Of more importance was the question of whether one or more of the Nepalese villagers was working for PLA intelligence. “It’s possible, but unlikely,” Jangchup replied when Lee posed the question. “But Lama Khando and I will try to convince the locals that we’re on a pilgrimage to the temple in Kulekhani. It’s one of the locations the Nepalese scholar and activist Dharmaditya Dharmacharya visited, before his release from prison.”
Lee thanked Jangchup, and hoped that the cover story would prove to be sufficient.
A great deal of work was involved in removing the packs from the horses, feeding them, and checking each animal for injuries. So much work that Lee was grateful for the presence of the wranglers, spies or not.
The green beret was sitting in the lee of an ancient wall, not far from a noisome goat pen, when Private Yubraj Gurung materialized out of the quickly gathering gloom. He was carrying a Single Channel Ground and Airborne Radio System (SINCGARS). “It’s Sergeant Cato, sir.”
As Lee accepted the handset, he knew the conversation would be encrypted. The transmissions could be detected however. If so, the Chinese could deduce that the signal had been generated by an Allied unit. It made sense to keep the conversation brief. “Viper-Six actual, go. Over.”
“We are above the target and have an unobstructed view,” Cato responded. “It looks like a platoon of PLA mountain troops are stationed in Kulekhani. They patrol in pairs. But it’s pretty low key. Over.”
A U.S. army platoon consisted of about 44 soldiers give or take. So, Lee’s force would be badly outnumbered if it came to an all-out fight. But given the quality of the men under his command Lee figured the odds were about even. “Roger that… Anything else?”
“A Z-18 landed, was on the ground for two hours, and took off. Over.”
Lee knew the Z-18s were transport helicopters which suggested a resupply mission. “Got it. Our ETA is 1200 tomorrow. Try to identify a camping spot that’s well away from those patrols. Over.”
“Will do,” came the answer. “Five out.”
Lee was prepping an MRE, when Evers plopped down beside to him and did the same. “Hey there,” Lee said. “How’s it going with the doctor?”
“Do you want the good news?” Evers inquired. “Or the bad news?”
Lee made a face. “Bad news first, please.”
“She’s snotty, entitled, and egotistical.”
Lee shoveled some spaghetti into his mouth. “And the good news?”
“She’s with Jangchup and Binsa. They’re making the rounds. And she has a good bedside manner.”
“Dr. Jekyll and Ms. Hyde,” Lee said.
“Yeah,” Evers agreed.
“Did you suggest that she make the rounds?”
“Nope. Her highness came up with the idea on her own.”
“So, there’s hope for her.”
“Maybe.”
Lee laughed. “And Binsa?”
“She’s more than a wet nurse. More like an LPN. And children swarm her.”
“Do you think she’s an agent?”
“No.”
“Of course, you thought the Yankees would win the series too.”
“Fuck you very much, sir.”
Lee was about to offer a counter, when Doctor Kwan arrived, and looked around. “Where are the chairs?”
Lee sighed. “There aren’t any chairs, Captain. But there’s lots of dirt. Have a seat.”
Kwan made a face and wandered away.
“It’s going to be a long mission,” Evers predicted.
“Yeah,” Lee agreed. “We’re having some fun now.”
Thapa put sentries out, assigned a noncom to each watch, and took the first one himself. Lee wasn’t in the rotation but decided to conduct a surprise inspection just after midnight. Not to check on the sentries so much, as to ensure that all the civilian members of the party were in their sleeping bags, where they belonged.
After confirming that everyone was present Lee returned to his own sack where sleep pulled him down. Dreams were waiting. None of them were good.
CHAPTER SEVEN
PLA Special Forces Compound 8, Nepal
Water sprayed left and right as the Russian made Ural-4320 Heavy Mobility and Tactical Truck dove into a bomb crater, bounced, and lurched up onto the road beyond. Tong was seated in front next to a taciturn commando named Chung. Sergeant Shi, and the rest of his squad were in the back, along with their weapons and supplies.
