The Cover of War (28 page)

63

T
he knock on Hitchcock's door broke his train of thought.

Goddamn it.
'Come in,' he said, impatiently.

Corporal
Mancini's greasy head appeared in the doorway. 'Sir. I have something you might
wanna hear.'

'Make it quick.'

Mancini came in.
'A Cayuse registered to Civil-Air-Transport, took off from Tan Son Nhut yesterday
morning, and hasn't been heard from since-'

'So what?'

'I talked to our
man in Air-America. He saw them fly out.'

Hitchcock looked
back to his reports.

'I checked up,'
Mancini ploughed on. 'Their approved destination was in
Thailand
, but Lima-85 had them until they
dropped below radar alt, north of the Bolovens Plateau.'

'Make your
point.'

Mancini's voice
sped up. 'Our guy saw a spook-team aboard that chopper.'

Hitchcock rolled
his eyes. 'CAT transports spooks all the time - that explains their deviation
from flight path. Christ son - do I have to
think
for you.'

Mancini's fat
eyebrows arched. 'Sir. Our man said Chaske
Thorn
was aboard the
chopper-'

'You're wasting
my time.'

'Thorn's some
kind of spook legend. Men talk about him in the bar-'

'Wrap it up,
Corporal.'

'Thorn's on
leave. He's not meant to be on a disappearing chopper in
Laos
.'

Hitchcock looked
up.

'This Chaske
Thorn,' Mancini went on. 'Is Danny Thorn's
brother
- you know - the
kidnapped reporter.'

Hitchcock went
cold. 'Shit.'

64

A
fter several hours jammed into the boat designed for the Asian
physique, Chaske's bulky frame ached.

Ahead of him,
the team wriggled like grubs in a rotten log.

Chaske still
didn't recognize any features of the landscape. He closed his eyes and raked
his memory, trying to recall any detail from previous missions that would help
orientate him.

His memory
peeled through a high-speed replay of all the missions he had conducted in
Laos
.

He opened his
eyes. Above the trees he could see a steep range. Slowly, murky recollections
returned. Shards of memories began to reassemble. Then he realized that the
stream they were on would empty out into a much larger river valley - a river
that the NVA used as a major supply route - the river they had flown up in the
Cayuse. He felt a burst of fear and excitement, but ahead something caught his
attention. Chaske could see a manmade structure.

The Chinese
whisper came back down the boat: '
Bridge
.'

As the distance
closed, he could see that the bridge was constructed of tree trunks, lashed
together with thick rope. It looked capable of taking trucks. Underneath was a
space for sampans to pass.

Chaske felt a
buzz.
We're right on the Ho Trail,
he thought.
Good.

Golota turned
and threw him a hostile glare. Chaske knew what Golota was thinking; pushing
into the heart of the enemy's territory would scare the hell out of Golota, but
it was exactly what Chaske's plan called for. It was the only way.

Then Chaske's
blood stopped in his veins.

A faint sound
grew into the distinctive rattle of an outboard motor. An approaching sampan
came out from under the log bridge. An armed soldier stood on its bow; another
squatted at its stern, controlling the tiller. Between the two men, green
crates filled the sampan's deck; the yellow stenciled lettering, American.

The bowman held
an AK-47 and was staring straight at them. The bowman cocked his weapon and
said something to the tiller-man. The engine note dipped and the boat slowed.

Chaske's muscles
tensed. It would only be a matter of seconds before the two sampans passed. The
waterway was only twenty feet wide at this point.

Hackles bristled
up Chaske's back.

The team sat
rigid.   

Chaske flicked
off his MP-5's safety, and brought it into his lap. Chaske watched the enemy
bowman's eyes; they were alert and suspicious.

Chaske's mind
switched to combat mode. He observed small details: the scratching sound of
Golota's fingernails, raking the skin of his neck; the drone of mosquitoes; the
fetid smell of the water; and the pulsing heat of the jungle. 

Feet separated
the craft. They would pass with only inches between them.

These are no
fisherwomen
, Chaske thought.
Will they ID
us? 
  

Again, the team
hunched beneath their funnel hats.

Cam
called out in Vietnamese and the bowman's face relaxed. He smiled
and called back. Chaske picked up the word for hot.
Cam
spoke again and the bowman nodded.

The boats came
alongside.

Chaske's sampan
rocked as it entered the enemy boat's wake and he feared it would tip.

Then Blue's hat
fell off.

In the second it
took Blue to get the hat back on, Chaske saw the shock of red hair that it
hid. 

The bowman's
eyes widened and he swung his Kalashnikov toward Blue.

