Someone put a mug of Chhaang in Jah’s fist and he took a sip. Later, when his warriors were sober, the bandit would lead a war party into the freezing cold. And he was looking forward to it.
Bhimphedi, Nepal
The village of Bhimphedi was located west of Kulekhani on a flat spot, halfway down the steep slope that led to a V-shaped valley, and the river that rushed through it. The community consisted of terraced farms and scattered homes.
Two dirt roads intersected near the center of the village, and served to supply a couple of stores, and through them the local residents. Lee and his companions were positioned above Bhimphedi looking out over the mostly green valley while eating snacks and waiting for the Gurkhas to return.
Staff Sergeant Thapa and two of his men had gone down into Bhimphedi to check things out. And now, more than two hours later, Lee felt impatient. Thapa’s orders were to make sure that there weren’t any PLA soldiers lurking about, but more importantly, to assess the political situation. Were the locals Nepalese patriots? Or, were they ambivalent about the Chinese, and therefore likely to report the presence of foreigners if given a chance?
The answers arrived when an ancient truck rattled its way up the road and dropped the Gurkhas off directly below the spot where the group was waiting. Thapa appeared moments later. He sat cross legged. “Sorry, sah, but the headman insisted that we take tea with him and some of the elders. It would have been rude to say ‘no.’ Plus we were able to get a good picture of what’s going on around here.
“The Chinese send a patrol once a week,” Thapa continued. “Usually on Tuesdays. They poke around, search some houses, and steal some beers. Then they leave.
“As for the locals, they hate the invaders, and won’t do anything to help them. Or so they say. I tend to believe them, but that isn’t to say that the Chinese don’t have a paid informant in town, so it would be foolish to linger.”
“We won’t,” Lee promised. “One night. That’s all.”
Thanks to Thapa’s relationship with the headman, the group was allowed to spend the night in Bhimphedi’s one-room schoolhouse. After posting lookouts Lee ordered Cato to contact Major Gupta which he did following a short delay. Lee gave the S-2 a sitrep and went straight to the point. “There’s plenty of landing spots here… Please send a couple of helos to lift us out. Over.”
“I wish I could,” Gupta replied. “But the weather sucks. So, we can’t fly anything in that direction.”
Lee battled to maintain his composure. Other members of the group were watching him. And any hint of the despair he felt could bring morale down. “Roger that. We’ll head west in the morning. The terrain is likely to be rough. If you can’t pull us out drop some supplies. We’re running out of diapers. Over.”
It was the sort of humor green berets were known for. And Gupta laughed. But the problem was very real. The group was running out of food, ammo and diapers.
“I’ll take your request to the colonel,” Gupta promised. “More when I have it. Over.” And that was that.
The weather Gupta had mentioned swept in during the night. And, when Lee left the warmth of his bag at 0530, he could see his breath inside the schoolhouse.
Lee opened the front door of the school to see that the skies were dark, a light snow was falling, and Bhimphedi was covered with a blanket of white. Tracks led back and forth to a pair of outdoor privies and Lee followed them. If we can’t fly then the Chinese are grounded too, Lee thought. Maybe we can open our lead.
The village headman invited the visitors to enjoy a breakfast buffet which included potato soup, fried bread, and tea. It was good food, and made doubly so, by the fact that the group was running short on MREs. The free meal would help the fugitives stretch what they had.
Two-dozen villagers turned out to wave goodbye as Corporal Shekhawat led the group into the mist. Cato and Lee were next. They were followed by Binsa, the Gharti family, the horses, and a rear guard comprised of Thapa, Kwan, and more Gurkhas.
The dirt track wandered downhill, crossed an ancient steel bridge, and traversed a slide area which was clearly responsible for road closures during the rainy season. From there the path ran west. There were isolated homes along the way, each with a wisp of smoke issuing from its chimney, and only partially visible through the veil of snow.
And so it went for three hours with just the crunch, crunch, crunch of footsteps in the snow, the occasional nicker of a horse, and an intermittent burst of radio static to break the silence. Then the call came in. Not the one Lee had been hoping for… But good news nonetheless. “Cobra-Two-Two to Viper-Six. Over.”