The team was returning from a mission to a small village where, according to an informer, the Thunder God Commando would find an Allied spy and his radio set. What they found instead was a senile old lady and a goat. Had the informer been mistaken? Or was he trying to make the Chinese troops look stupid?
Whatever the outing was, it was the latest in a series of so-called “orientation” missions intended to help the MSS agent learn how to look and sound like an officer while bonding with his team. The first goal was largely unfulfilled. But Tong had come to respect the professionalism of the men under his command. Such were his thoughts as the truck slowed and came to a stop in front of the gate. A sentry stepped out into the light drizzle, saw Tong, and delivered a salute. “Welcome back, sir. The major would like to see you.”
Tong was tired, and the last thing he wanted to do was jaw with Major Wang, when he could be in bed. But it didn’t matter what he wanted. “Thank you,” Tong said as he returned the salute.
After circling around the LD 2000 air defense system, Chung pulled into the vehicle shelter, which consisted of a metal roof mounted on rusty poles. Tong got out, told Shi to dismiss the squad, and stepped out into the rain. The old textile mill was about 100 yards away. And, by the time Tong entered the building, his uniform was damp.
Tong followed a set of stairs up onto the dock. A corridor led past rows of offices to the door which bore the “Plant Manager” sign. Tong was careful to knock. “Captain Tong.”
“Enter.”
Wang looked the way he always did, perfectly coiffed, and ready for inspection. “Welcome back. Did you arrest the goat?”
It was Wang’s idea of a joke, and Tong smiled politely. “No, sir. He had an alibi.”
Wang laughed. That was a first so far as Tong could remember. “Have a seat Captain. You’ll be glad to hear that I have a task for you. One in keeping with your true profession.”
Tong took note. “Does the task have something to do with the Dalai Lama?”
“No,” Wang said. “Other people are working on that. The mission I referred to is focused on this man. Colonel Huang Hu.” Wang pushed a black and white photo across the surface of his otherwise bare desk.
Tong eyed the photo. Hu had a round face, incipient jowls, and was wearing wire rimmed spectacles. Wang’s eyes were waiting when Tong looked up. “Colonel Hu is a supply officer,” Wang said. “More than that, he’s the supply officer for this operational area, which means he’s in charge of supporting the troops already in place—and those who will enter Nepal from Tibet.”
Tong nodded. “Yes, sir.”
“However,” Wang said. “According to information provided by certain individuals within Hu’s battalion, he may be selling supplies to an Indian national named Nola Bakshi in return for money and sex. Your assignment is simple: Determine if these accusations are true. If they are, arrange for Hu to be killed in action, and bring the woman in for questioning. Perhaps Bakshi is a criminal plain and simple. Or maybe she’s something more.”
“Meaning an Allied agent?”
“Yes.”
“All right,” Tong said. “I’ll take care of it.”
Wang eyed him. “No questions?”
“No, sir.”
Wang smiled. “I’m glad we have your services, Captain. Carry on.”
Tong decided that the first thing to do was get something to eat, take a shower, and go to bed. Then, after eight, no nine, hours of sleep he would go to work on the Colonel Hu situation. Tong did take one step however… And that was to tell Shi to asse
mble the squad at 0800.
If Tong had dreams, they were forgotten by the time he got up. After a lukewarm shower he made his way to what had been the mill’s cafeteria where PLA cooks were in charge. The selection included soybean milk and deep-fried dough sticks, steamed buns stuffed with ground pork, or rice dumplings with egg yolk. Tong chose the latter along with hot water for tea.
Tong ate alone and not entirely by choice. Enlisted people sat separately. And the officers were understandably suspicious of the newcomer. A man who didn’t seem to know much about the army, and for reasons unknown, had a special relationship with the CO.
For his part Tong cared very little since he saw himself as being not only apart from the officers themselves, but superior to them, regardless of rank.
