The Cover of War (29 page)

67

Ground
Infiltration
Surveillance
Center

Nakhon Phanom Royal Thai AFB,
Thailand

17°23'20"N 104°38'39"E

T
rembling, Lieutenant Ryan
Patrick put the secure comm-link receiver back into its black, bakelite cradle.

He felt both raw nerves and excitement.

Despite the cool, dry environment of the climate controlled '
Project
Building
', a light sweat plastered his thinning red hair to his forehead. A
BATCAT flight coming off station over
Laos
with engine trouble, had just reported some highly unusual sensor
activity, deep in enemy territory. 

Patrick scurried to his Combat-Information-Consol, located mid-way
along a row of boxy computer stations. He dropped into his swivel chair, put
his headphones on, wiped the fog from his glasses, and spun toward the circular
scope. He leaned in; his eyes following a thin, green worm as it crawled across
a numbered grid. The data was consistent with that of a regular convoy of lorries;
something he seen a-thousand times before, and as it turned out, the string's
fourth convoy of the day. Then something strange happened.

'Son-of-a-gun.' He picked the red telephone receiver, while keeping
his eyes on the screen.

'CIMCO. What is it?'

'Sir. You need to see this.'

Patrick heard the Colonel's door slam, and then heavy footsteps
bearing down on him. He looked up.
Son-of-a-gun.

Colonel Anderson's uniform jacket was stretched around his heavy
shoulders, threatening to burst its seams at any second. His thick neck held a
meaty, buzz-cut head, and his expression threatened physical assault.

The Colonel put a heavy arm on Patrick's shoulder. 'What is it,
son?' 

Patrick's stomach fluttered. 'Check it out, Sir. I'll replay the
spike.'

As before, the green snail's-trail progressed across the scope.
'Normal activity,' Patrick said. 'Truck convoy.'

'Whereabouts are we?'

'
Laos
, Sir. Remote.
Look here.' Patrick felt the Colonel's immense presence behind him as he spoke.
'This sensor, Alfa Whiskey five eight five's picked up the convoy in sync with
the rest of the string - but then it does this.' The anomaly occurred and he
tapped the screen.

The Colonel took a knee beside his chair. 'Someone's tampering with
it, Lieutenant.'

'Yes, Sir. We got the call from BATCAT. They advise it's an acoustic
string providing quality auditory data, but this sensor's only giving limited
feedback.'

'Let's check it out, son.'

'Okay.' Patrick's body tingled. He led the Colonel to the end of the
column of computers and opened the door to a darkened room, which hummed with
the sound of electronic equipment. He flicked the light switch and room glowed
red. Patrick went to the audio rack, plugged in a set of headphones, and handed
them to the big Colonel. Donning his own headset, Patrick surveyed the array of
nine-track-reel-to-reel tape drives, and identified the correct unit. He
rewound the tape, and said: 'Standby, Sir.'

Immediately a clattering noise filled Patrick's ears. 'That's the
fourth convoy coming down the string . . . ZIL One Fifty Sevens if I'm not
mistaken . . . aging fleet; first vehicle has extensive bearing wear-'

'Don't be a smart ass.'

The tape went quiet.

Patrick said: 'Convoy's moved out of sensor range.'

'What's that sound?' 

'Could be voices, Sir.'

'American or Dink?'

'Impossible to tell, Sir. Sounds like the microphone's damaged. Probably
packed with mud on deployment. Most do.'

The colonel looked at him. 'What's that tapping noise?'

'Dunno? Could be-'

Together they said: 'Morse-code.'

'How's your Morse, son?'

'Five-by, Sir.'

'What's it saying?'

Patrick brought both hands up and pressed the headset to his ears.
'Series of letters and numbers,' he said feeling light-headed. 'A
message
.'

'What?'

Patrick took a red biro from his top pocket and wrote the message on
the palm of his hand. The Colonel leaned over his shoulder and Patrick showed
him his palm.

The Colonel read aloud: '
Lima
, One-Zero-six-seven. Team of eight needs evac. Holding war critical
info. Moving to clearing 300 yards west. Hurry.'

Patrick turned to face the Colonel. 'First part makes no sense?'