Gunfire split
the silence. 

From the bow,
Golota gave each of the Viet Cong two bullets in the chest. The bowman fell
forward into the shallow water. The tiller-man slumped and the cargo laden
sampan veered right, and then rode up on the bank behind them.

Chaske took his
finger off the trigger; somehow Golota had beaten him to the draw. 'Paddle.'
Chaske said, driving his paddle into the water. 'Go. Go.'

The sampan
gained sped and passed under the bridge.

Chaske's blood
was pumping.
Did they hear the shots?
Golota's PPS sub-machinegun was
much louder than an MP-5.
Even so, Chaske knew it wouldn't be long
before another sampan found the crewless vessel.  

The waterway
veered left. Chaske directed the team to the right bank; a flat of grayish mud,
backed by thick bamboo. The boat run aground and tipped onto its side. They
rolled out and dragged the sampan into the bamboo. Chaske's feet were numb and
his legs cramped spasmodically.

Now though, he
had a rough idea of his location. He hoped he could find what he was looking
for. He hoped his plan would work. Their lives depended on it - and then there
was this massive attack of Amai's to report. Chaske could tell Amai was
genuine. He could see how much she loved his brother. He could see how much she
wanted to stop the Viet Cong offensive.

Behind him a
whistle blew.

* * *

Triet had heard the four gunshots; they
were not an AK-47's.

After linking up
with an NVA platoon, Triet now had seventy men and five dogs at his disposal.
He felt confident that they would soon kill Amai and Danny - and who ever was
helping them. Tet's secret would soon be safe. Then he could relax.

The search-dogs
whined and strained against their leads, dragging their NVA handlers in the
direction of the gunshots.

Thanh said: 'The
dogs will pick up their scent.'

'Why would they
risk coming so close to the Trung son road?' Triet said; it didn't feel right.

Thanh yelled to
the soldiers to surround the escapees.

Triet pinched
his chin. 'Perhaps they thought that they could hijack a truck?' He shook his
head. It didn't make sense. But at least they hadn't yet called a helicopter;
none had been seen in the area.

Thanh said: 'The
dog team will have them within the hour.'

'They had
better.'

65

H
itchcock called Mancini into his office for the
four o'clock
brief.

'What's current,
Corporal? Anything worth knowing?'

'A few things
have come through, Sir.'

'Spit it out.'

Mancini
consulted some notes. 'Pilots and spy-planes are reporting the build up of a
large force near the Marine Base at Khe Sanh . . . Da Nang are keeping a close
eye on it. Khe Sanh are gearing up for an attack.'

'We knew that's
where they would strike.' Hitchcock said. 'Everything's been pointing to it.'
He nodded smugly. 'Anything in our AO?'

'Captain Nash's
remains are goin' back stateside Friday. Those who knew him are getting
together for a beer.'

'When's the
service?'

'Not tomorrow
but next day.'

'Anything
concerning the enemy that I need to know, Corporal?'

Mancini flicked
through his papers. 'Yes Sir. Ho Chi Minh broadcast an odd poem over
Hanoi
radio.'

'Fabulous. Read
it aloud.'

Mancini postured
like a poet. '"This spring far outshines the previous springs

Of triumphs
throughout the land come happy tidings

Let north and
south emulate each other in fighting the
US
aggressors

Forward

Total Victory
will be ours."'

Hitchcock
snarled. 'What the fuck do I care about a goddamn poem?' 

66

C
haske led the team through mangroves and dense bamboo, his mouth dry
with anxiety.
How much longer,
he thought,
before this Triet catches
up?

Again he
searched his memory, trying to recall the reconnaissance imagery for this area.
He
had
studied recon photos of this sector in minute detail. He
had
led teams in this area, on top-secret recon missions. Both Blue and Golota had
been on those missions, but obviously had not yet figured out what he was up
to.

The steep,
jungle-covered range to his front, Chaske guessed, was roughly west. If
correct, he figured that he was nearing a major intersection of the Ho Chi Minh
Trail. Intersections existed everywhere across the trail network, but he had a
specific
intersection in mind. He was sure that what he was looking for
could be found there.

He broke through
the bamboo onto a well formed dirt-road, overhung by jungle. Truck tyres had
carved ruts into the wet clay. The team stopped beside him. Chaske looked up
the road; fifty yards ahead the road bent left.

'You're fucking
insane, Thorn.' Golota said; his voice gravelly and strained. 'We're in the
worst place we could be. You know as well as I do this is Ho Chi Minh's Highway
61.'

Chaske nodded.
'Now we follow it north.'

