the Last Run (1987) (43 page)

Four hours later, Wade toyed with the gold medallion on his chest as he sat back on his rucksack waiting for the rest of his men to return to the patrol base. They'd broken up into two-men recon teams to do the search. He and Preacher were the first ones back. They'd only found a few trails and no signs of recent activity. Wade let the medallion fall. Someone was approaching. Preacher patted him with a grin, pointing to Rose and Russian as they appeared through a tangle of vines.

Rose sat back tiredly on his ruck and shook his head at Wade's questioning stare. Russian spoke in a whisper. "We see nothing. What you find?"

Wade whispered back, "Nothing," and lay back, shutting his eyes. The local terrain was thickly vegetated because die small trees allowed in so much sunlight. Each man's sweat-soaked uniform was torn in several places where the damnable vines known as Wait-a-Minutes had taken hold.

Thirty minutes later Thumper and Woodpecker walked into the patrol base and fell to the ground, exhausted. Their recon area was more rugged than the others', and their gaunt faces looked drained of strength.

Wade reported in by radio that his team had found nothing and would be staying in the patrol base for the night. Tomorrow they would continue the mission. He then ordered his men to drink a full canteen of water and to eat, even though they didn't feel like it. Heat could be just as deadly a killer as the enemy, especially jungle heat, which was like no other. Long ago, on his first patrol, he'd fallen flat on his face from heat prostration, though he'd never received the normal warning signals from his body. The pumping adrenalin covered the danger signs. If you felt thirsty it was too late; you were already dehydrated. There was nothing like it. The teeming green plants seemed to radiate heat and suck all life from the air. Sweat-soaked fatigues became sweltering, chafing torture and movement had to be consciously forced. The air was oppressively sultry and reeking with rot.

Wade pulled out his map to find some water, but there was no stream close by. Tomorrow they'd move their base and recon another area that promised more of the thick vegetation. Shit!

He opened his ruck and pulled out a C ration can of peaches. The sweet juice and fruit was the most prized of all rations. Using a P-38 can opener, he quickly punctured the metal and rocked the small device back and forth, cutting the top off. The delicious fluid helped him to forget the heat.

Childs saw the NVA soldier rise up from the corner of his eye, but it was too late. The AK^7 spit out a tongue of flame and bullets tore into his chest.

The sergeant snapped upright in his cot, drenched in sweat, and felt for the gaping holes. There were none. Hot perspiration- not blood-clung to his fingers. Childs stared into the blackness, shivering.

He'd seen the bullets coming toward him in slow motion. They'd pierced his skin and burrowed into his heart like red-hot drill bits, twisting, plunging deeper. The crushing, searing pain had been too real to be a dream. Had he screamed? Was it a heart attack?

Childs raised his head, breathing in deeply to try and stop his shaking.

Bitch rose from the floor and laid her head on his trembling hand. Childs blinked his eyes and tried focusing on the dog. The heat and lack of sleep had gotten to him. He'd had nightmares before but none so real as this one. He patted the dog's head and lay back on a wet poncho liner. The past three days of waiting had been the worst that he could remember. The Second and Third Platoon teams had found nothing, but the First Platoon teams had reported seeing numerous large groups of NVA pushing bikes packed with equipment and munitions. They'd all been heading east.

Major Shane and Colonel Ellis sat with him every day, listening to the reports. They knew the supplies had to be heading for the Second NVA Division. The First Platoon teams had cautiously moved east to find the base camp, but had come to the end of their recon area. The dinks were moving into the Stadium Zone.

He, Shane, and Ellis had stayed up until two a. M. that night, planning how they would search the area. The teams would be extracted in the morning, given two days' rest, then reinserted. The search was almost over, and the noose was tightening. One of the teams would soon be calling in excitedly and reporting it had found the base camp.

Childs shut his eyes, even though he knew he wouldn't really sleep until after that call came in and the mission was over.

Peteroski stood outside the door of the orderly room watching Childs cross the compound toward the barracks. Just then Sergeant Gino walked by. "Hey, Pete, was Childs givin' you a hard time again?" he said with a grin.

