by Nick Carter
I knew what weapons Chong had; that one long drab army bayonet. Besides his quick mind and fleet body that was it. I had Wilhelmina, my stripped Luger with half the shells fired; Hugo, my stiletto which was all right for close work but no good at a distance, and Pierre, my gas bomb. That comprised our total forces. With those weapons Chong and I were going to take on a company of Chinese regular soldiers. I wished I had a cigarette.
An hour passed. I was pacing back and forth along the road. Lovely visions danced just behind my eyes. Suppose in all the jostling of the last few days those little electronic capsules had become defective? It could have happened anytime. I hadn't been too careful with that pack. So it was possible that little red button wasn't working at all.
"Nick!" Chong called. "I can hear them!"
I could hear the trucks myself now, on the other side of the curve.
"What are we going to do, man?" Chong asked. He had lowered his voice, and his tone was anxious. He was looking toward the curve where in a few moments the first truck would be coming.
If we hid and waited for a strike force, which might not even be coming, we would have to let the trucks pass. That would be no problem. All we would have to do is hide in the jungle. But the road was narrow here. I don't know what it was like farther on. If we had any advantage at all, it was here.
I punched Chong's arm. "Come on!"
We ran to the opposite side of the road so that the trucks would be coming at us from the left. Chong stayed right on my tail. I plunged into the jungle, then immediately turned back. I crouched to my knees. Chong came down with me. The laboring engines were much clearer now and coming directly from the curve as though the trucks had already entered it.
"Just what the hell do you think you're going to do, Nick?" Chong asked.
"Stop those trucks if I can. Give help enough time to reach us, if help is coming."
Chong patted my shoulder tenderly. "Nick, I want you to know it's been a real thrill traveling with you, but I think I'll just split now."
"There is one problem." I was watching the curve closely. The whole idea depended on how big those trucks were. "The road along here is real narrow," I told Chong. "If we can stop the lead truck, there's no way the others can get around it. They'll have to clear the road before they move on, and maybe that will be enough time for our help to come."
Chong rubbed the palm of his hand across his mouth, watching the curve. "The idea has possibilities, old buddy, but say by some miracle we're able to stop the lead truck, what then?"
I grinned at him. "We run like hell."
The nose of the first truck was snaking slowly around the curve. It looked like the slow-motion movement of a train coming out of a tunnel. The headlights were out. As it began to straighten, I saw it was a two-ton, six-wheel stake painted an odd, dark shade of blue. There were no markings. Two men dressed in the tan uniforms of Chinese soldiers were sitting in the cab. The side windows were open. Their bodies rocked back and forth and from side to side as the truck crawled over the uneven surface. The engine whined in labor, moving the truck at a snail's pace. In the back of the truck I saw the soldiers. They were sitting in two lines along each side of the truck, their heads bobbing, rifles between their legs.
I pulled the tiny gas bomb out and sat back on my haunches. There weren't going to be any second chances with this scheme; the first one was going to have to do it. Chong was ready to run.
Then I heard another sound similar to the grinding truck engines. It was a deeper, smoother sound, a steady drone. I knew what it was even before Chong punched me and pointed to the sky. It was the drone of the drop plane. I looked skyward with a grin. The fluff of white parachutes seemed motionless in the still sky, the men dangling looked like toy soldiers made of plastic. They had sub-machine guns across their chests. They were supposed to be the very best fighters America had to offer. And there were 16 of them.
But my problem was right there in front of me. The front fender of the truck was passing by very slowly. I could see the tired eyes of the driver, and the bobbing sleepy head of his passenger on my side of the truck. The side window was about two feet above me and four feet away. I heard Chong suck in his breath. I gave the gas bomb a twist. In seconds the deadly gas would be escaping from it. I tossed it out from my shoulder lightly as though I were throwing darts. It went through the open window and landed in the passenger's lap.
