the squad. Above them, onlookers from Seafloat’s crew were stopping to watch before going about their work.
Lot of jealousy and resentment up there, Gene thought. Everybody not in SEAL Team worked regular hours, either on Seafloat or ashore, building the Solid Anchor airstrip. They put in lots of eighteen-hour days. Yet they seldom saw the SEALs work. When they were on Seafloat, the SEALs drank and played endless card games or slept—and some went out at night.
He dove, a long, smooth glide underwater, and came up just in time to see the helos take off with Tommy’s squad aboard. He floated, watching. Flying low and building speed, they passed just overhead, and he saw Tommy sitting in the doorway, yelling down, “Hoo-Ya!”
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