Peteroski frowned. "Does Childs seem alright to you?"

Gino shrugged his shoulders. "He's still cussin' and kickin' ass as far as I know." Gino waited for a smile from the clerk, but when none came, Gino let his own smile drop. "Look, Pete, he ain't been sleepin' none too good. Hell, none of us have. The teams just got back in and a couple of them gotta go back out real soon. The operation is a hairy one, and he's worried about it, that's all. Nothing to be concerned about. Childs's been through this before."

Peteroski nodded, but he wasn't convinced. Only minutes before, Childs had come into the office acting so strangely. The sergeant had given him an envelope for safekeeping and told him not to tell anyone about it. It wasn't like Childs to be so secretive.

Gino opened the screen door and motioned Peteroski inside. "Worry about Childs when he stops drinkin' beer. If that ever happens, then we'll know somethin' ain't right."

Preacher shut his eyes and sank to his knees in the shower bay floor. The cool water washed away three days of sweat, grime, and frustration. It was the most glorious feeling he could remember. The team had been picked up by chopper an hour before.

The tired men had landed at An Lorn, dumped their gear, and walked straight for the showers.

Rose plugged the shower drains with his fatigues and the water rose to a three-inch-deep pool before spilling over the shower bay doorway. The team sat and lay in the pool under the refreshing spray of water.

Woodpecker, sitting on the floor, looked up at the kneeling Indian. "I've never been so pooped," he whispered.

Preacher laughed. "What are you whispering for?"

The redhead looked around him at the naked men sprawled in the pool and yelled crazily, "I'm tired, naked, and sittin9 on the damn floor! I can't get up and I don't care! I'm stayin' here till I wrinkle up and..."

Woodpecker's voice caught in his throat when he noticed Childs standing in the shower doorway, scowling with his hands on his hips. "You people all gone queei?" he barked. "Ya look like you're all auditioning for a damn California porno flick!"

Rose got to his feet. "Aw, Sarge, we was just..."

"Plain crazy!" snapped Childs, then pointed at Wade, who rose up to a sitting position. "Wade, you and your collection of perverts are going out again in two days. Clean this mess up and get your ass to the TOC in thirty minutes for the mission brief."

Wade nodded-in silence. He'd already realized they'd have to go out again. It'd been obvious none of the teams had found the enemy base or the Ranger camp would have been buzzing with the good news.

Childs shook his head as if in disgust, shoved the latrine door open, and whistled loudly.

Bitch bounded up the steps of the TOC and ran straight for him. Childs held the door open for her and walked back to the miniature pool. The dog saw Russian lying in the water and immediately jumped into die water and pounced on him.

Childs growled, "Russian, keep that mangy mutt away from me! She's chewed up two pair of my boots and ruined my poncho liner."

The hairy soldier looked up innocendy. "Yes, Sergeant, I will teach her no do such things."

Childs grunted and strode for the door, mumbling, "Goddamn gook mutt ain't worth a shit. She ain't nothing but. . ."

He stepped out and lowered his head. He already missed her.

Colonel Ellis lowered his magnifying glass and looked up at Major Shane. "You're right. It looks big enough to land a bird."

He tossed the aerial photo to the tabletop, walked to the wall map, and pointed to a spot ten kilometers due west of the horseshoe bend in the river. "I make it about here."

Shane tapped the map. "The only other spot suitable for landing choppers is this huge open area inside the horseshoe bend, but we sure as hell can't use it. It's ringed by hills, and if dinks are in there it'd be suicide. Of course, there's the river itself. There's plenty of open space and right now it's shallow enough, but that sound will carry down the river and anybody along the banks will hear the bird land."

Ellis shook his head dejectedly. "What are we going to do?"

