Shock of War (44 page)

Too impressive. He only had the single C-130 to get all this crap to Vietnam.

What to do?

The Filipinos he'd recruited as stevedores looked at him anxiously.

It would have helped if someone told him what the damn priorities were. Good ol' Braney hadn't given him a clue.

He'd taken antitank weapons on the first trip. But you could never have too many.

Kerfer began walking down the row of crates. He'd elected to study Russian at one of his schools way back when, but the truth was, he didn't remember crap from those days, and the Cyrillic letters might just as well have been inkblots.

Besides, they all claimed to be things they weren't, like kitchen utensils. One of the Russians had given him a sheaf of papers with the key, but it was all confused.

Kerfer stopped at a crate he thought held more AT-14s. When he opened it, he saw Boltoks—missiles that were launched from tanks.

“Take these for the plane,” he told his stevedores. “Two boxes, no, four. We'll keep the numbers even.”

A little bit of everything. That was the key. Definitely throw in some artillery shells. Army guys always like that.

And as soon as he had everything picked out, he'd call for another plane.

Or maybe twenty.

18

Inland from Halong Bay

Cha
Å«
had been separated
from the others when the boats were hit, falling into the water and then swimming or floating—he wasn't sure which—north. By the time he got himself together, the other firefight was already underway. He slipped down through the fields, arriving at the houses after they had been destroyed. There he'd found Sergeant Angkor hunkered over the last missile, waiting for the smoke to clear so he'd get a shot. They'd stalked the tank, then found Zeus by accident.

“There are more tanks coming,” Zeus told Cha
Å«
. “Hear them? Do you have more missiles?”

“That was the last,” said Cha
Å«
.

“There are more cases by the water,” said Zeus. “Let's get them.”

He started to run, then looked back when he realized they weren't following.

“What's wrong, Cha
Å«
?”

“We have wounded.”

“We'll come back for them,” said Zeus. “We're not leaving them.”

Cha
Å«
and Angkor began talking, apparently debating what to do. Zeus didn't wait. He started trotting again, then running, crossing the field and heading back toward the shore where he had seen the floating boxes. He was soaked, his uniform and face covered with mud and blood.

As Zeus approached the shoreline, he noticed a narrow lane running to the water, which he hadn't seen before. It took him a little to the east, out of his way, but the path was high and mostly dry all the way out to the water. There it gave way to boulders and carefully positioned logs.

Three of the missile cases had washed in. Zeus grabbed them, sliding them onto the path. There were four other boxes nearby, all half-submerged in the water. He took a step toward the closest, and immediately felt his leg sinking. He pushed back and fell rump first onto the rocks.

The rocks extended in a kind of submerged ledge to the left. He stepped out on it tentatively, then worked his way sideways a few feet until he was almost parallel with one of the boxes. He reached out and dragged it up through the water, pulling it to land.

He was eyeing another when Cha
Å«
burst onto the shoreline through the weeds about thirty yards on his left. Zeus yelled to him, and waved, signaling that he should loop around and come up through the path.

“There's a path,” he said. “Come out this way; it's drier.”

Zeus went back to work, fetching out two more boxes by the time Cha
Å«
reached him.

“Where's the sergeant?” Zeus asked.

“With the men. We must go back.”

They had five missiles, but no launchers, and no launcher boxes that he could see. Zeus went back out onto the small ledge, but couldn't reach the other two boxes. He waded into the muck, then stepped forward onto one of the boxes. He pulled the other out and gave it to Cha
Å«
. The one beneath his feet was too embedded to retrieve.

“There aren't any more launchers,” Zeus told the major. “We're going to have to go back to the houses to get one.”

“Yes,” said Cha
Å«
, his voice still hoarse. “That's where Angkor is.”

Zeus opened the boxes and, by stripping away some of the protective interior material, managed to get three in each box. That gave them only one box to carry apiece.

“It would be better to attack the tanks from the far side of the road,” said Zeus. “We can move back a lot easier. But we need a launcher.”

“Maybe we should not attack them,” said Cha
Å«
. “We are so outnumbered.”

Cha
Å«
's point was utterly logical, yet it caught Zeus by surprise. The only options he was even considering involved the location of the attack.

“What happened to your phone?” Cha
Å«
asked.

“I lost it in the water. We're not getting any help here anyway.” Zeus pointed in the direction of the smoldering ruins. “Where is Angkor and the launcher?”

