Shadows of War (52 page)

Authors: Larry Bond

BOOK: Shadows of War

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Northern Vietnam

Ric Kerfer's rucksack hit the ground
about a quarter second before he did, telling the SEAL lieutenant he was about to touch down. The warning was
just
enough to relax Kerfer's leg muscles in time to avoid serious injury, but the landing still hurtâhe rolled on his right shoulder, hitting at exactly the angle that a linebacker had taken to smack him down in high school some ten years before.

Which hurt.

The linebacker had gone on to the NFL; Kerfer had lost out on a possible athletic scholarship to college and ended up going to Navy ROTC, became an officer, and joined the SEALs. He figured that he had gotten the better end of the exchange. Still, it hurt
goddamnit
, and put him in a lousy mood.

Then as now.

“Come on, you sissy boys,” he growled, jumping to his feet and unsnapping his parachute harness. “Stevens, take the point. The Commies are in those choppers there. Move!”

Within seconds, one of his team closer to the road began firing toward the helicopters. Kerfer slipped on his night goggles, then got his bearings. As the last man out of the plane, he had hit farthest from the road; the other seven members of the squadâthere were two fire teamsâwere scattered ahead, between him and the two Chinese helicopters that had been prowling the area.

The helos continued to press. Scumbags weren't easily intimidated.

Which kind of pissed him off.

“Put a frickin' grenade into the bastard,” yelled Kerfer. He pulled on his radio and began running forward, his Mk 17 ready under his left arm. The SCAR fired 7.62 mm rounds, nice fat slugs that could stop something rather than just whizzing through it as an M-4's or even an MP-5's bullets sometimes did.

“They're landing!” yelled Eric, up ahead on Kerfer's right.

“Ger-
nay
-dez,
goddamn it
!”

The words were no sooner out of Kerfer's mouth than a 40 mm grenade exploded near the landing zone.

“About frickin' time,” said the lieutenant, throwing himself down as a heavy machine gun began playing through the field.

Jing Yo leapt from the helicopter
as the door gunner went to work, pounding the far side of the field with his machine gun. The rest of the commandos were down already, having landed in the first helicopter.

A grenade exploded on the ground nearby. The commandos were returning fire.

Jing Yo tasted the dirt as he hit the ground, tripping on something in the darkness. Tracers ripped from the helicopter's .50-caliber door gun, toward muzzle flashes maybe thirty yards away.

A grenade exploded so close its concussion pushed his head down.
This is hell
, thought the lieutenant, zeroing his rifle on a shadow and pressing the trigger.

Mara reached back
and grabbed Josh as the gunfire intensified. Bullets crashed into the jungle behind them, but the firefight itself was off to their left, nearly a half kilometer away. If they kept moving, they would be okay.

“Come on,” she told Josh. “We can get to the rendezvous point.”

“Are those the guys that are helping us?”

“Yes.”

“Maybe we should help them.”

“Just keep moving,” said Mara. “They can take care of themselves.”

“Okay.”

She pushed through the brush. Josh's wanting to help spoke eloquently about who he was, but the impulse was also foolishâtheir real job was to get away.

The SEALs would have fallen over laughing if they'd heard him. Not that Mara didn't feel the same impulse.

“This is just getting too thick,” said Josh. “We have to get closer to the road.”

“You're right,” said Mara, changing direction. “We can go right to the roadâthe SEALs have them tied down.”

If the world were perfect,
Kerfer would have been able to swing two or three of his men around the flank of his enemy while his main force engaged them in the field. They'd squeeze and the bad guys would go bye-bye.

But the world wasn't perfect. The Chinese helicopters and their machine guns made it hard to move up through the field. And the bastards on the ground weren't exactly looking the other way either.

The first order of business was to get rid of the helos.

“Little Joe, I want you to put a grenade into that helo's door. You got that, Joey? Just like you were trying to do to that whore you bought last weekend.”

Little Joeâthe SEAL's real name was actually Riccardo Joseph Crabtreeâcursed in response, telling his lieutenant that he could put the grenade in there himself.

Music to Kerfer's ears.

Three seconds later, as the helicopter pivoted around the southern side of the field, the petty officer rose and pumped a 40 mm grenade from his EGLM launcher into the open hatchway of the chopper.

“Pretty!” shouted Stevens over the squad radio.

“I thought you were pinned down, point,” barked Kerfer in reply.

“I am.”

“Well stop gawkin' and get your ass unpinned. Little Joe ain't doin' all the work.”

The SEAL responded with a burst of gunfire.

“Jenkins, time for your end around,” said Kerfer. “Run to the left. I'm going to be right behind you.”

“Good. Copy.”

“Any of you assholes frag me, I'm comin' back as your girlfriend in my next life and giving you the clap,” said Kerfer, jumping to his feet and running to flank their enemy.

Jing Yo saw the flames
shoot from the helicopter as the grenade exploded, and knew instantly that the crew was lost. The helo disappeared into a fireball, sailing over the trees behind them.

The second helicopter immediately backed off, leaving them alone in the field.

These were definitely not Vietnamese soldiers they were fighting; they had to be Americans, come to fetch the scientist. There weren't very many of themâa dozen maybe, or perhaps twenty. But they had his small squad outnumbered and outgunned.

A foe this good would try to hold him in place while they sent men to attack the flanks. He had to withdraw temporarily, pick better terms for battle.

Moving back in the face of a superior foe was not dishonorable, but it nonetheless stung to give the order.

Josh nearly lost his balance
as the thick branches gave way to the shoulder of the road. He jogged a few steps, swaying left and right as he struggled to stay upright. When he stopped, M