The Phoenix

by Barry Sadler

Phang yelled to Casey. "Get out of there. The whole damned place is starting to cave in!"

  From the doorway, Casey knew that Phang was right. Clumps of sodden clay, mixed with palm thatch, were falling from the ceiling. He had to get out. The old fear of being buried alive forced him out of the room. Ho stuck his head around the corner to get a look at the attackers. He saw Casey standing in the light of the burning oil and smoke. Ho's face blanched at the sight of his nemesis.

  He cried out "evil!" and fired with his Tokarev. The 7.62 mm bullet hit Casey in the left shoulder, the copper-jacketed slug passing clean though him to bury itself in a timber. The force of the bullet spun him around. Casey turned back to see Ho taking aim again. He never had time. With no further warning, the roof of the tunnel suddenly dropped behind Casey then rolled over him covering him up in tons of mud. Ho screamed in glee. "We got him! The devil is done for Troung!"

  Phang could now see into the rain swept sky. Waters from the surface poured in rivers into the open cavity. He yelled for his men on the surface to do it now! There was nothing he could do for Casey. He was gone!

  The Kams, fighting with Troung's men below, backed up and climbed out of the tunnels. They didn't want to be there in the next few minutes.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Phang's men cracked open the drums of gasoline and began pouring them down every hole they could find.

  Smelling the gas fumes, Troung yelled at Ho. "They're going to try and burn us out!"

  Ho grabbed Troung's arm and pulled him with him down a side corridor, where a sheet of tin lay flush against the wall between two upright beams.

  "Help me!" he yelled, and grabbed the top of the tin sheet and pulled. Troung obeyed with eager hands. He thought he knew what his master had in mind. The tin sheet came loose. There was another tunnel concealed by the tin sheet that had been made for just such a purpose as this. Ho had kept it secret, even from his own men. One always needed a "hole card." He and Troung entered the dark tunnel and pulled the tin sheet back up behind them.

  In the dark of the tunnels, men tried to find sanctuary. Smelling the gasoline fumes they knew what was going to happen. Several tried to rush out of the openings only to be cut down by rifle fire before their shoulders could get through the opening.

  Phang was pulled out of the section of fallen tunnel by hanging on to a rifle butt. "Light the fires!" he commanded as soon as he and the rest of his men were clear. White phosphorus grenades were tossed into the holes to lie on pools of gasoline, most of which had floated deep into the tunnels, riding on top of the flow of water from the rains.

  Eye piercing brightness burst out of each hole as the white phosphorus grenades exploded. Almost simultaneously, the gasoline ignited. Black smoke billowed out of the holes as the fuel ate away the oxygen inside the tunnels, sucking the air out of the lungs of screaming men when they opened their mouths to cry for help.

  Ho led Troung down a narrow passageway that led to the outside, clear of the village perimeters. Behind them, the sheet of tin served to keep the flames from coming after them. The cries of dying men being suffocated, or burned alive, sped their movements, till at last Ho moved away a covering of thatch and grass that let them escape to the outside world. The rain felt good, clean. Even the wind of the storm helped to clean the stench of burning human flesh from their nostrils and mouths.

  A rolling ball of flame exploded, blasting off the door of the arms room, opening it up to the next wave of fire. The men outside felt a sudden draft of air going past them as the fire ate up what air remained in the tunnels and drew more to feed it from the outside. The influx of fresh air pushed another wall of flame into the arms room. Packed crates of 60 and 81 mm mortar rounds lay stacked by 122 mm rockets and open boxes of machine gun and rifle ammo. Hungrily, the flames attacked the wooden crates and washed around the heads of the rockets. The ammunition exploded. The surface ground erupted in several places. Gouts of smoke and flame burst through the surface of the earth to sizzle in mid-air as it came in contact with the rain. Clouds of steam rose to be washed away as the earth rippled and buckled. Phang and his men held onto whatever they could find to ride out this burning earthquake.

  Several of the villagers' houses fell into the cracks that had opened up in the earth. Phang's men helped to pull the people out, carrying the injured to other houses to be cared for by their own. They had no time to give any more assistance. Things were still chaotic.

