Shadows of War (19 page)
Authors: Larry Bond
“What am I looking at?” he asked, dropping down to one knee to look at her screen.
“The Chinese started selectively blocking satellite phone communications from the area satellite phone services a few hours ago. AsiaSat2, Iridiumâthey've all been hit. The system is pretty sophisticatedâthere's technical information on what exactly they're doing back in this tab here.”
She rolled the cursor up and tapped one of the windows. A screen dense with words appeared.
“Do I need to know how this all works?” Lucas asked.
“No,” she said, clearly disappointed.
A strong scent stung Lucas's nose.
“What'd you have for dinner?” he asked.
“Som tam.”
Papaya saladâwith chilies. “My breath bad?”
Papaya saladâwith chilies. “My breath bad?”
“It's sharp, Gina.”
“Sorry, boss. About an hour ago, a member of a UN science team tried calling out on the emergency line. The Chinese blocked the other side of the transmission shortly after it began. Then they blocked it completely, but he still continued to talk.”
“He didn't realize it was blocked?”
“Apparently you can only tell that you don't hear someone responding.”
“They can do that?”
“They're using a type of ferret satellite.” Gina rolled the cursor arrow back toward the window with the technical data. “It's kind of fascinating.
They lock onto the bands the commercial satellite is using, and then selectivelyâ”
They lock onto the bands the commercial satellite is using, and then selectivelyâ”
“You can explain it to me when we're past all this,” Lucas said, starting to read the transcript.
Northwestern Vietnam, near the border with China
Among the important first-night targets
for the Chinese invaders was an army barracks just north of Lai Châu city. The two companies stationed there represented the only substantial Vietnamese force in the spearhead's path. Defeating it was therefore important both tactically and psychologically, and Jing Yo's platoon had been assigned to help secure the victory.
for the Chinese invaders was an army barracks just north of Lai Châu city. The two companies stationed there represented the only substantial Vietnamese force in the spearhead's path. Defeating it was therefore important both tactically and psychologically, and Jing Yo's platoon had been assigned to help secure the victory.
After being transported into the area with the main force, the commandos would leapfrog the defenses, sabotaging telephone and electric lines as they proceeded to a point southwest of the city where Highways 12 and 6 split. They would secure a small culvert bridge on Route 12 just south of that intersection, holding it to cut off any retreat by the Vietnamese.
The plan called for them to meet with three platoons of paratroopers, who were to have landed about five kilometers south and proceeded north along the highway. Because of the paratroopersâtogether the force amounted to about a hundred menâJing Yo had been given only one of his squads, amounting to eight men, not counting him. The other was assigned to provide protection at the force headquarters, basically operating as bodyguards for Colonel Sun, who was traveling with the main body.
Jing Yo hadn't protested when the orders were first drawn up; the paratroopers were well trained, and the force was more than sufficient to hold the bridge. But while racing to rejoin the tanks, the paratroopers had not been able to take off due to problems with their aircraft. That meant he and his eight men, initially assigned as little more than advance scouts, were now expected to do the work of one hundred.
Colonel Sun, of course, had not mentioned any of this when ordering him to rejoin the force. Jing Yo could only wonder if the colonel was purposely sabotaging him with an eye toward taking him down a peg or two.
Or maybe he was hoping he'd be killed when his unit was overrun.
Getting south past the column of rapidly advancing armor and trucks on the narrow Vietnamese highways wasn't easy. In many cases the two lanes of Chinese traffic completely blocked the road, including the narrow shoulder. So by the time Jing Yo managed to meet up with the vanguard of the assault, they were almost within sight of the barracks' perimeter. The infantry troops riding with the tanks had already dismounted, preparing for the attack.
“Through the field, quickly,” Jing Yo told Private Ai Gua, who was driving.
They veered across the ditch that ran along the highway. The land, tropical forest only a few years before, had been plowed under and turned into a wheat field. It was fallow at the moment; the season's planting wouldn't take place for another few months.
While the moon was very strong, it was difficult to see obstructions in the field without turning their headlights on. Twice Ai Gua barely missed large rocks. When he came to what looked like a path between the fields but turned out to be an irrigation ditch, he was going too fast to stop in time. He tried plunging across. He made it to the other side of the embankment, but then stalled the engine. Jing Yo leapt from the cab and ran to the back, where Sergeant Wu was already mustering the men in an attempt to push the vehicle forward.