Once Tong was finished eating, he made his way across the muddy drive to the outbuilding, where a 12 X 25-foot room had been assigned to his squad. The commandos ate together, slept together, and exercised together. They crashed to attention as Tong entered. “At ease,” Tong said. “You can sit if you wish. I’m here to tell you about our new assignment.”
What followed was a highly edited version of what Tong had been told by Wang. He made no mention of Colonel Hu, or the possibility that he was misdirecting supplies and selling them. That would be stupid. First because Hu might be innocent. And second because Tong knew how quickly things could change. What if Wang was reassigned? And Hu took over? Besides, there was no need for his men to know the details. Not yet anyway.
So, Tong chose to focus on the mysterious Nola Bakshi. “She seems to be at the center of things,” Tong told them. “If we find her, we can learn who, other than Hu, she’s working with. And the most obvious way to locate her is to interrogate one or more of the smugglers who transport the stolen merchandise to India.”
Shi raised a hand and Tong nodded. “Yes, Sergeant.”
“We might be able to find such a person in Detention Center Two, sir. That’s where the civilian criminals are held while they wait for their hearings.”
“Brilliant,” Tong said, knowing the comment would bolster Shi’s standing with the squad. “That’s where we’ll start. I suspect that some sort of written order will be necessary. I’ll work on that while you prepare for three days in the field. It’s hard to say where our inquiry will take us, so be ready for anything.”
Rays of sunshine were spearing down through the cloud cover by the time Tong made the trip to the main building. After requesting an audience with Major Wang, he had to wait fifteen minutes before making his request. Wang listened and nodded. “One suggestion if I may… Be sure to talk to detainees other than smugglers. Otherwise word of what you’re up to could get back to Bakshi.”
Tong realized that Wang was correct and felt stupid for not thinking of it himself. He watched while Wang typed on a keyboard, poked a key, and rose from his desk. The printer produced a whirring sound as two sheets of paper were ejected. Wang signed one of them and gave it to Tong. “This should do the trick. Show it to anyone who tries to get in your way.”
Tong stood and saluted. The ritual felt strange. “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.” And with that he left.
The squad was waiting by the truck. “I have what we need,” Tong told them. “Climb aboard. I’ll be back in a moment.”
Tong went to his quarters, grabbed his pack, and returned to the truck. After handing the pack up to one of the men Tong made his way forward. Chung was behind the wheel. “Do you know where Detention Center Two is?”
“Yes, sir. Sergeant Shi gave me a map.”
Shi was a gem, no doubt about it, and Tong planned to tell Wang that. “Okay, that’s where we’re going.”
Chung put the truck in low, took his foot off the clutch, and the lorry jerked forward. A sentry saluted as the truck passed through the main gate. Cows were wandering about, and the occasional farm truck rattled past. There was very little traffic at first.
But the moment Chung turned onto a major highway the Ural-4320 was absorbed into a slow-motion convoy of trucks, tank carriers, and towed artillery. Was he looking at part of the Big Push? Tong thought so. And the convoy would be a tempting target for Allied planes. So, the sooner Tong’s team could separate themselves from the column the better.
That moment came 30 minutes later when Chung took a left onto a secondary road. It was paved, mostly free of debris, and led them south at a stately 35 miles per hour.
There was low-lying ground to the left and right. Ramshackle houses occupied tiny islands barely high enough to protect them from rising water levels during the rainy seasons. Children, oblivious to the fact that the Chinese had invaded their country, waved as the truck rolled past.
A series of turns eventually took the team to Detention Center Two. It occupied the soccer field located next to what had formerly been a one-story school. The corners of the makeshift internment camp were marked by three-story guard towers.
Each structure was equipped with a corrugated metal roof, a searchlight, and a machine gun. The towers were connected by coils of barbed wire with tidy rows of army tents at the center of the muddy rectangle.
As Chung stopped at the guard station, Tong was struck by how few people were visible. Once Chung’s ID had been scrutinized, Tong waved the sentry around to his side of the truck and spoke to him through the open window. “Who’s in charge? And where can I find them?”
