“Yes.”
Kwan smiled. “That’s against regs. We’re in the same unit.”
“I know. Are you going to report me?”
“No,” Kwan said, as she moved to his lap. “Because I’d have to report myself too. Kiss me, but do it gently.”
Lee examined her face. One eye was swollen shut and a dark blue line circled her throat. Lee kissed her and she kissed him back. They remained that way for a while, holding and being held, while the snow swirled outside.
Lee kissed Kwan again. “Much as I’d like to do this all day, we need to get off before the convoy comes to a stop. I’m going to go out and watch for a village.”
“Take your coat,” Kwan said. “It’s warm in here.”
After donning the coat Lee went outside and was careful to close the door quickly. Then he chose a position in between their van and the vehicle behind it--a hidey hole that allowed him to look out without being seen from ahead or behind.
Lee found himself staring at snow covered rock for the most part, occasionally interrupted by ravines, and streams that flowed down from above. There were bridges too… A lot of them. Most were constructed of concrete or metal. But a few were made of wood. And they shook as if palsied as the rig crossed them.
Meanwhile Lee was getting cold in spite of the coat. So cold his teeth were chattering. And he was about to enter the van when a sign went past. Lee couldn’t read it, but figured it was a harbinger of civilization, no matter how modest that might be.
Lee hurried to warn Kwan and give her the coat. They huddled together as a cluster of houses slipped past. “Get ready,” Lee said. “On the count of three. One, two, three.”
Kwan stood, took two steps forward, and jumped. She was still in the air when Lee followed. His boots hit, slid, and dumped him onto his chest.
Kwan was there to offer a hand. He took it. Some low-lying commercial buildings were visible ahead, and Lee realized that he was looking at the Nepali version of a strip mall, built to service east-west traffic prior to the war.
The column continued to grind by as what looked like an under dressed soldier and a woman in an overly large coat made their way toward a store. “I think you should wait outside,” Lee said. “I’ll be as fast as I can.”
“What? I’m not pretty enough for you?” Kwan inquired through cracked lips.
“You’ve had better days,” Lee answered with a grin. “Take shelter over there, at the bus stop.”
The bus stop had been constructed with bad weather in mind. It had three plywood walls and a Plexiglas front, most of which was obscured by multicolored fliers. The shelter was empty and no one would wonder why a woman was waiting inside. “Keep the pistol handy,” Lee said as he left. “If I hear shots I’ll come running.”
Lee did the best he could to survey his surroundings as he crossed the parking lot to the store’s front door. The question continued to niggle at him. Why was he still alive? `Had it been a matter of luck? A confluence of factors that conspired to let them escape the Chinese base untouched? Or was something more sinister at work? But, if it was, where were the helicopters? The drones? And the military police?
A bell tinkled as Lee pushed the door open and entered. The store’s thinly stocked shelves included a bit of everything including food, bottled water, and racks of clothes in the back. A middle-aged Nepali man watched warily as Lee selected clothes for Kwan.
The wardrobe included a long-sleeved sweater, a pair of knockoff Levi’s, and a parka. He chose clothes for himself as well. The sooner he got rid of the uniform the better.
The garments went into a cart along with bottles of water and two cans of spaghetti. The only choice that was familiar to him.
The proprietor was clearly relieved when Lee brought the cart to the cash register. How many Chinese soldiers had ripped him off? Dozens, Lee supposed. To the victors go the spoils. Even if the spoils are candy bars and cigarettes.
Lee accepted his change, said “Thank you,” in Mandarin--and left carrying two plastic bags. Kwan was right where he’d left her. “I have clothes for you, but we need a place to go.”
“Here it is,” Kwan said as she gave him a flyer. “It was taped to the wall.” The text was in Hindi and English. “Rooms to rent,” the ad said. “Come by. You’ll be glad you did!” A simple map filled the rest of the page.
Lee took another look around. Westbound traffic had stopped, and eastbound traffic was growling uphill. As before he saw no signs of a search. Perhaps they were outside the area where the search was taking place. There was no way to know.
“Okay,” Lee said. “Let’s give it a try.”