There was only a small trickle of water in the bottom of the ditch, but its shallow sides were soft mud, and it took several minutes before the truck's wheels finally caught enough hard earth to move forward. Ai Gua revved the engine, spattering mud over everyone, including Jing Yo, as he made it back onto solid ground.
“Let's go!” yelled the lieutenant, racing back to the cab.
He heard gunshots in the distance, the low crack of rifle fire. The assault had already begun.
“Turn on the headlights,” he told Ai Gua. “Let's go.”
Fifty meters farther on, they came to a dirt road that led back in the direction of the highway. They turned onto it, Ai Gua stomping the gas pedal for all he was worth. But the lane soon angled southward, away from the highway.
“We need to go west,” Jing Yo told Ai Gua. “Cut across the field.”
The private did as he was told. The vehicle jerked unevenly, climbing in the direction of the highway.
“Another ditch ahead, Lieutenant,” said Ai Gua.
“Try south. Turn left.”
They did, but it was obvious that the ditch blocking their way wasn't going to end anytime soon. Jing Yo checked his GPS. According to the device, the nearest road back to the highway was two kilometers farther south.
“Stop here,” he told Ai Gua. He jerked open the door and ran to the back. “Take as much ammunition as you can,” he told his squad. “Leave the rucks. Let's go, let's goâwe run from here.”
Sergeant Wu began mustering the men. Jing Yo told Ai Gua to take the truck alone, find the road, and come back north.
“Just me?”
“Just you, Private. I know you can do it.”
Ai Gua nodded. Jing Yo slapped the fender and he put it in gear, spitting up large clods of dirt as he drove away.
“Could've just left the truck,” said Sergeant Wu.
“I don't want to lose it,” said Jing Yo. “And we can get there faster without the backpacks. He'll be okay.” He raised his voice to what they had called in officers' training a commanding shout. “Come on, men. The road is this way! We run together.”
The squad fell in behind him, moving at a good pace over the field. The night had cooled, and after the long ride the sensation of blood and adrenaline pumping through his veins felt good. Jing Yo ran at about three-quarters pace up the gradual rise, until he came to a three-strand barbed-wire fence whose black wires stood out against the moon-painted silver ground beyond.
He stopped and turned around, waiting as his men caught up. Sergeant Wu, the oldest of the squadânot to mention the heaviest smokerâtook up the rear, wheezing as he ran. It would have been a better idea to let him take the truck, thought Jing Yo, but it is too late now.
Private Chin removed a small pair of wire cutters from his tactical vest and cut the wires, which fell lazily against the ground. Jing Yo plunged back into the lead, running a little faster, until he began to tire and wondered where the road was. Finally the dark slick of macadam appeared ahead. He slowed to a jog, extending his hands to alert the others. Then he raced ahead to the drainage ditch flanking the road, flopping down against the side.
There was enough moonlight to see the road, but the glasses' magnification allowed him to see down it for about a kilometer. Once he was sure there were no snipers on the other side, he rose and ran to the edge, pausing to make sure he was still clear. Then he leapt across the road, landing on the opposite shoulder in two giant bounds. He slid into the ditch that ran along that side, once more making sure they weren't running their way into an ambush.
When he didn't spot anyone, he stood and whistled; his team double-timed across the highway.
“Where's the bridge?” asked Wu, out of breath.
“This is Route 6. We've got to go across that field, then up to our right,” said Jing Yo. “It should be less than a hundred meters.”
“All right.”
Jing Yo paused, listening. The gunfire he'd heard earlier had stopped.
That didn't make any sense. The assault should be well under way by now.
Maybe the Vietnamese had thrown down their weapons and were fleeing. In which case, Jing Yo had best get his men into position quickly.
“Let's go,” he told his men, and once more began to run.
Running always reminded Jing Yo of the days before being formally accepted for training as a
Ch'an
novitiate, when he and the other boys under the monks' care had had to prepare their bodies for the order's grueling physical tests. The early-morning and late-evening sessions cleared his head and made his body work with his mind in a way that couldn't be entirely explained in words; it was as if the exercise created new pathways between his muscles and his brain. Even now, running relaxed him, and though there were many things Jing Yo could have thought or worried aboutâwhether the Vietnamese had wired the bridge for explosives, whether a unit had been assigned to protect itâhis mind was an easy blank, filled only with the idea and sensation of running.
Ch'an
novitiate, when he and the other boys under the monks' care had had to prepare their bodies for the order's grueling physical tests. The early-morning and late-evening sessions cleared his head and made his body work with his mind in a way that couldn't be entirely explained in words; it was as if the exercise created new pathways between his muscles and his brain. Even now, running relaxed him, and though there were many things Jing Yo could have thought or worried aboutâwhether the Vietnamese had wired the bridge for explosives, whether a unit had been assigned to protect itâhis mind was an easy blank, filled only with the idea and sensation of running.