  A group of eleven VC staggered out of the tunnel where the roof had fallen in on Casey. Dazed and in shock, they raised their eyes to the night and cried for help. Phang gave it to them. His men gathered around the pit. Instead of help, they gave them death as they fired round after round into the knot of men. Somehow others from the warrens below had found their way to the surface. Phang cursed. There must have been some exits his men had failed, to cover. Those freeing themselves from the inferno beneath were in a state of shock, terror and confusion. Phang's men ran among them shooting them down or slicing them to ribbons with their machetes. Three ran for the wire to try and crawl out of their own camp. Bursts of automatic fire tore their backs and chests out of them leaving them hanging on the barbed wire.

  From outside the camp, Ho and Troung watched for a few minutes as their men died. Silently they moved away and into the trees. They had to save themselves. That was their first duty. They were of vastly more importance than the few Bo Doi that were being slaughtered by the Kamserai barbarians. Ho would have Troung make a note to retaliate against the Kamserai by having ten of their people executed for each one of his that had died this night. That should please everyone. He had Troung lead the way. There might still be some of the animals in the trees.

  Ho and Troung both felt that the night had not been a total loss. At least the one called Romain was finally done for. Ho knew his bullet had hit the bastard and now he was properly interred. Buried under a wall of mud!

  Casca had covered up his head with his hand as the roof caved in on him. The weight of the mud pushed him down. He felt a heavy, crushing force come down on top of his body as a beam fell across him. He was pinned. The mud kept getting deeper over him. He tried to hold his breath, but it didn't make any difference. He couldn't breathe anyway. His nostrils and mouth filled with mud, choking off air that wasn't there. Trying to claw his way out, his right hand reached up toward the surface. Mud packed around it, keeping it in that position as blackness pulled him down. His last thought was of how long would he lie there.

  The worst of the storm was passing. The winds had settled into a whine instead of a shriek. Phang and his men were soaked to the bone, their clothes sticking to them as though they'd been plastered to their skins.

  The villagers stayed in their huts. Few even dared to look out their doors and when they did, they took only one quick look at the destruction and death about them and then quickly returned to the false security of their family units. They had seen that all of the Viets were dead, some lying around the camp face down in muddy water, but most would remain forever beneath their feet, in the graves they had dug for their own protection.

  Phang's men wanted to leave. They could see no reason to stay any longer, and every minute they did added to the possibility of a relief force of VC coming. Phang shook his head. He looked down at the pit where Casca lay buried. It was his people's belief that one had to be buried in the graveyard where their fathers rested in order to find peace in the afterlife. He would do his friend this last service and see that he was returned to his own. It was a matter of honor.

  He ordered his men into the pit. From the village a few shovels and picks had been found. His men worked in knee-deep mud, throwing the bodies of the dead Viets up to their friends. Then digging, shoveling and removing fallen beams, they searched through the mud. Rivers of rain running off the surface helped them as it flowed into the pit, washing away much of the mud and silt, flushing it down to the lower depths of the tunnels. A few bolts of lightning still split the night sky, providing brief peri
ods of illumination for them to work by.

  In one of those brief flashes of light, one of the Kams cried out. "I have found him!"

  The rain had washed away a small channel along the length of a beam. Casey's right hand stuck up through the mud as if reaching for the heavens. Phang told them, "Be quick, but be careful. Don't use the picks if you don't have to."

  They obeyed. Using their shovels and hands, they dug under the beam, freeing his body a bit at a time till they had his face clear enough to be washed clean of the mud by the sheets of rain. Tugging and pulling against the sucking mire, they finally had him free. .

  A stretcher had been prepared to carry him away. As he was laid in it, Phang looked at the still white face. With his own hand he cleaned it off as best he could, removing the clots of mud from his nose and mouth. It was said that it was through the mouth that the spirit left the body. He had seen many men die in his time, most of them from his own race, but this strange scarred, unhappy man somehow had touched him more than most.

