Casca 14: The Phoenix (14 page)

Ho stopped at the duffle bag. He knew what was inside of it. Still, he had to see it. He ordered one of his men to take out the body. It was one thing to see a detached hand lying in the dust, but to see his former aide lying there with both of them removed at the wrist, the face blistered and distorted, made him cry out in rage and frustration, the likes of which Ho had never known before.

"I will have him." To his men he said, "Bring two companies from the camp. Take nothing but weapons. I will follow that dog into the bowels of hell itself, but I must have him!"

Ho's men looked at him with confusion and fear on their faces. What was this devil riding him? There had been stories told by those that had served him before of his vendetta against one American sergeant. The man who brought the bag with the body of Captain Troung; it must be him.

Ho's company commanders did not mind too much that he was ordering two hundred and forty men to chase after one. In the last few weeks there had been little action for them because they had been refitting and retraining. This would provide a pleasant break in their routine. A hunt was always welcome and it would do their new men good to get out and taste blood. Yes, the chase could be very good for morale.

The first indication that it might not be as easy as it looked was when a Bo Doi's face exploded. The American had not run very far...

Casey lowered his weapon from his shoulder, the familiar, thin wisp of blue tinged vapor trickling out the bore of the M-3. That should get them moving. The leather bottles around his neck gurgled thickly as he moved.

He took off again before the first return fire came his way. Dodging and weaving through the low brush and trees, he kept moving south. Behind him he could hear the enemy calling to each other as they spread out. They were not coming as fast as they could have. Getting one of their own killed right off slowed their feet a bit.

He ran till he was far enough ahead of them to take the time to prepare for them a small present. Then he moved on again careful to leave a trail that a blind man could see.

Van stayed with the 213th keeping behind them and out of sight. He had to time things right. He was a hundred meters to their rear when he heard a cry of pain.

Ho was behind the point man lashing him with his tongue to hurry up when the man suddenly bent over at the waist. Red, bloody stakes stuck out of his back. He was impaled on a Malay gate, a strong, bent sapling with sharpened stakes tied to it. When the release cord was hit, it would swing out and slap the unwary victim right in the belly. It was a favorite trick of the VC.

He called his company commanders over to him.
"No more stalling. He is close. Even I can see his trail. I know that he is leaving it for us to follow and we will, because he is at the end of it and he is not moving back to the Vietnamese border. He is heading due south. Soon he will reach the sea and there will be nowhere else for him to go. He will have to make a stand. Then we will take him. By all the gods of my father’s we
will
take him."

The sun passed its high mark and the shadows began to grow longer and still the chase continued. Three more men fell to bullets from Casey's submachine gun. Another Viet who thought he had him spotted, and in his eagerness had run to the forefront wanting to be in at the kill, was found by his comrades, hanging by his feet from the branches of a tree, his throat slit from ear to ear. He was left to drain like a slaughtered hog.

The new men of the 213th didn't like this chase. It was not going as they had expected. They were the ones doing the dying. Ho noticed the reluctance on the part of several of them to speed up their steps. This was corrected with two quick pistol shots to the brains of the nearest slackers. His message was clear. Go after the American and maybe die, or slow your steps and die for certain. The choice was clear; the pace picked up.

Phang waited with his men at the clearing he had shown Casey from the chopper. He didn't know if their plan was working or not, but he had faith in his big-nosed friend's ability to do the extraordinary. Van would come soon. The sun was nearly at the level of the tallest trees. He would have to come soon.

When Ho and the 213th reached a small shallow stream Van knew it was time for him to leave. They were on the right track and the timing was good. He cut off to the west leaving the rabbits to try and catch their tiger.

Casey had stopped only long enough to wash his face in the stream. His fatigues stuck to him like glue but he knew the Viets were in the same shape. He wanted them tired for the time when they would make mistakes. He checked the sun and his watch; he'd have to hurry. Both on and off the trail he set up trip wires, some attached to grenades, others to nothing. When the first Bo Doi hit a trip wire his right leg was blown off at the knee and shrapnel sliced open the arm of the man behind him, who was glad of the wound, for now he could stop the chase and go back to camp. He was left where he was to rest and make it back under his own power. Ho would spare no able-bodied man from the pursuit.

The next time one of the Viets hit a trip wire he screamed and hit the deck as did all those around him. Nothing happened. Afraid to move and afraid to stay in place they didn't do anything till Ho pulled his pistol from his holster. They rose and examined the wire finding it led to nothing. Ho was furious. "The beast mocks us. He toys with us as if we were mindless children Up! Up! and after him.”

They ran till they hit another wire which didn't kill but knocked out of commission two more men of the valiant 213th.
Once they were across another clearing Ho spotted Casey, who waved for him to come on. Ho did. His mind slipped into a singleness of purpose that would allow nothing else to enter. He drove his men as he drove himself after the
Qui than
; he had to be a demon to torment him so.