The Colonel's eyes betrayed the first sign of real emotion that
Patrick had ever seen from him.

The Colonel stood to his full six-foot-four-inches and put his hands
behind his head. 'First part's a Special-Ops authenticator code.'

'Could be a trap Sir . . . Think about it. Charlie finds a sensor
and lures us in with a fake rescue mission - classic move.'

'That's a genuine code,' the Colonel said. 'There's a SOG Team out
there needs rescue - holding war critical info. Who's closest?'

'Ubon.'

'Get me the 40th Aerospace Rescue on the line - NOW!'

* * *

The direct-line
from the ISC to the 40th ARR operations room at Ubon Ratchanthani was answered
in two rings.

A distant voice barked: 'Operations, 40th-'

'CIMCO here,' Colonel Bull Anderson said. 'I got a mission on. Do
you have choppers ready for a priority extraction in
Laos
?'

'I can do better,' the man from 40thARR said. 'I got two Jolly
Greens in the air over the Thai boarder.'

Bull Anderson's face went hot. 'Turn em round.
Mission
is war critical.'

Patrick handed him a slip of paper with co-ordinates scribbled on
it.

The Colonel took the paper and said into the telephone receiver:
'Take co-ordinates.'

'Go ahead.'

'Fifteen degrees, fifty-four dash one-one point niner eight
November, by one-zero-six degrees, fifty-four dash eighteen point three-niner
Echo. Elevation is eleven-hundred-and seventy-one feet. Confirm.'

'Rodger, Bull.
Mission
is go.'

68

B
lue glared at the damaged sensor. 'Ya reckon anyone got the message,
mate?'

'Better hope
so.'
If not, I've killed us all.

The howling of
the search dogs divided into several distinctive barks.

'They're onto
us.' Blue said. 'We gotta move.'

Chaske decided
to leave the ACOUSID behind. It could serve no further purpose; either their
SOS had been received by the ISC - or it hadn't.

With Blue on his
heels, Chaske threw aside caution and sprinted down the center of the Ho Chi
Minh Trail, to where the rest of the team lay hidden.

Chaske arrived
heaving. 'Let's move,' he said. 'I think there's a clearing three hundred yards
west.'

'You
think.
'
Golota said. 'Those dogs'll have us in minutes.'

Chaske snarled.
'Follow me.'

Chaske knew in
his own mind that the chances of getting the team out alive were dropping by
the second; but he would not give up. He could only hope Nakhon Phanom had
received their SOS.

He ran across
the road and into the jungle.
Would they even respond if they had?
He
thought.
Will these people die because of me?

He smashed
branches aside, no longer caring about stealth. He wondered who today's duty
CIMCO was. He hoped it was someone like Colonel Bull Anderson - the ex-SOG
Commander would read the situation correctly.

Panic bubbled
inside him.
Would a lesser operator send choppers into a hot location on
sketchy intelligence?

Tropical leaves
swatted his face and body as he led the way forward. He could hear Golota,
panting behind him.

Then he saw it.

Ahead, the dark
jungle rolled down from all sides into a bright green meadow. The clearing was
less than half the size of a football field. Near its center lay a massive
rotten log.

The NVA dogs
wailed behind him. Chaske broke into the clearing, and yelled: 'Get to the
log.'

'What're you
doing?' Golota yelled. 'Everyone split-up. Escape-and-evade.'

Chaske knew that
if they split-up, they would all be killed or captured. 'Stick together,' he
yelled. 'Trust me.'

Chaske hoped
that the rescue would come; he'd done all he could.

Gunfire crackled
behind him.

'Get to the
log.' Chaske yelled.

* * *

Amai's mind was hazy.

Chaske had said
run to the log, and that was her only focus.

Danny was
running next to her; his face set in grim determination. He looked at her and
smiled. Nothing could have given her more hope.

Then she
imagined bullets ripping his body apart.

They made the
log and tucked in behind it. Hundreds of giant woodlice covered the rotten
bark, wriggling like maggots on a carcass. She stood and peered over the top
and saw the hunched shapes of Triet's soldiers moving in the scrub. Bullets
slammed into the log, spraying woodchips and grubs into her hair.