The guesthouse was three blocks away. The woman who owned it seemed happy to see them and, if she had questions about the couple, she kept them to herself. And that, Lee hoped, was the woman’s approach to the Chinese occupation: See nothing, hear nothing, and know nothing.
Their room was small, but scrupulously clean, and well equipped by Nepali standards. A cooler occupied a ledge outside the single window, a two-burner hotplate sat perched on a shelf, and a double bed took up most of the floor.
But at that moment in time the room felt like a palatial hotel suite. A shared bathroom was down the hall. “Would you like to take a shower?” Lee inquired.
“I would,” Kwan said. “And put my new clothes on. I hope they have hot water.”
Once Kwan was gone Lee removed his radio from the inside pocket of the Chinese overcoat, turned it on, and thumbed the button. “Viper-Six to Viper-Eight, over.”
The response was immediate. “This is Eight… Where have you been? We were worried. Over.”
“It’s a long story,” Lee replied. “But you’ll be glad to know that Viper-One-Six is with me. We’re in a tiny village called Nukwot. Over.”
“Holy shit, that’s wonderful!” Cato enthused. “What’s your ETA? Viper-Two-Three will want to know. Over.”
“Viper-Two-Three” was Smith-Peet’s call sign. “I’m not sure,” Lee responded. “I had to smoke some guards in order to extract One-Six. So, the Chinese have got to be pissed. But there are no signs of a search. And that worries me. Over.”
“Roger that,” Cato replied. “You don’t want to lead them in. I get that. I’ll let Three know when he returns. Over.”
“Do that,” Lee said. “I’ll check in six hours from now. Over and out.”
Kwan returned shortly thereafter. She was wearing her new clothes which, though not fancy, fit reasonably well. “You have great taste,” Kwan said. “I’m ready for the ball.”
Lee laughed. “The other girls will be jealous.”
Kwan listened while Lee told her about his conversation with Cato. Then he stripped down to his boxer shorts and threw the Chinese uniform into a corner. “Keep the pistol handy,” he advised. “I’ll knock four times.”
Then he took the carbine plus a towel and went down the hall. The “hot” water was only lukewarm. But even that was a treat. And Lee took pleasure in washing at least a week’s worth of dirt off his body, before returning to the room, where he rapped four times. Kwan said, “Come in,” and he did.
Kwan was in bed under the covers. Her clothes were draped over a chair. “I pre-warmed the bed for you,” Kwan said.
Lee put the carbine next to the bed and slid in under the covers. His hands reached for her. Kwan was small and warm. “I’m sorry about my face,” she said. “I look ugly.”
“No,” Lee said as he kissed her. “You’re beautiful…. Very beautiful.”
“I want you,” Kwan said.
“And I want you,” Lee replied.
The war ceased to exist, and time seemed to stop.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
West of Sim Bhanjyang Pass, Nepal
Kwan was still asleep when Lee took the radio down the hall to the bathroom, closed the door, and turned the shower on. Cato had been waiting for the call. “I read you, Six. Two-Three is here and wants to talk to you. Over.”
“This is Three,” Smith-Peet said. “
Has anything changed? Are you still in the clear? Over.”
“As far as we can tell,” Lee replied. “But as I told Eight earlier there’s been no manhunt. And it seems strange. Over.”
“Or there is one, and it’s taking place elsewhere,” Smith-Peet said. “I think you waited long enough. Make your way to Badahar, find the Atwar Buddha, and a team will meet you there at 0100 tonight. Will it be necessary to carry One-Six? Over.”
“No,” Lee replied. “Over.”
“I’m glad to hear it. Over and out.”
Lee returned to the room, opened the door, and found himself looking down the barrel of his own pistol. “You’re supposed to knock four times,” Kwan said tightly. Lee raised his hands. “Sorry, I thought you were asleep.”
Kwan lowered the pistol. “And I thought you were going to the can.”
“I did,” Lee replied. “And I called in. We have orders to meet a team in the village of Badahar at 0100 tonight.”
“So, they think it’s safe?”
Lee shrugged. “I wouldn’t go that far. But the colonel wants us to return.”
“Okay,” Kwan said, as she rolled out of bed. She was naked, and Lee stared.