Ho and his men continued their hot pursuit, but the men for other reasons. They were more terrified of the madness they saw in Ho's eyes than they were of the lone American. The Yankee might be able to kill a few of them but Ho could have all of their heads. Their odds of staying alive were still better if they chased the American. And perhaps he would kill Comrade Ho...

Van neared the clearing. His coming had been announced by Phang's scouts who had been set on the trail with orders to tell him as soon as they saw Van approach. His men were on their feet and ready. Breathless, Van gasped out, "It is time. They are nearly there. If we go now we'll just make it."

Van was tired but refused the offer to rest and follow later. Phang admired the young Vietnamese. He was the only one of that race he had ever liked. In a spontaneous demonstration of his feelings he called over one of his men who carried a canvas rifle bag. From it he removed one of his most prized possessions, a cut down twelve gauge Savage automatic shotgun and a sack of ammo for it. He placed the weapon in Van's hands saying, "Take this. It will serve you well this night. It is yours to keep."

Van was moved at both the gift and gesture. He bowed his head in respect before Phang, who gently raised him to his feet. "Now, my son, we have
work to do."

Phang took the lead. He knew the paths of this land as he did those of his village. There would be no slow feet with his men. They nearly ran, also heading to the south. Van caught his second wind and kept up with them, though at times he thought his heart was going to leap out of his thin chest.

Casey could smell it now. He hunched down by a fallen log and waited. He was a few minutes in front of the PAVN and the respite was welcome. It gave his body time to regulate itself, the heart to slow its heavy pumping, the tremor in the legs and arms to ease. He waited.

He could hear them coming through the brush. He put a fresh magazine in the smg, placed his last two grenades beside him and took a careful look over the top of the log. The first Viets were entering the clearing. In spite of Ho's urgings they moved a bit slower than normal. Ho could not take the time out to set another example. He felt they would have his men cornered any time now.

Five, then ten, then twenty of them came out of the trees in a skirmish line. Casey pulled the pins from the grenades, took a breath, released the hammers counted to three and heaved them, one after the other over the log, not looking to see where they landed. Two dull thumps accented by screams for
Bac si
, medics, broke the silence. He rolled up to the top of the log, set his weapon on it and began to hose down the PAVN troops. Rounds came back at him instantly, eating chunks out of the log and peppering his face with wood splinters. They were getting a little bit pissed, he thought, as he rolled out of sight eventually rising to his knees. He ignored the whistling of bullets overhead. Twice a couple of rounds came close enough to his ear so that they sounded like someone clapping his hands together.

From this point on he watched for the landmarks that they had made earlier. He found a giant Mango tree with a ripped trunk by a small pond. He knew exactly where he was and where he was going.

The sun was nearly down and death silently waited in the coming dark. He ran at full speed now. There was no way for Ho to miss his route. They would come.

Phang cocked his head to the side and nudged Van who had come up alongside of him. "Gunfire, I hear gunfire not far away." Van tried to listen, but all he heard were the sounds of the night wind and the leaves rustling in the trees. Phang grinned; his senses were more acute than those of one
raised in the city. "Trust me young Van. There is gunfire and that means that Casey is still going. He should almost be there by now. Come we must hurry!"

The salt marsh waited in the moonlight, its waters black enough to suck the soul from anyone unwary enough to set foot in it. Bubbles of marsh gas broke through to the surface adding the pungent odor of decayed vegetation to the smell of stagnant water. Patches of reeds grew in clusters, hanging together as if they needed each other for support. Darker shadows rose above the still waters, arms stretched out, moss hanging from their limbs beckoning, waving to and fro in the night breeze coming from the land. Huge mangrove trees stood on raised crablike roots. From a distance they appeared to be huge contorted bodies that only needed the breath of life to be able to rise on their roots and walk.

Casey began to wade into the murky waters. Stripping his camouflage jacket from his body, he let it fall to float on the surface like a patch of mottled moss. From around his neck hung two large goatskin bags. On his shoulder, a strap held his grease gun in place. Extra magazines were in his hip pack. He had all that he needed with him. This was the place. Here he would wait for Ho to come to him. From behind him he could hear the PAVN soldiers searching for him. His mind cast back to another time in the past when he had been with the Legion and had used swamps similar to this. That time it had been only to escape his pursuers; this time it was to trap them.

From the distance came a cry with a note of discovery in it. He knew that his trail had been found. Soon they would be at the spot where he had let his jacket fall. They knew that he was alone and would feel confident. This didn't bother him. The dark waters and black night would more than make up for the loss of any allies
. No! They were his allies, his army. He would not be alone this night; others would come to his aid.