The driver looked over with a frown. Then both his hands clasped around his throat. He slumped forward over the steering wheel. In the back of the truck the first soldier fell face forward to the bed of the truck. His rifle clanged noisily beside him. The front wheels of the truck angled off to the right. The truck itself jerked arid rocked, stopped, jumped forward again, then the fender pushed into the jungle and the truck stopped completely. Another soldier in the back fell from his seat. Others joined him. The first of the strike patrol raiders struck the clearing, his parachute billowing out before him. As he gathered in the cords, another one landed.
The second truck was fully in view now. I saw one soldier in the back pointing to the last of the parachutes coming down in the clearing. Rifle fire cracked from around the curve. A raider emerged from the jungle beside the second truck. He lobbed one, then followed immediately with another grenade into the back of the second truck. The gas tank erupted like a volcano. The raider had already vanished back into the jungle before the explosions. From around the curve came the rat-tat-tat of machine gun fire. Six soldiers came around the burning second truck. They spotted Chong and me on the road. I fired two shots, killing two of them, then jumped into the jungle. Chong was right beside me. Rifle shots cracked behind me, then came the sound of a larger weapon. The rifle fire ceased after a large explosion.
I cut to the right and started to circle back. When we reached the road again we were already around the curve. Chinese soldiers had poured from the three remaining trucks. They were firing on the run. The raiders were picking them off and cutting them down.
Chong snatched up a dead Chicom's rifle and we both started firing at the scattering men. I couldn't see any of the raiders. Their shots were deadly accurate, and they seemed to be firing from the jungle. They had split and were moving down both sides of the road. Each time one of the Chicoms tried to run into the jungle he was picked off. Moving like that, keeping the Chicoms on the road, staying on either side of them, the number of Chinese dropped to ten, then seven. Three started running down the road away from the back of the trucks. After four steps they dropped their heavy rifles and picked up speed. After 20 steps they were cut down by hidden raiders.
Chong and I were using the last truck in the line for cover. The remaining Chinese were almost out of sight. They fired at movement and shadows. I picked one off by resting the Luger against the bed of the truck. Chong picked off another. The gunfire that had been sounding like a rocky avalanche now slowed to an isolated crack every so often. I heard a rat-tat-tat way off to my left. Rifle fire came from way in front of the lead truck. I looked to the sky and saw a heavy column of black smoke rising from the second truck. Bodies of Chinese soldiers littered the area and were scattered as far as I could see down Kompong Road. Then there was a silence. I waited for the raiders to start emerging from the jungle. Nothing happened. My head jerked to the right as I heard a rifle crack deep in the jungle to my right. It was followed almost immediately by another shot far down the road. Chong stood beside me. Both our eyes scanned the jungle looking for a sign of the raiders. All we could smell was the pungent odor of burning tires from the second truck.
Fourteen
Chong put the Chinese rifle behind his neck and held it by barrel and butt. He stood in the center of the truck bed and turned slowly to survey the scene. There were two trucks in front of the one we were on. Around the curve sat one skeleton of a truck still burning and another truck that had been run into the jungle slightly. Dotted on the road and around the trucks were the bodies of dead soldiers. I was standing beside Chong. As f
ar as I could tell we were all alone.
"Listen," Chong said. "Listen to the quiet."
I frowned at him. I shoved Wilhelmina back in its holster. "You've heard the quiet before, Chong," I said.
"Sure. But, man, I have never seen anything like this. That help you sent for is the deadliest I have ever seen."
"They're supposed to be the best."
"They are better than the best. I am one of the best, and they are far better than I am." He shook his head at me. "I am still not reaching you, am I?" There was a strange look of reverence in his eyes. He swung the rifle down to his side and draped his arm over my shoulder. "Close your eyes, Nick, and listen." When I had done this, he said, "You hear nothing but quiet. A battle was fought here, Nick. It was short but there was a whole company of soldiers. So I ask you, where are the cries of anguish? Of pain? Where are the tears of the bleeding wounded? Where is the movement of those hit in the arm or legs?"
He was right. All I could hear was the quiet. Twice I thought I heard the rustle of leaves in the jungle, but when I looked I saw nothing.
Chong said, "Every shot was a killer. Every bullet entered the head or heart. Somehow those who survived the explosion were shot. There is not one survivor, not one wounded."