  Well, this was no time to dwell on it. He had many miles to go this night before they could rest. By, dawn, with the passing of the storm, the VC would be after them. It would be best to be far away from this place. They would move back toward the South Vietnamese border. There, they would take Casey to the nearest American installation and turn his body over to them. Phang was sorry, not only for his friend, but that they had failed in their mission. Ho still lived, though many of his men had joined their ancestors. He did not know of what belief, if any, Casey had been, but once he was back in his home village he would make a sacrifice to his Gods for the Big Nose. It couldn't hurt.

  Phang sent all of his men home with the booty from the camp, except for ten strong men to help him take Casey back. He hoped that if the Viets came after them they would try and follow the larger party. If they did that they would have little chance of catching them for here the Viets were in a foreign land and the Kamserai knew every inch of the terrain from here to the great salt marshes of the southern coast.

  The makeshift stretcher was composed of a blanket between two poles. Phang covered Casey's face with part of it to keep the flies off. The ten men took turns at carrying their load, including Phang. The dark, silent lithe men had only one regret now that Casey was dead, and that was that they wished he didn't weigh so much.

  The storm passed an hour before first light. The dawn would be bright and crystal clear. Much of the going was rough as they had to cross through areas where trees had been uprooted and every hollow and low in the ground was a swamp.

  Crossing one of these small marshes, the stretcher slipped, spilling its load into the muddy fluid. Phang swore at the clumsiness of his men, even though he knew from experience the strain that carrying a dead man brought with it: the ache in the hands and shoulders, the hot burning ache that set right behind the neck and ran down between the shoulder blades.

  He reached under the hip-deep water for the corpse, groping for a hand hold. He caught Casey by the collar and hauled him face up to the surface. Phang called for help and two of his men helped to drag and tug the body to dry land. Once they had it on land, they lay it down facing back the way it had come, the head lower than the body. One of Phang's men slipped and fell heavily across Casey's back. The weight of his body as he fell across Casey's rib cage expelled trapped air from the lungs.

  Phang jumped as if he'd just been bitten by a snake. The air trapped inside of Casey came out of his lungs in a projectile burst. Plugs of brown mud and slime came with the air. The next most frightening thing was when the lungs sucked air back into them. Phang touched his good luck bag. Casey's body began to shiver and shake. His mouth opened and he vomited a fume of water and mucous from his stomach three feet straight into the air.

  The Kamserai stood back in a mixture of wonder and superstitious fear as the dead man on the ground went into convulsions. Phang threw his body on top of Casey to hold him down as his heels drummed into the ground. He spasmed at the gut, jerking his body off the ground at the waist then slamming it back. Then he was still. His breathing had eased to a slight rattle, the legs still trembling a bit as his eyelids began to flicker.

  Hoarsely, Casey managed to croak out the words, "Would you mind getting off of me? I got to take a leak."

  Phang broke down in tears. Casey was not dead! He didn't know how or what had happened, but he knew that there were many things in this life that he had no explanations for. He had seen holy men who could be buried alive under sand for days and still live. To him this resurrection was no stranger a miracle than that. It was enough that Casey lived!

  Ho was furious with the commander of the garrison in charge of security for the occupied region. The martinet would give him nothing in the way of men. The storm damage had been great and all of his men were needed for rescue and repair work. Also, if an attack were to come in strength, it would probably be at a time like this, when his lines of communication were in a severe state of disarray. Ho fumed and threatened to call Hanoi and General Giap. To this the commander only said:

  "Of course, you may do that if you wish, Colonel. We still have shortwave radio communication with the north. By the way, if you do get General Giap on the line tell him his nephew wishes him well."

  Ho left, knowing he had been outmaneuvered. But the game was not over. He and Troung would rebuild. Many of his agents had died in the tunnels, but there would be no shortage of volunteers to take their places. What he had to do now was return and recover what he could of his files and papers. The loss of those would mean weeks, if not months of reorganization.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  He threw up a couple of times and went through a bout of the dry heaves before his stomach was able to hold any water. Every muscle in his body ached. Upon examination there were several large purple-black splotches along his rib cage and lower lumbar. The rest of him was just a mass of bruises of varying shades and hues. Trying to get to his feet was a major effort requiring the strong arms of Phang to assist him.