Let Ho and his men come into the waters where he'd be waiting to take them. Once they were committed, Van and Phang would do as they'd been told; and between Casey, the marsh, Van, and Phang's Kamserai there would be a great killing this night in the hours before dawn. Bending over, he lowered his hands into the calf-high waters, sunk them deep and pulled up a double handful of thick syrupy bottom mud. He smeared it all over his body and face so that even from a distance of three feet he would be hard to see. He went deeper into the swamp, the mud sucking at his feet, threatening to pull his jungle boots off. Well, if the swamp wanted them then let it have them. Untying the laces he let the boots sink. It would be easier for him to move without them.

The water was shallow now but when the tide came in it would raise the level to above his waist. Casey knew that something else would also come in with the tide, something so horrible that he was almost reluctant to use it.

Ho stood with young Major Xuyen from the 213
th
PAVN. The young officer didn't know the reason Comrade Ho wanted this one man so badly but it was not his place to question. He would obey. Two full companies of his regiment were now at the edge of the marsh waiting for the order before entering it. They didn't like the looks of that place and neither did he. They had never gone into the swamps before; there had never been any reason to. They were inhospitable and definitely uninviting. Even the local bandits avoided them, preferring any other place to the marsh.

Still there was only one man in there and his soldiers were all well trained and well equipped regular army personnel who would do their duty. And when they got close to their prey it would be easier.
One man in every squad carried a flare gun which could light up the darkest night for a few moments.

"Are you ready to give the order Comrade Colonel?"

Ho was eager to go after this thing in the swamp. It had haunted his every waking moment and most of his sleeping hours far too long. He would have an end to it this night even if it took the lives of every man in the two companies of soldiers with him. There were some things that went even beyond Party loyalty. This was a thing of the soul which had to be laid to rest once and for all. "Yes! Give the order. If he is killed they are to bring me the body. I must see it for myself. Is that clearly understood?"

"Toi hieu biet."
But the major didn't really understand, although he'd transmitted the order to his company commanders and they in turn to their platoons and squads. The order was given to those with flashlights to turn them on. For half a mile around the edge of the marsh, spears of man-made light lanced a few feet into the dark.

"Tien
tra trouc!"
At the order the two companies set foot into the shallow tepid waters. Ho went with them, staying with the major and his escort. He knew the danger they were in, and that the thing they hunted was not totally human. He had seen the death it dealt. Two companies of 120 men each were not, to his thinking, too many; in fact they might not be enough. Weapons at the ready, they advanced, trying to keep a semblance of a line as they moved into the sucking waters. Only the beams of the flashlights gave their movements any cohesion. Without the lights they would soon be lost and disoriented with no man knowing where his neighbor was.

Casey found the small animal trail he was looking for. It was less than six inches above water level and just wide enough for a deer to walk. Steadily he moved on, ignoring the line of insects and flies that hovered above the murky waters. Once he saw the flicker of a light far behind him and smiled secretly. "Come on in," he whispered. "The water's fine."

It took him fifteen minutes to reach what he was looking for, a small hummock rising six feet above the swamp. One lonely tree stood there waiting, its branches set another five feet above the mound. That was where he would stay. Looking at his watch he noted that there was still over an hour to wait. It should take the PAVN troops at least that long to reach this spot and when they did it would take a lifetime for them to get back out. He took the goatskins from around his neck and draped them over the tree's branches. Checking the grease gun he worked the action and leaned back to wait.

From his perch he was above most of the lower mist that covered the swamp. Looking down through it he could see that the thin trail he had followed was now only an inch or so above the water level and soon that would be gone.

Sweat ran in rivers down Ho's face, his breathing heavy, lungs aching as he tried to keep up with Xuyen and his men. His feet felt as though they were encased in hundred pound blocks of slime from the mud that clung to them at every step. Major Xuyen kept a constant dialogue going with his flank elements over the walkie-talkies that each platoon leader had with him. So far, nothing. Only the swamp and mud. In spots the water was reaching thigh level. Fifteen minutes into the marsh and a call came that a jacket had been found. They were on the right trail!

Casey could smell salt on the air from the unseen sea. The winds were beginning to turn with the incoming tide. It was time. The trail he had taken was now invisible. Nearer now were the beams of light casting about over the marsh. If he'd judged right, by now the average depth of the marsh should be nearly hip high. Taking the goatskins from the tree branch he pulled the stopper on one and then the other and tossed one on each side of the mound. A dark fluid began to seep from the skin bags into the murky liquid of the marsh. The dark, thick blood of a water buffalo drifted heavily with the slow flow of the current as it swirled softly in with the tide. Small fish tasted the blood and came to inspect the source. Behind them came larger ones and not finding anything there they ate the smaller fish.

From the sea, dark shapes rippled on the surface as they came in with the tide. Sliding over mud banks and through salt marsh grass they snaked their way between the tangled roots of the mangrove trees till the first one sensed the distaste of blood in the water. It turned toward the source, the sudden onset of primal hunger driving it. Behind the first came another, then another, riding in with the tide by twos and threes. Then in tens and twenties they came in from the sea and each tasted the blood and swam faster not wanting to be the last.