Kwan shook her head. “Put your eyes back in your head soldier. I’m hungry and about to heat some spaghetti.”
“In the nude?”
Kwan threw a pillow at him. “No. Where the hell is Badahar? Your job is to find out.”
The last thing Lee wanted to do was to ask the hotel’s owner. She couldn’t tell what she didn’t know. So, Lee made his way down to the bus stop, examined the map posted there, and saw that Badahar was 10 miles west of Nukwot.
Then he turned around and retraced his steps. He was careful to knock four times before inserting the key into the lock. It made no difference. Kwan was aiming the pistol at him as he entered. She put it aside. “Dinner’s ready,” she announced. “Dig in.”
Much to Lee’s surprise the spaghetti was good. And filling too. “So,” Kwan said. “What did you learn?”
“Badahar is 10 miles west of here. I figure we’ll wait for night to fall, go down, and jump onto a westbound convoy.”
“What if westbound traffic has been shut down?” Kwan wanted to know.
“Then we’ll wait,” Lee replied.
“It would be nice to take the rifle.”
“Yes, it would,” Lee agreed. “I like the way you think. We’ll wrap your POW shirt around it.”
They paid for the room and left after darkness fell. The Chinese uniform and Kwan’s POW pants went into a trash can on the way to the highway. “Damn it,” Lee said. “Traffic is flowing east.”
“Let’s find a spot to wait,” Kwan suggested. “Something out of the wind.”
The snow had stopped for the time being. But it was cold and a stiff breeze was blowing down-slope.
“Good idea,” Lee replied. “Let’s walk west along the highway. Maybe we can find a spot where there’s a windbreak and trucks will have to slow down.”
After walking a quarter mile or so Lee saw flashing lights up ahead. And, as they drew closer, he saw a truck stalled by the side of the road. A Chinese wrecker was on the scene. One of many he assumed, since there was no doubt that vehicles broke down frequently, and had to be cleared to avoid bottlenecks. “Come on,” Lee said. “Run!”
They ran. And, as the distance closed, the soldiers operating the wrecker managed to hoist the front end of the box truck up off the pavement. “What-if-it-turns? And-goes-east?” Kwan demanded, in between gulps of air.
“Then-we’re-screwed,” Lee replied.
By the time they drew level with the box truck all of the various chains had been secured and the soldiers were back in the relative comfort of their wrecker. “Jump!” Lee ordered, “and open the cab.”
Kwan made the leap to the running board and jerked the passenger side door open. The wrecker-truck combo was in motion by then with Lee running alongside. Kwan turned to reach out. Lee ran faster, made the jump, and felt Kwan’s fingers close around his wrist.
The heavy-duty rearview mirror gave him something to hold onto while Kwan slid inside. He followed. Then came the moment of truth. Would the wrecker continue to head west? Or pull a U-turn?
After waiting for five suspenseful minutes Lee felt he could relax. The wrecker was hauling the box truck west. And, if their luck held, the tow would carry them all the way to Badahar.
And it did. After half an hour of twisting-turning S curves, dimly lit buildings appeared on the hillside to the right, and the wrecker slowed. “I think we’re there,” Lee said. “Time to bail out.” He went first, quickly followed by Kwan who landed without incident.
“Good,” Lee said. “Now we have to find the Atwar Buddha.”
“Yes, we do,” Kwan agreed. “But it’s only 20:45.”
“I’ll call Cato,” Lee said. “And he can notify the team. Maybe they’re in the area or close by.”
And that, as it turned out, was the case. After receiving radio instructions, they were able to find the centuries old Atwar Buddha, and make contact with Pun and Shrestha. “It’s good to see you, sir,” Pun said. “And you too ma’am. We’re sorry about what happened to you.”
“Me too,” Kwan replied. “Thanks for coming.”
“We brought some gear and weapons,” Shrestha said, as he dumped a pack board onto the ground. “Take whatever you need.”
Kwan opted for some army-issue rain pants to pull over the ones she had, plus an M4, and a pistol.
Lee took his pistol back and traded the Chinese carbine in for an HK416. Both Lee and Kwan accepted bottles of water plus three energy bars each. “Okay,” Pun said, once the process was over. “Let’s go.”