  When he could finally speak coherently, his first question was: "Did we get him?"

  Phang had to regretfully inform him that they had failed and apologized for the lack of success, taking all the blame on himself.

  Casey leaned against a tree for support and shook his head to clear it of the remaining cobwebs.

  "It's not your fault, Phang. Who could plan on the damned tunnel falling in. Besides which, maybe we did get lucky and the son of a bitch is buried back there in one of the tunnels or maybe the fires got him. If we didn't get him we'll know soon enough. If he's dead, it'll take some time before someone else will be able to take his place and get his teams reorganized and back into operation. If he's still alive then we can expect him to make it known by a wave of assassinations as soon as he can put the word out. He's going to be pissed as hell and that will be his way of letting us know about it."

  Phang agreed that Casey's analysis was probably correct.

  "That is so, my friend. And we did have the pleasure of killing many of his men. The VC will not feel quite so secure in that area for some time to come. Now we have to get you back to your people. It is about ten more kilometers to the nearest South Vietnamese installation."

  Casey made part of the trip leaning on the arms of Phang's Kamserai. It took several clicks before his legs and body started to function properly again. By the time they reached the Nhan Dan Tu ve outpost where a People's Self-Defense Force guarded the approach to Tay Ninh he was moving if not with grace at least under his own power.

  The sun was high in the clear sky when they reached the outpost. Phang had one of his men strip to the waist to show he was carrying no weapons and sent him up to the village gate. He and Casey waited out of rifle range until he returned with a squad of armed South Vietnamese under the command of an ARVIN officer.

  Casey moved up to the front to greet them, knowing his Caucasian appearance might keep the South Viets from getting trigger happy at the sight of ten armed men c
arrying AKs and SKS rifles. The officer, a first lieutenant, had a good grasp of English and quickly understood that he was to radio Song Be and tell them that a Sgt. Romain was with them and to send a chopper to get him.

  Casey took one of the Kam's AKs with him as well as a few magazines of ammo. Even if this was a People's Self-Defense Force village he wasn't going in unarmed. Phang was a bit reluctant to leave him until he knew that his friend was safely on his way to Song Be, but he also knew that the presence of his heavily armed Cambodians in the village would be unwelcome.

  "I will leave you now. We have several days' march ahead of us before we reach our home grounds. Have your people contact me by radio to let me know that all is well with you."

  All this he said in the presence of the Vietnamese officer.

  "If I do not get word that all is well, then my men and I will know what to do and who to do it to."

  He looked straight into the lieutenant's eyes when he said this. The warning, though veiled was clearly understood. The South Viet shivered as though someone had dug around his father's grave to make room for one more.

  Casey shook his friend's hands. "You'll know and we'll meet again. Farewell, Old One, till then."

  Phang waited till Casey had entered the gates of the village before turning his back to lead his men home. He had meant every word he had spoken. If harm came to his friend while in the' village, he would return with all his warriors and put everyone and everything there to the sword. Not even the dogs or rats would be left alive to scratch among the ruins.

  Gomez had been waiting at HQ since midnight. He knew there was nothing he could do, and until the storm passed he wouldn't be able to get a flight out to check over Ho's camp. But waiting by the radio was better than lying awake in his bunk all night listening to the howling of the winds outside and wondering what was happening. It was a strange feeling to be sitting with a hot cup of coffee in a warm building, while he knew that at that very moment men were fighting and dying in the dark. He felt strangely left out and somehow guilty for not being with them. He had requested that he be permitted to go along on the raid, but Tomlin had flatly refused and made it quite clear that if he did go, the best he could expect when he returned was a general court-martial and expulsion from the service. He was still there the next morning, red-eyed and suffering from a caffeine overdose when the storm passed and he was able to get a reconnaissance flight made over Ho's camp. When the report came in that the camp looked to be destroyed and there were many bodies in evidence all over the place, he called Tomlin to inform him that the camp had been hit though with what final results he didn't know. The colonel was relieved. It felt as though a rucksack full of sand had been taken from his shoulders. That ugly, scar-faced bastard had done it.