Major Xuyen did not like the way the search was progressing. In the last half hour the water had been rising steadily. There was no dry ground to be seen. It took an infinity to cover just a few yards. Men were falling constantly or having to be helped out of sink holes. From the marks on the trunks of trees he knew the water level did not get much higher than a man's waist but it gave him small comfort. He was a dry land soldier not a sailor or a fisherman.

Several times he had looked at Ho thinking to ask the colonel if it would not be better to call off the search, at least until the first light of day. The expression on Ho's face and the touch of fever to his eyes made Xuyen change his mind. He would go on. Better the unknown enemy in the swamp than the vengeance of a superior officer who had the power of life and death over him.

Casey looked down through a thin layer of swirling vapor. He thought he saw something go by his mound. The water rippled, left a small wake, and then the ripple disappeared. Less than a minute later there came another one, then a wave of them gathered around the base of the mound.

To the left Casey saw the glow of a flashlight shine upward. A lonely beacon searched the branches of a tree. Other lights were near him now and he could hear the voices of men talking softly to each other asking directions and swearing at the water and the mud. Pulling the shoulder stock out on the grease gun he flicked off the safety and set the submachine gun on his shoulder. The waters churned beneath him as the beasts tasted the blood, hungering for the meat that should be there. He would give them what they wanted. The nearest lights were less than fifty feet away now. Resting his arm against the limb of the tree to steady his gun, he began to take up the slack on the trigger.

The rapid chatter of the submachine gun broke the night. The nearest light went down as three 9mm bullets tore the chest out of its bearer Casey swung the weapon right and left. He hit two more Viets, not killing them but putting them down with bleeding wounds. The rest of the squad dropped low in the water for cover. Only their shoulders and weapons rose above the water as they tried to see where the fire had come from.

A young sergeant thought he saw something in the mist. He could just make out a rise and a tree where a dark shape huddled in its bare branches. He raised his AK-47 to his shoulder and was just about to squeeze the trigger, when suddenly something incredibly heavy took his leg and pulled. His finger let go of the trigger. What???? Then he was gone, his mouth filling with swamp water as the thing holding his leg rolled over once, twice, showing the white of its belly briefly as it twisted the sergeant's leg off at the hip. More blood spread, the scent drawing death to the Viets. The man standing next to the now deceased sergeant froze in horror as his squad leader disappeared. He was just starting to cry out a warning when the water in front of him burst open and jaws wide enough to tear a water buffalo's rear leg off and lined with rows of serrated teeth grabbed his head between them and closed, crushing the skull and tearing open the shoulder to expose the chest cavity and lungs. Then it too gave a rolling twist and hauled its meal under the water.

Phang had done as Casey ordered. He had waited till the Vietnamese were well into the swamp and then his men had moved up on its edge, but none of them had entered the water.
That they were not to do. Their job was to wait. If things went as planned most of the killing would be done for them.

Van stood off to the side of Phang. He was strangely silent, his normal bravado and quick banter gone. Even though the men in the marsh were his enemies, they were also of his own race. He didn't like what was going to happen to them.

Phang kept his own council. He knew what Van was feeling. He knew he would have felt the same if it had been his people.

Screams began to come from the swamp. Men trying to fight for their lives fired their weapons at random. Some of the lucky ones were hit by their
comrades bullets before the jaws took them.

In his tree Casey shuddered. He had seen death dealt in a thousand different ways, but he had never seen anything to equal this. One of the creatures crawled up onto the hummock and stared at him through double-lidded golden eyes. It raised its head, exposed the white of its maw and gave a long harsh honking cry for food. Casey knew that salt water crocodiles often grew to be over twenty feet in length and weighed over a ton. Right now, along with this one, there were hundreds of them in the waters of the marsh and all of them were hungering for food.

Blind panic hit the Viets. Those with flare guns fired them off to try and illuminate the night and give them a chance to fight the things ripping off their legs and arms. Most wished they hadn't, for now they could see the waters around them red with blood as bodies were being torn in half. The great crocodiles were not just killing, they were in a feeding frenzy, taking one then another of the Viets. Machine gun fire and grenades thrown into the marsh did nothing to stop them as hundreds of the beasts clambered over each other to get at the living flesh. Huge jaws opened above the water line as the crocs threw their heads back to toss and gulp down gobbets of meat.

Cries and screams of terror came from all sides. One by one the flashlights went out as the bearers were pulled underwater by the bloodthirsty crocs. When the last of the hand torches went out, the surviving soldiers were left blind in the dark. With no sense of direction most just went deeper into the swamp. Some tried to climb the slick trunks of the mangrove trees only to feel their legs crushed between razor-lined jaws as they were dragged back down.