The field climbed upward toward a small copse. Jing Yo ordered his men to rest as they reached it, planning to use the trees as a vantage point to scout for the road. But before he could climb one, Private Chin shouted.
“There! The road is there, through the trees.”
Their target was less than fifty meters away.
“Chin, Bo, with me,” said Jing Yo, already starting back in motion. “Sergeant, stay with the others and cover us until we are sure it is clear.”
Jing Yo's right boot hit the pavement as the sky to the north turned white. An instant later, the first big shell from the tanks exploded as it hit one of the Vietnamese positions; a dozen or more followed in rapid succession. Even Jing Yo, who had been in combat several times before as a “mercenary” in Malaysia, stopped, his attention momentarily drawn to the thunderous assault a few kilometers away.
But only for a moment.
“The bridge is that way. Go!” he yelled. Then he turned back to Sergeant Wu, signaling for him to follow as he and the other two men ran north.
Jing Yo sprinted until he saw the low white arch at the side of the road ahead. The bridge seemed much smaller in real life than on the map they had used to prepareâso much smaller that when he reached it he took two GPS readings to make sure he had the right place. It rose barely three meters over a small, rocky stream, and extended for only ten or twelve meters.
“This is it?” asked Sergeant Wu, as always arriving at the rear of the pack.
“According to the GPS,” said Jing Yo.
“We should send someone north to make sure.”
Jing Yo agreed, and chose Chin and Bo, telling them to make sure they weren't seen by anyone. Then he inspected the area, looking for a place to defend the bridge from if they were attacked. A cluster of trees sat on the bank at the northwestern side; otherwise there was no cover at all, except for the bridge walls.
“No explosives,” said Sergeant Wu. “They weren't expecting us.”
They divided up the men, posting two in the trees and the rest in spots under the bridge, where they had decent firing lines on the road. Jing Yo called the division headquarters, announcing that they had reached their objective. He stayed on the bridge with Sergeant Wu, waiting for the two men whom they'd sent up the road, and watching the flashes on the horizon.
“I'd hate to be those bastards,” said Wu as a succession of explosions shook the ground. “Going against tanks at night. You never know what the hell hit you.”
The Vietnamese had faced tanks before, Jing Yo thought, when they fought the Americans and French. They had quickly become experts on antitank tactics and weapons; indeed, he had studied some of the Vietnamese tactics while training to be a commando, and used a few in
Malaysia, though there the biggest vehicle he had fought against was an armored car.
Malaysia, though there the biggest vehicle he had fought against was an armored car.
“You think this is going to last long, Lieutenant?” asked Wu.
Jing Yo shrugged. He hadn't really given it much thought.
“I think it will be over inside a week,” said Wu. “They'll quit before we reach Saigon.”
“I would imagine the Americans thought the same way.”
Sergeant Wu laughed. “Yes, but we're not the Americans.”
One of the men below hissed. Someone was running up the road.
“Hold your fire. It's Bo and Chin,” said Jing Yo, recognizing the shadows. “Report.”
“The Vietnamese are coming,” said Chin breathlessly. “They have armored cars.”
“Shit,” said Wu, a little too loudly for Jing Yo's taste. “Here comes hell.”
“Get your grenade launchers ready,” shouted Jing Yo. “Wait until they are very close!”
He took a step to run off the bridge, then realized that his men were watching and might misinterpret his haste. So he moved at a slow, almost relaxed pace up to the copse. Corporal Linn had already zeroed his shoulder-launched Type 2010 rocket-propelled grenade launcher on the road when he arrived.
In its basic design, the Type 2010 was very similar to the RPG-7 model the Vietcong used much farther south against the Americans in the 1960s war. But in the particularsâcharge and propellantâit was much better. The shaped charge could get past all but the largest main battle tanks; even then, a charge fired at the right angle and in the right spot could disable a Russian tank. Jing Yo knew this for a fact, since he had seen it done.
The vehicles they were up against were not nearly so well protected. But they were not tin crates either. French-made Panhard Sagaie 1's, they mounted 90 mm guns on their low-slung turrets. The trucks had wheels rather than traditional tank treads, which allowed them to move relatively quicklyâJing Yo estimated they were doing at least thirty kilometers an hour as they rounded the last bend before the bridge, about eighty meters from the trees.
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