Lee snatched the handset from Cato. “This is Six… Go. Over.”
“Find a place where an unmanned K-MAX can reach you, make sure that the drop zone is clear, and standby to receive a whole lot of diapers. Over.”
Lee felt his spirits soar. As the war grew more intense there had been an increasing need for an unmanned “truck” style helo that could fly under radars and deliver up to 6,000 pounds worth of supplies to frontline troops without landing. The sleek insect-like K-MAX was the result of the increased production effort and one of them was on the way. “Roger that,” Lee said. Thank you, and over.”
“Your pilot is Gator-Six-Five.” A frequency followed and Cato scribbled the series of digits onto a pad. “You have an hour and thirty-two minutes to find a zone and notify Gator-Six-Five. She’ll take it from there. Over.”
Lee’s thoughts were whirling. The imminent supply drop was good news. But there were dangers involved beyond the obvious problem of prepping for a clean “dump.” A security perimeter would be necessary, sorting and packing could take a couple of hours, and the group would have to spend the night out in the open. There was a lot to do.
Bhimphedi, Nepal
School teacher Bhavisana Yadav was hanging from a rafter in her school. She’d been stripped, whipped, and raped while the village elders were made to watch. Bandit King Baburam Jah was conducting the interrogation. “Don’t waste my time. I know there were men with guns. Tell me about the woman with the baby.”
“There were two women,” Yadav said haltingly. “A mother and a wet nurse.”
“And the baby?” Jah demanded.
“His holiness has been named Bhadrapala,” Yadav said, as tears ran down her cheeks. “The protector of goodness.”
Jah stared. “‘His holiness?’”
“Y-y-yes,” Yadav replied. “The Dalai Lama reincarnated into Bhadrapala Gharti’s body.”
Now Jah understood. The Chinese were hunting for the Gharti family because they knew who the baby was, or was purported to be, and the Allies did as well! That’s why they were trying to take the infant to India. And that’s why the little shit was worth a lot more than one-hundred Gold Pandas.
The headman was lying on the floor. He’d been beaten but his chest still rose and fell. Jah kicked him. “Which way did they go old man? Tell me or the bitch dies.”
“East,” the man croaked.
“You heard him,” Jah said. “They went west.”
West of Bhimphedi, Nepal
The drop zone consisted of a mostly flat spot, created to receive loose rocks from the slope above, in order to protect the road below. The patch of ground was too narrow for a conventional helicopter to land on. But the K-MAX didn’t need to land. All it had to do was hover above the DZ and drop the supplies.
To ensure that no one could come along and hijack the supplies defensive positions had been established, the smaller rocks were being removed, and flares were ready. All of which was fine. What wasn’t fine was the fact that the K-MAX was fifteen-minutes late.
The radio burped static and a woman spoke. “Gator-Six-Five to Viper-Six. Over.”
“This is Six,” Lee answered. “Over.”
“My ship is ten-out,” the pilot said. “I’m sorry about the delay, but I ran into a hellacious head wind, and the pod is swinging like a bitch. Over.”
Lee assumed that Gator-Six-Five
was referring to the supplies dangling below her K-MAX. “Roger that,” Lee replied, as the faint sound of an aircraft engine was heard. “Look for the red flares. Over.”
Lee nodded to Cato who hurried out to light flares which, taken together, formed a triangle. “I have a visual,” Gator said, from her swivel chair at Trishul air base. “Clear the area. I’ll do my best to hit the target but you never know. Over.”
Lee waved Cato out of the drop zone and took a look around to make sure the rest of the group were clear. “Do your thing Gator. We’re ready. Over.”
There was no reply as the camo covered helicopter appeared out of the falling snow, swayed alarmingly as a burst of wind struck it, and steadied.
Lee tried to imagine what it was like to fly such a machine across the border, through countless valleys, and deep into enemy territory from an office in India. He couldn’t.
The “package” swayed slightly as Gator worked the K-MAX into position. Then with her eyes on the screen the pilot clicked a key. “Bombs away. Over.”