Golota's eyes
rolled like a spooked horse's. 'Are you
tryin'
to get us killed?'

'You need to
trust me, John. There
is
no other way outta here.'

Golota scratched
welts into his forearms and looked up and down the road. 'This ain't right.
It's not fucking right.'

Chaske feared
Golota would unravel. Chaske took the lead. 'Let's go. Keep left. If anything
comes, bail into the J.'

Chaske hoped
that only trucks would be using this road, and that he would hear them before
he saw them. He led them at a jog to the corner.

Golota said: 'I
hear somethin'.'

They all
stopped.

Golota stood
like a spooked cat. He said: 'Fucking truck,' and charged into the scrub on the
left side of the road.

Ten seconds later Chaske heard mechanical sounds up ahead, and he
followed Golota.

Chaske strained his eyes. The clay road snaked into another corner,
overhung by growth and obscured by heat blur. Through the blur came a convoy of
long nosed trucks, their aging diesel engines revving hard as they lurched
through the ruts.

Vibrations traveled through the ground. The trucks rolled past,
filling the undergrowth with diesel fumes. 

Then they were gone.

Golota was licking his fingers.

Chaske went back onto the road and walked to the next bend.

He felt a rush of adrenalin. The main road coming towards him
branched in two directions, like an upside-down Y.

He was sure that this was the intersection he was looking for.

He took the team into the scrub on his right, and then studied the
junction. It looked clear.

'What the fuck are we doing?' Golota hissed. 'This is insane.'

Chaske ignored him; he was focused; intensely scanning the verges of
each road.

Then he saw it.

He focused on a small, twig like plant growing in the clay. He
studied it hard, and thought:
No. Too big.

Chaske stood. 'Blue, with me. Rest of you, stay here.'

Chaske led Blue across the roadway to the crook of the intersection.
Chaske felt vulnerable. His ears strained for the slightest manmade sound. He
crouched, and studied the roadway in detail, once again paying particular
attention to its edges.

Almost immediately he saw it - another twigish plant, growing in the
clay.

But there was something about this twig - he had seen it before -
many times in-fact. It was the antenna of an
air-dropped-acoustic-seismic-intrusion-detector, designed and manufactured to
look like a plant. It was not something the Vietnamese would ever notice, but
Chaske knew exactly what to look for, and he knew that this intersection, along
with several others, had been subject to a precision sensor drop by a P-2
Neptune aircraft only months ago. Advising on project 'Igloo-White', Chaske had
seen the ultra-secret maps, showing the sensor strings that covered this
section of the Ho Chi Minh Trail. The NVA had no idea that their every movement
was being recorded at a massive, top-secret installation at
Thailand
's Nakhon Phanom Airbase.

Chaske tapped Blue's shoulder and then pointed to the antennae.

Blue grinned. 'You're a bloody genius, mate. I never thought of
that.'

They ran in a crouch to the buried ACOUSID. Chaske knelt beside the
twig antenna, grasped its base, and attempted to pull the thirty-seven pound,
bomb-shaped device from the ground as if it were a weed. The sensor was stuck
fast.

'Give me a hand, Blue.'

Blue grabbed the antenna and they pulled together. Bit-by-bit, the
ACOUSID came toward the surface. Then it came free.

Blue was puffing. 'What'd we do with it?'

'Get it to cover.'

Chaske hefted it onto his shoulder and carried it into the
vegetation in front of them. No sooner had he entered the greenery, another
truck convoy rolled through the intersection.

Chaske examined the three foot long device. It looked like a bomb,
but instead of explosives, it was packed with high-tech electronic circuitry.
His first CIA field missions in
South East Asia
had effectively been proof-of-concept testing for the technology.
This device though, was a big step up from the small spike sensors that team
Voodoo had tested.

Chaske put his mouth close to the sensor and began talking quietly
to it.

'Christ, mate,' Blue said. 'It's no time to sing it a lullaby.'

'The sensor's seismic
and
acoustic,' Chaske said. 'It'll
already be beaming the details of our actions to an aircraft 30,000ft above us.
Someone wiz-kid at Nakhon Phanom will be trying to figure out what's going on
with it.'

'Not so sure you're right,' Blue said pointing to the dented
microphone cover. 'Must've hit a rock as it plugged.'

A familiar whistle carried on the air, followed by the barking of
dogs.

'We gotta hurry,' Chaske said.

'Don't you wanna wait for your friends?' They've got puppies.'

Chaske scratched in the leaf decay and found two small rocks. 'How's
your Morse-code?'

'Good,' Blue said.

'Get as close as you can to the sensor and tap out this message.'