His words sounded almost eerie against the quiet. I looked at the ground beside the truck. When I looked up again to the stretch of Kompong Road extending behind the truck I saw a solitary figure standing in the middle of the road about 50 yards away.
The submachine gun was across the front of his stomach, the short barrel rested in the crook of his bare arm. He wore the olive color of American forces; his shirtsleeves were rolled up; his pants were tucked into calf-high boots. He stood slightly.
"I'm looking for a Nick Carter!" the solitary figure bellowed.
"Right here!" I answered.
He put something in his mouth. Then there came the shrill screech of a police whistle. Men emerged from the jungle and drifted onto the road. They dotted the gap between the solitary figure and me. They came out on the road and started checking their weapons. The group of two's and three's, seeming to ignore both me and the solitary figure, now came toward me.
The solitary figure stepped up just as I jumped down from the truck. He was a lieutenant and stuck out his hand.
"Mr. Carter, I'm Lieutenant Rice. My instructions are to follow your orders."
I took the hand. He looked in his middle twenties with smooth tan cheeks, a regulation haircut and youthful clear blue eyes. His nose was longish and slightly uptilted. His face looked rectangular and cheekbones, jaw line, chin, all looked angular. He had the most magnificent handlebar mustache I had ever seen. From the obvious care he took of it, I knew it filled him with pride.
We dropped to our haunches behind the last truck of the line. I gratefully took the cigarette offered me. While lighter flame was being touched to it Lieutenant Rice said, "Hotter than the hinges of hell." He wiped sweat from his forehead with his thumbnail.
Several of the men were checking over dead bodies. The rest were in a half-circle, talking with Chong.
"Did you lose anyone, Lieutenant?" I asked.
He shook his head. When he talked the tips of his mustache wiggled. "One man caught it at the waist, but it was a graze. He'll be okay. What is your problem here, Mr. Carter? All we heard was something about a society and some old ruins close by."
"Lieutenant, I think you'd better start calling me Nick. I already feel ancient enough around your men without being called mister. This company was heading for those ruins you heard about." I then told him everything Chong and I had learned about the Society of the Silver Snake. There was a lot I had to guess at. "We don't know how many of the regular army will stand behind Tonle Sambor. The thing is there are a lot of men in there who have been duped. I know for certain the new recruits have been. How many of the regular army have, I don't know. That's what makes it tricky. If we hit that temple like you and your men hit these trucks a lot of innocent young men are going to be killed."
The lieutenant took a drag on his cigarette. His clear blue eyes looked at the sky above him as though he'd like that drop plane to come back and pick him and his men up.
He looked at me with one eye closed against the heat of the sun. His nose wrinkled slightly. "Nick," he said, "what you want us to do is select those who are loyal to Tonle Sambor and let the rest go, is that right?"
"Maybe it would be better to work it this way. When we hit the temple we should play it by ear. There is bound to be confusion, especially after I kill Tonle Sambor. But one element who won't be confused is that loyal to Sambor. They'll act when they see him dead."
"In other words, well take out those who show aggression toward us. Pick and choose is not what we were trained for, Nick, but I suppose it's better than going in cold without hitting anyone. That's how units lose men." He gave me a half-hearted smile. "You haven't said how we're hitting the temple."
"We'll take the trucks, Lieutenant. If you'll instruct your men, we'll change into the Chicom uniforms and load up in the trucks. We can fill the gaps with soldiers already dead. Your blowing of that one truck might present a problem. Tonle Sambor is expecting five trucks, not four."
Lieutenant Rice shrugged. "China is a long way off. So one truck broke down."
I nodded in agreement. "We have to get the blown truck off the road. Once that's done, I'll take the lead truck. You drive the second, Chong will take the third, and you'll have to assign a man to drive the fourth. We'll take four men each in the back of the first three trucks; the last truck will have two men."
"What about a signal?" the Lieutenant asked.
I thought about that. It had to be something loud and simple. I stood and walked along the side of the truck to the cab. Climbing on the running board I reached in through the side window and pressed the horn button. A metallic blat sounding like the cry of a mechanical sheep came out of the front of the truck. I looked toward the back of the truck. The Lieutenant was standing with the right side of his hip stuck out. Chong was looking at me, but that didn't stop him from continuing to stuff a handful of American cigarettes in his shirt pockets.