She dropped.
We're
all going to die.
She imagined bullets penetrating her body and her blood
soaking the course grass.

Then her body
began to vibrate.

She felt it in
her bowels. She turned. Two enormous helicopters were flying up the valley
toward them. The sight injected her with hope. 

The redhead
yelled: 'Jolly Greens.
Six o'clock
.' In a crouch, he moved back from the log and threw a canister onto
the grass behind them. Red smoke poured from the canister, and in perfect sync,
the big helicopters turned toward it. Amai realized they were traveling very
fast. 

Bullets sprayed
over the log and into the sky.

The ungainly helicopters
were coming straight for the clearing, and Amai feared they would crash
directly into the log. Then their noses tilted up and their tails dropped down
and they slowed, filling the clearing with a deafening, gale-force blast. They
hung overhead and streams of orange tracer fire arced from their stubby
winglets, down into the jungle.

Amai thought:
We're
going to be saved.

She heard a
hiss. Something flashed up into the sky. The closest helicopter jolted as if it
had hit something, and then turned side-on. Black smoke poured from its rear
and the second helicopter had to move to get out of its way. Then it went out
of control and crashed into the jungle, exploding in a fireball. 

The second
helicopter started howling and turned away. Bullets pinged off its hull and a
string of bright flares popped from its rear. Another rocket went up: it chased
a flare and went off with a bang.

The helicopter
disappeared behind the thick column of smoke, rolling up from the crashed
machine, and Amai felt a horrible emptiness.

It's going to
leave us.

Triet's troops
kept firing at the log.

There's
nowhere to go,
she thought.

The crashed
helicopter exploded again. She saw Danny's face; he looked dazed.

Then the ground
shook and the sky roared.

Low above the
jungle, the underside of the helicopter reappeared, filling her vision with a
big yellow number 106. Its downdraft forced Amai to the ground. Another rocket
streaked over the clearing, but the helicopter held its course and set-down
behind the log.

Chaske yelled:
'Get to the chopper,' and manically fired his stubby gun at Triet's advancing
men.

Amai grabbed
Danny's hand and pulled him toward the machine.

* * *

Danny could see the door-gunner, lips
flared and teeth clenched, hanging onto his bucking minigun like a crazed
bull-rider.

Bullets sparked
off the Jolly green giant's rotors and fuselage. Its turbines howled.

Danny followed
Amai into the spacious cabin. The others piled in behind.

Danny looked out
into the clearing and couldn't process what he saw.

Bullets were
thumping into Chaske's back like darts into a dartboard. Danny watched in
horror. Bullets kept hitting Chaske. Chaske stumbled. Blood ejected from his
mouth.

Danny clambered
for the door; his brother was hurt - he had to get to him.

Arms tackled Danny
to the floor as a chain of bullets raked the chopper.

Danny felt the
massive airframe tighten, crouch, and then lurch upward.

He reached for
Chaske's outstretched hands, but was too far away. Danny had no control. He lay
on the non-slip floor, staring into Chaske's grayish face as the chopper lifted
off.

* * *

Chaske looked into Danny's eyes.

He tried to
speak. He wanted to yell
get outta here
, but it felt like he was
underwater.

Blood filled his
mouth. His life would end in seconds, but he felt deep satisfaction.

The Jolly
Green's downdraft flattened him to the ground.

He saw Amai's
face in the door, right beside Danny's. Chaske smiled. He could see the strong
bond of love between the two. He did not doubt Amai's genuineness; he could see
it in her eyes. The fact that she had become an enemy spy was purely a
consequence of time and place.

Because of
me,
Chaske thought.
They have a chance to stop
Tet. They have a chance at life.

A cylinder of
intense light replaced the screaming chopper.

Pain vanished.

Love engulfed
him.

He saw his
entire life play out in a second. He knew where he had failed and where he had
succeeded.

And then he was
in the light. He was the light. His organic body, no longer required, would
remain in the organic world.

His was now a
world of pure energy. 

* * *

Danny felt the chopper tilt forward and
accelerate.

Chaske vanished
below. Bullets ricocheted off the hull. Jungle flashed past. The undercarriage
clipped tree tops. They went through the column of black smoke, and then started
to climb.