“Captain Hong is in command, sir,” the private answered. “His office is in the school building straight ahead.”
Tong returned the sentry’s salute and Chung followed the driveway to the drop-off area in front of the school. Tong got out and went to the rear of the truck. “I’m going inside. Take a break but stay close by.”
Tong followed a sidewalk to the front door, pushed it open, and went inside. A corporal was seated behind a teacher’s desk. He stood and came to attention. “Sir! How can I help you?”
“I’d like to see Captain Hong please.”
“Sir! I’ll tell him you are here. Can I have your name please?”
“Tong.”
“Please have a seat,” the corporal said, as he gestured to a wooden bench. Then he performed a smart about-face and marched down a hallway.
Tong had no desire to sit, especially after spending an hour-and-a-half in the truck, and spent his time looking at the childish pictures posted behind glass. One showed a tank rolling over a stick figure. Red blood flew every which way. Was he looking at an Allied tank? Or a Chinese tank? “Captain Tong?”
The voice came from behind him and Tong turned. Hong was a small man with bright eyes and an immaculate uniform. He offered his hand. “We don’t get many visitors,” Hong said. “What can I do for you?”
“It’s my understanding that you keep civilian prisoners here. Is that correct?”
“It is,” Hong replied. “Most are elsewhere at the moment, working on a PLA construction project.”
Slave labor, Tong thought. “I see. My men and I have orders to clamp down on the smuggling that’s taking place along the front. And we’re looking for information regarding the people the smugglers work for.”
“Ah,” Hong replied. “So, you want to interrogate the runners.”
“Exactly,” Tong agreed. “And some other miscreants as well.”
Hong smiled. “Clever, very clever… And wise too. I run a prison of sorts, but people come and go. And information travels with them. I will introduce you to Sergeant Shan. He has responsibility for inmate records. But first I’ll need to see your ID and make a copy of your orders.”
After copying Tong’s ID card, and the directive from Major Wang, the PLA captain took his visitor back to the teacher’s lunchroom. That’s where Sergeant Shan and two assistants were working. Upon listening to Tong’s request the noncom nodded. “Yes, sir. A number of detainees were arrested for smuggling. May I suggest that we narrow the search to those who were caught with PLA issued supplies? And those who were arrested by Nepalese authorities before the war?”
Shan grinned knowingly. “Yes, sir.”
“I’ll leave you to it,” Hong said. “Let me know if you need anything.” Then he was gone.
Shan and his soldiers produced 32 candidates in a matter of seconds. Culling the list took longer. Then, after selecting three solid prospects, and an equal number of random offenders, Tong was ready to proceed. “So, where are they?” Tong inquired. “I saw very few people as we came in.”
“They’re part of a work party,” Shan replied. “The site is about 20 minutes away. Give me a moment and I’ll draw a map.”
With map in hand Tong returned to the truck. Shi was there to greet him with a salute. Tong returned it. “Good news, Sergeant… We have some candidates and we know where they are. Tell the men to board the truck.”
With Chung at the wheel the truck rolled out through the gate and onto the road. The map called for a number of turns, and everything went smoothly until they arrived at a point where water covered the highway, and it would have been impossible to proceed in a car.
But the truck had plenty of clearance, and Chung showed no sign of hesitation as he downshifted and pushed out into the muddy stream. Huge tires sent waves of brown water surging to the right and left. The trees had begun to thin out and the countryside had a different feel as they entered a flood plain. The river was visible beyond. The same river Tong had been forced to cross while fleeing India only miles downstream. It produced a dull roar as it hurried south. Trucks could be seen, along with a pile of X-shaped objects, one of which was being swung out over the river with a crane. “What is that?” Tong inquired.
Chung was perplexed. How could an officer be so stupid? “That’s an anti-tank obstacle, sir. The water is relatively shallow here. If the Allies try to cross the river, the traps will stop everything except heavy tanks. And even those will be forced to slow down.”
Red Dragon (Winds of War Book 3) Page 9