Shane picked up a pointer. "Sir, Sergeant Childs and I discussed the problem this morning. We think there's just one way to handle tins operation safely. The first thing we have to do is check out the Stadium. We need it as an LZ and to establish a radio relay. From there we can put in the rest of the teams and then they can recon the whole fourth zone. What we plan is to put one team in the small LZ west of the Stadium. Their mission will be to head direcdy for the valley itself. We put in two more teams on the river just above the horseshoe bend. They'll climb up the ring of mountains at the most eastern end of the Stadium and split up. One team'll check out the ring of hills around the valley to the north and the other'll move south. They'll link up with the team that comes in from the west and then we'll know it's safe and begin the big search."

Ellis pulled at his chin as he looked at the map. "The backside of those mountains looks steep as hell. You sure your men can climb the eastern end?"

Shane picked up the aerial photo. "Sir, I'm sending Lieutenant Gibson out as patrol leader of Sergeant Wade's and Sergeant Zubeck's teams. The teams are the best we have and Gibson has plenty of field experience and is a graduate of the Mountain Climbing School at Fort Carson. If there's a way up, they'll find it."

Ellis stared at the map. If dinks were sitting on the top of the eastern end of the Stadium, the men Shane spoke of would be like ducks in a shooting gallery. "There sure are a helluva lot of ifs. If the teams fly in undetected, if they can climb the mountain, the valley is clear." His eyes shifted to the map for a moment, then back to Shane. "But we don't have much of a choice, do we?"

Shane's eyes met the colonel's with determination. "No, sir, we don't. In ten minutes I brief the teams that'll be going in."

Ellis lowered his head. "At Corps, we move divisions and brigades around to find the enemy. Here, the biggest opportunity to find the enemy the Corps has had since Cambodia lies with a handful of men. I should be excited. I'm not. I feel shitty."

Shane looked at the map as if hating it, and then spoke sofUy. "I know, sir ... I know."

Chapter 23

Matt Wade shut his eyes tightly and jumped. He fell ten feet before splashing into the river and sinking to his waist. The rest of the team splashed into the water beside him as the Huey lifted up and nosed over, gaining speed for the getaway.

Wade walked as fast as he could toward the near bank, cringing, half-expecting bullets to tear into his body. They were completely in the open. Anybody on either bank could easily hose them.

Another Slick streaked in low and came to an abrupt hover. Its rotor wash kicked up miniature waves and whipped spray onto Wade and his men.

Lieutenant Gibson jumped into the shallow river. Sergeant Zubeck and his team followed. Within seconds the bird was gone, leaving the struggling men in deathly quiet.

Wade reached the sandy riverbank and ran toward a green wall of vegetation. The seemingly impenetrable obstacle was only a leaf and vine facade. Wade busted through into a dark, dank world of brown decay and rot.

Wade fell to the ground beside the base of a huge teak and raised his Colt automatic rifle to a ready position. His men fell beside him, facing the forest.

Gibson, Zubeck, and the others broke through the leafy curtain and hit the ground behind Wade's team, then turned to face the river. If the dinks had heard the choppers hovering, they'd come to investigate.

Preacher whispered almost inaudibly into the radio handset, "Hotel-three Alfa, this is Papa One. Papa is on first base. Over."

Lieutenant Foley, sitting in the back seat of a bird dog a mile away and three-thousand feet up, answered immediately. "Roger, Papa One, I'm standing by with guns. Out."

Preacher tapped Gibson's leg and gave the L-tee a thumbs-up.

Gibson nodded and rolled back over to his stomach. The next ten minutes would be critical. If dinks were close by, they'd be here within that time. Lieutenant Foley had a pair of gunships standing by to help, but everyone knew they'd probably be useless. The only way the patrol could get out was to use the river as a pickup zone. It was too open. The men and Slicks would be easy targets.

Gibson raised his head and looked over his men. They all lay on their stomachs with their weapons readied. Russian carried an L34A1 British Sterling submachine gun with a sound suppressor. If the dinks sent only a few men to investigate, they'd die silently. If they sent a lot of men, there'd be a battle.

Gibson lowered himself and looked at his watch-0731.

Colonel Ellis and Sergeant Childs sat in the Ops Center, watching Shane pace back and forth in front of the wall map. The small radio speaker box suddenly crackled with static and Lieutenant Foley's voice filled the bunker.