Danny's mind
spiraled into a vortex of despair.

They had left
Chaske behind. His brother would die.

Amai dropped
beside Danny. His mind was screaming. He could hear Blue yelling at the pilot
to go back, and Golota yelling not to.

The pilot
yelled: 'It's too damn hot down there. We're lucky to be alive. There's
no-way
we can get back in.'

Danny got up
from the steel floor and screamed at the pilot to turn around.

'We did the best
we can.'

'Go back!'

'It's suicide,
son. We can't.'

Several of the
helicopter's large, rectangular windscreens were obscured by cracks and the
instrument panel was a Christmas-tree of blinking red and orange lights.

Danny dropped
into the webbing bench-seat behind the pilot.
That's it then,
he
thought.
Chaske's gone. There's nothing I can do.

Amai sat beside
him and put her arms around his neck. It felt like his insides had been gouged
out.

Chaske's gone
. . .
My God, he's gone.
 

* * *

Amai yelled at co-pilot: 'We need to radio
General Weyand immediately. We have urgent information.'

'No-can-do,
sweetie,' he said. 'We got orders to bring you straight in to Ubon.'

'What?'

'Colonel
Anderson's comin' in from Nakhon to debrief you
himself.
You're
permitted no external contact.'

'You don't
understand-'

'Orders, sweetie
. . . No radio.'

She slumped back
into the webbing beside Danny. There would be more delay.

Danny looked
terrible; she couldn't imagine what he was feeling.

'Chaske.' . . .
She didn't know what to say.

He gripped her
hand. 'He died for
us.'

The airstrip at
Ubon appeared in the windscreen and the wounded helicopter descended toward it.
They landed in the middle of the runway. A fire-engine and an armed escort
awaited them. American MPs put them into a jeep, drove them to a large
building, and marched them into a small, wood paneled room.

'Wait here,' an
MP said before locking the door.

A ceiling-fan
chopped the air above her. Danny sat on her right,
Cam
on her left. The redhead and Golota paced the room and argued
constantly.

A man came in
and slammed the door. He was a big man - a Colonel - his barrel chest stretched
into a uniform jacket that looked a size to small. The expression on his face
was rage.

The Colonel
dumped a file onto the desk. 'I've just got off the blower with General Weyand,'
he said, obviously struggling to suppress his rage. 'What the goddamn hell were
you people doing in the middle of the Ho Trail on a goddamn unauthorized
mission? I lost a goddamn chopper on this goddamn it.'

Amai thought of
Chaske. She could feel the pain of Danny's loss.    

The redhead
said: 'We lost Chaske on this one Bull. We left him out there.'

The Colonel's
shovel like hand went up to his forehead.

Amai stood up.
'Sir-'

'Who the
hell
are you?' The Colonel said, eying her black Viet Cong pajamas.

'Sir. We
must
speak to General Weyand, A.S.A.P.'

The Colonel
looked at the Golota. 'What is
she
? What the fuck's going on here?'

Golota stayed
quiet.

'Colonel.' Danny
said. 'We have important information for General Weyand. He knows me
personally.'

The Colonel scoffed.
'A civilian and a VC girl?'

'She isn't VC.'
Danny said. 'We were-'

'Shut it.
General Weyand had no knowledge of your mission-'

The redhead cut
in: 'Chaske gave his life for this one, Bull. At least hear them out.'

The Colonel's
meaty head nodded slowly. 'If
Chaske
died for it, goddamn it,' he said.
'It's the least I can do.'

Danny repeated:
'I know General Weyand personally, Colonel. Please let us talk to him.'

* * *

Amai followed the Colonel down a long
corridor to a door marked 'Signals room'.

The door was
opened by a skinny soldier with thick, dark hair and buck teeth.

The Colonel
said: 'Get these people in contact with General Weyand, A.S.A.P.'

The signalman
eyed her strangely. 'General Weyand's down the Delta at the minute. Can only be
contacted by radio. Might take a whiles.'

Amai followed
Danny into the signals room. The signalman went to his equipment, adjusted
several dials, and spoke rapid American jargon into the microphone. The
Colonel's body filled the doorway.