Lee held his breath as the pod fell in what seemed like slow motion. “It’s gonna miss!” Cato predicted, and the radio operator was correct. The package landed on the outer edge of the flat spot, teetered for a second, and slid down onto the road.
Gator said, “Shit. I’m sorry about that. But it’s on the road, so you’ll be able to retrieve it. Now, before I go for coffee, I need to drive this sucker into a cliff. Over.”
Lee frowned. “You’re going to do what? Over.”
“I guess no one told you, but my truck has a 300-mile range, which means there’s no way to bring it back,” Gator said cheerfully. “So, you get to watch 8-million-dollars go bye-bye. That’s a lot of scratch. Someone loves you. Gator-Six-Five over and out.”
Lee and Cato stood and watched as the K-MAX turned, flew across the valley, and crashed into a cliff. There was an orange-red explosion as pieces of helicopter rained down onto the rocky slope below. “Trouble is on the way,” Evers said, from his position east of them. “Wheeled vehicles from the east. Over.”
Jah was sitting in the truck’s passenger seat when he heard the sound of a distant explosion. What was going on? He ordered the driver to pull over. The rest of the convoy followed suit. Ice cold snowflakes kissed Jah’s face as he opened the door and dropped to the ground. A large something was sitting in the middle of the road ahead.
A boulder? No, boulders don’t arrive on pallets. And this pallet was strapped to the right side of the tightly wrapped bundle, as if the entire package had fallen from somewhere above, and landed on the highway.
The bandit’s train of thought was interrupted as a bullet shattered the gun truck’s windshield and killed the driver. The vehicle jerked to a halt.
Most of Jah’s men had dismounted by then. And, because lots of rocks and boulders lined the right side of the road, that’s where the bandits took cover.
Jah followed suit. His mind was racing. The foreigners were up on a flat spot. That meant they could fire down on his men. But not if his bandits could claim even higher ground. “Amir! Get over here.”
Amir Boksha was Jah’s half-brother, and second-in-command. He scuttled over to kneel at Jah’s side. He was armed with an AK-47. “Yes, Lord.”
“Take six men and ropes. Circle around and attack from above. But don’t let any harm come to the baby. If you do, I will personally shoot you in the face.”
Amir nodded soberly. “Yes, Lord.”
Amir vanished into the falling snow. With that taken care of Jah had time to think about the package that was waiting on the road. What was it? Supplies, Jah decided. Dropped from a helicopter. What else could it be?
Jah’s lips were chapped so he licked them. Supplies plus one-hundred Gold Pandas! Or, if he could manage it without bringing the Chinese down on his head, an even larger ransom paid by the Allies. “Fire!” Jah shouted. “Kill them!”
Sporadic gunfire lashed up from the road. Bullets whined, pinged, and buzzed overhead. They’re bandits or something similar, Lee decided. The PLA would arrive on military vehicles and drop mortar fire on us.
Lee paused to sling his carbine before scuttling east. Waller, Thapa, and his Gurkhas were firing single shots as shadowy figures moved below. “Roll some rocks downhill,” Lee suggested. “Who knows? Maybe we’ll get lucky.”
The boulders were far too heavy for two men to move. But some of the rocks were small enough to set into motion. The improvised weapons were anything but predictable. Some took leaps into the air, and bounced over the road.
Not all of them missed however. And Lee heard a scream as a jagged chunk of granite hit a man and bowled him over.
That was good, but not good enough, and Lee knew it. The bandits outnumbered his team at least two to one. Bakshi had the grenade launcher. “Drop some 40 mike-mike along the edge of the road,” Lee ordered. “But leave the vehicles alone. If they want to jump in, and drive away, that’s fine with me.”
“I have seven rounds,” Bakshi replied. “That’s all.”
Lee grimaced. “Roger that… Use them wisely.”
Private Rambahadur Shrestha had just finished rolling a rock downslope when a 7.62×39mm round hit him in the chest and threw him backward. He landed hard. Thapa yelled, “Medic!” Evers elbow-crawled over to help. Bullets snapped and zinged around him.