I jumped from the running board and faced the lieutenant. "The gates of the temple should be opened for us. I'll drive in and across to the farthest wall.
"Since Tonle Sambor is expecting these trucks, he should be in the courtyard waiting. When all the trucks are inside the gate, and I'm sure I have a clear shot at Sambor, I'll lay a blast on the horn. That will be the signal for your men to come out of the trucks. They kill anyone who shows aggression. As soon as I honk the horn, I'm going to put a bullet through Sambor. Chong will take care of the four generals. With them gone you'll soon know who really supported them. So how does it set with you, Lieutenant?"
"It sounds almost workable," he said. "We've had less to work with."
In 20 minutes, the burned truck was buried in the jungle, and we were rolling toward the Society of the Silver Snake temple.
* * *
In the rear-view mirror I saw Lieutenant Rice in the truck right behind me. Chong was driving behind him, and a raider sergeant drove the last truck. Between the two rows of men in the back of each truck crates of arms and food supplies were lashed down. We were crawling along at less than five miles an hour.
I eased Wilhelmina from her holster and dropped her between my legs on the seat. This was going to be the end of it. All the traveling, sneaking, fighting had been leading to this. I felt a flutter of excitement as the new wooden gate began to focus more sharply. My assignment had been simple: to find out if a Society of the Silver Snake exists, and ft it does, what its purpose was.
Before noon, Tonle Sambor would be dead, and the Society of the Silver Snake would no longer exist.
I was trying to talk myself into success and I knew it.
There were a lot of things that could go wrong. Maybe the Chicom army was trained to defend itself against just what we were trying to do. We weren't goin
g to offer much resistance to two hundred men. No, the only way it was going to work was for me to hit Tonle Sambor as soon as all the trucks were inside the courtyard.
Without the leader, there was bound to be confusion, especially if Tonle Sambor was the kind of leader I figured him to be.
I heard several loud clicks, and then the huge gates began to separate and pull in. They were almost 14 feet high, and the hinges creaked as they swung open for us. I saw a sliver of the courtyard. The soldiers were in the courtyard, lined up in four long rows. The gates opened all the way, and I drove the truck through.
I kept going slowly, heading for the end structure. As yet I had not seen Tonle Sambor or any of the generals. Lieutenant Rice was bringing the second truck through the gates now. My eyes scanned the lines of soldiers. There was no way to separate the regular army from the recruits because they were all lined, up together. I was approaching the end building. Chong was bringing the third truck through. Then Tonle Sambor and his four generals marched out of the archway in front of me.
They were coming up to the left front fender. My bumper came within inches of the building before I stopped the truck. The brakes squeaked. More brakes squeaked behind me. The raider sergeant was bringing the fourth truck through the gates.
Tonle Sambor was flanked by two generals on each side of him. He strutted toward the truck, flashing a wide grin. His teeth glimmered with gold fillings. My hand dropped to the seat between my legs. Four fingers and my thumb wrapped around the butt of the Luger. My index finger slid lightly along the trigger guard, then found the trigger. It was going to have to be quick.
The blast from the horn touched off an explosion of activity. The truck I sat in rocked back and forth as the four raiders leaped to the ground. The lines of dead Chicoms bounced into each other. Helmets clanged. As yet a shot had not been fired.
I got Wilhelmina up, got the ugly snout of her through the window and aimed at the proud expanded uniformed chest of Tonle Sambor. The door yanked open as I fired. There had to be a hero. One of Sambor's generals proved in his last moment of life to be a quick thinker. He spotted the Luger aimed at his leader and jumped forward and to the side. As the Luger jerked in my hand, I saw half his neck split away. Tonle Sambor dropped his pride and arrogance. He turned and ran. The door was open all the way. Another general was drawing his service revolver. I swung Wilhelmina toward his pockmarked face and squeezed off another shot. He jumped back three feet, then fell like poured water.