Thanks to their night vision gear the group could hike during the hours of darkness, but the serpentine trail led steadily upwards, before topping a ridge. And Lee was struggling to breathe by then. A steep path led downwards from there. And, as light crept in from the east, they arrived in front of a stone hut. It was sheltered by trees and covered with snow. “This was a trade route once,” Shrestha informed them. “And traders took shelter here. We’ll do the same. It’s too dangerous to trek during the daylight hours.”
An ancient wooden door provided access to a windowless interior. And outside of stone benches that ran along two walls there was no furniture. A smoke blackened fireplace was available, but worthless without fuel, which the party lacked.
So, all they could do was post a single sentry, curl up on the hard benches, and get what sleep they could. Both Lee and Kwan were careful to maintain a certain amount of distance from each other, lest the Gurkhas realize that the relationship had changed.
After what felt like an interminable day, and consuming some MREs, the group hit the trail. It took six hours of hard slogging to reach the check point located one mile from the tunnel. “The Beagles are clear,” Cato assured them. “Come on in. Over.”
The group arrived to a warm reception. A party of sorts had been arranged, featuring the best tidbits from a number of MREs, and a container of Fruit Beverage Mix, which stood in for beer. Everyone except those on watch gathered around to hear Kwan and Lee tell their combined stories.
There were suitable oohs and ahs at all the right points culminating in an upbeat speech from Smith-Peet. The gathering broke up after that. And, after reclaiming her bunk, Kwan went looking for Evers. The green beret was cleaning his assault rifle. “Hey, doc. It’s good to have you back. Jangchup has an interesting case of toe rot that I’d like an opinion on.”
“I can hardly wait,” Kwan said dryly. “But, before we tackle that, I’d like you to take a look at the back of my neck. Something hurts back there.”
“Can do,” Evers said, as he pulled a pair surgical gloves on. “Maybe you have a new friend. Nepal is home to a variety of ticks.”
Kwan winced as Evers touched her neck. “Yeah, that’s the spot. What’s going on?”
“I’m not sure,” Evers replied. “I can feel s
omething under your skin.”
“Well, dig it out.”
“With a local? Or without?”
“Without,” Kwan replied.
A couple of minutes passed while Evers wiped the affected area with disinfectant, readied some 4X4s, and armed a scalpel. “Are you ready? I’m about to go in.”
“Do it,” Kwan ordered. There was a brief moment of pain as Evers made a tiny incision. “You have an infection here,” the green beret said. “And here’s the culprit.”
“A tick?”
“No, a pencil-eraser-sized gizmo of some sort. A present from the Chinese no doubt.”
Kwan leapt to her feet, turned, and snatched the bloody object out of his hand. “A tracker! A fucking tracker! That’s why we didn’t see any helicopters!” Then she ran down-tunnel to the makeshift command station.
Smith-Peet was sitting on a crate of ammo, writing in his journal, and smoking an ancient pipe. “I say, Doctor, what’s the rush?”
“The Chinese put a tracker in my neck! Evers dug it out.” Kwan held the capsule out for him to see.
Smith-Peet turned pale. “Cato… Get on the horn and warn everyone. Attack imminent.”
“It isn’t ‘imminent,’” Cato said, as he stared at a computer screen. “It’s here. There are four, that’s four, airborne targets circling our position.”
Major Wang was leading the mission himself. And nothing had been left to chance. As his helicopter circled the enemy hideout, three additional helos followed along behind, one of which carried second-in-command Captain Tong.
About half of the Thunder God Commando was 32 soldiers, which should be more than adequate. And their orders were to, “Attack the enemy position and kill all the enemy combatants within.” The Dalai Lama included. That kind of clarity was rare and Wang was extremely grateful for it.
Thanks to satellite reconnaissance Wang knew the Allied force was hiding in a railroad tunnel, which was spewing heat from what amounted to an exhaust pipe, indicating that a power source was located within. But to attack the “turtle” Wang would have crack its shell. So, the first step was to attack the rock face behind which the tunnel lay.
Red Dragon (Winds of War Book 3) Page 23