The bandits were aiming at some of the larger chunks of granite in hopes of hitting the defenders with ricochets. A geyser of snow jumped up off the ground as Evers wormed his way into position next to Shrestha. The Gurkha’s eyes fluttered. “Am I going to die?”
“Fuck no,” Evers answered. “You have a sucking chest wound. You’ll feel better once I seal it up.”
A grenade exploded on the road as Kwan squirmed in to join them. The hole in Shrestha’s chest was about the size of a quarter and the air made a sucking sound each time the Gurkha took a breath. Evers had his aid kit open by then, and they worked together to seal the wound with a piece of plastic, and tape it down.
“Breathe out,” Kwan said. “Good. Let’s drag him further back to a place where he’s less likely to be hit again.”
And that’s what they were doing when Binsa shouted a warning. “They’re up above us!”
Kwan craned her neck, saw the men dangling from ropes, and realized that they would land in the jumble of boulders where the Gharti family was trying to hide. The doctor stood without thinking. A bullet whipped past her right ear as Evers ordered her to get down.
But the bandits were going to land next to the civilians, and if they did, the battle would be over.
Kwan pulled the nine and brought it up. Then, working her way from left to right, she fired. The first shot missed, but the second didn’t. A bandit jerked as the slug hit him between the shoulder blades. He fell.
Sam Waller fired and the next bandit hit ground. A knife rose and fell as Bibek Gharti stabbed the soldier just to make sure.
Evers was firing by that time and only one of the bandits made it to the ground. He shot Bibek and turned to point his rifle at Ishya. She was holding Bhadrapala in her arms and was backing away as Waller rushed in to protect the Dalai Lama. The bandit fired and the American fell. Kwan shot the bandit in the back. He turned and smiled.
The bastard was wearing armor! Kwan was looking into the barrel of the killer’s weapon when Binsa attacked him with a rock. The man’s eyes went blank as the chunk of granite struck his skull. He was falling when Kwan shot him in the neck. “Nice work,” Evers said admiringly. “You’re okay for an officer.”
Three of Jah’s men had been killed by rocks, and five by grenades. And the attack from above had failed. The tide of battle had turned. It was time to leave. Jah heard a boot crunch on the snow, and turned just in time to see the kukri, and feel it slice through his throat. Not me, Jah thought. Never me. Then he was gone. His blood stained the snow.
Thapa bent to wipe the blade on the bandit’s parka. Lee’s voice sounded in the noncom’s ears. “Check to ma
ke sure all of the bandits are down. Bring the vehicles up to the supplies. This unit is going to ride. Over.” Thapa smiled.
CHAPTER TWELVE
PLA Special Forces Compound 12, Nepal
Five days had passed since the gun battle west of Kulekhani, and the loss of the Mi-17 helicopter. And, because Major Wang and his unit had departed, Tong and his men were left to proceed on their own. They did so by hitching rides and walking cross-country. And, when they arrived on a ridge overlooking Sim Bhanjyang Pass, Tong could see why the commando was stationed there.
As snow continued to fall, a bumper-to-bumper convoy of PLA vehicles ground its way through the narrow passageway. Sheer cliffs served to amplify the roar of their engines, and blue smoke fogged the air, as the Big Push continued. Tong turned to Shi. “We’ll sleep inside tonight, Sergeant… Let’s go.”
They followed a seldom used footpath which snaked its way down through stunted evergreens, hardy shrubs, and lichen covered rock to the slushy highway below. The soldiers were dwarfed as a gigantic tank transporter rolled past. It was carrying a Type 99 main battle tank that, during the days ahead, might face-off with an M1 Abrams somewhere to the west.
There were other vehicles too--including armored personnel carriers, self-propelled anti-aircraft guns, and an endless succession of trucks. All the traffic was headed west. Did that mean nothing could travel east?
Tong discovered that the answer was no when he arrived at a checkpoint, and saw a long line of eastbound vehicles that were parked on the verge, waiting their turn to use the highway. Hundreds of men were out of their vehicles and milling around. Some were eating snacks sold by Nepali vendors. Others were vaping, talking, or relieving themselves next to the highway.
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