“We were right in front of the smaller house,” said Cha
Å«
. “There was a ditch.”

“All right. We'll come up from behind the houses.”

Zeus led the way back toward the smoldering ruins. The air smelled like burning wood and dead fish.

The tanks had stopped, somewhere up to the right, out of sight around a bend. It was impossible to tell from the sound exactly how far away they were, though Zeus assumed they were very close.

“We have to watch for scouts,” Zeus told Cha
Å«
. “They have infantry with them. Where's Angkor?”

“He was to meet me here.”

“Angkor!” Zeus yelled. “Sergeant Angkor!”

He turned to Cha
Å«
.

“Can you call him?”

Cha
Å«
tried, but his voice was still far too hoarse.

“Give me the words,” said Zeus.

“Just say his name.”

Zeus tried again, but he got no answer.

“He must have moved to a safer spot when he heard the engines,” said Zeus.

Passing the hovels, Zeus saw two bodies lying a short distance from it. He veered in their direction, dropping to one knee to stop next to them. Both men were covered with blood, their eyes glazed.

He wanted a gun. Neither man had one.

Back on his feet, he started after Cha
Å«
. Something moved on the other side of the road, a short distance from one of the blown-out tanks. It looked like a gust of wind, knocking through the tall weeds. Zeus eyed it as he ran, mind and sight not entirely coordinating. Green materialized beneath the weeds as they popped up: Chinese soldiers, wearing the equivalent of gillie suits.

One of them started firing. Zeus leapt the rest of the distance into a ditch near the road, clutching his missile case to his chest like a gigantic football. He twisted on his shoulder as he went in, spinning and landing sideways.

Cha
Å«
and Angkor were already there, about ten yards away. Angkor fired a single burst, then another. The Chinese responded with a full fusillade as Zeus scrambled over.

“How many?” he asked.

Cha
Å«
shook his head. The ditch was wide but shallow, with a foot and a half of water at the bottom. It ran a few feet from the road, possibly to help drain it during heavy rains. Two wounded Vietnamese soldiers sat against the side to the left. One looked as if he had already died; the other didn't look too far behind.

Besides a single AT-14 launcher, they had Angkor's AK-47 and a box of ammo—nowhere near enough to hold off the soldiers across from them, let alone whatever vehicles were around the bend, waiting for these guys to tell them what was up.

Zeus leaned against the side of the ditch, trying to gauge the distance from where it ended to the nearest tank. The vehicle was perhaps ten yards from the shallow end.

“I have an idea,” he told Cha
Å«
. “Start firing when I'm at the far end of the ditch. Get their attention.”

“What?” asked Cha
Å«
. But Zeus had already started away, leaving his missiles. He scrambled until the ditch became too shallow, then crawled on his side, making sure he didn't rise high enough to be seen. He glanced back, and gave Cha
Å«
a thumbs-up.

Angkor began firing. Zeus waited until he heard the Chinese respond, then threw himself forward, sprinter style, from a four-point stance. He ran behind the tank and sprawled on the ground, unsure whether he'd been seen.

The gunfire died. Zeus curled himself as tightly as possible and scurried around to the second tank, reasoning that it would be harder for the Chinese to see him there. He slunk around the side, then climbed gingerly up to the tank's turret, crouching by the side.

The hatchway was still locked though the front of the tank had been destroyed. He reached across for the machine gun, but couldn't quite reach it from behind the turret without exposing himself to fire.

One of the soldiers popped up in the field and took aim at Angkor and Cha
Å«
. Zeus boosted himself upward, grabbed the gun, and swung the barrel in the man's direction. He stabbed his finger at the trigger and fired. The gun jumped as the bullets flew from the barrel, flying high and wide from their intended targets. Zeus pulled himself up behind the machine gun, bracing his knees against the turret. He fired again, this time lacing the field where the soldiers were. Mud and bits of green and brown leaves flew into the air.

He let off the trigger, waiting for the soldiers to show themselves amid the thick grass and weeds.

Something moved about thirty yards ahead. Zeus swung the barrel over and began firing again. The stream of bullets seemed to just start when suddenly the gun snapped and the stream ended—he'd run out the belt.

He couldn't see another. He raised himself higher, looking for an ammo box.

Something flew from the area he'd been firing at.

A grenade.

Zeus dove forward between the two tanks as it sailed overhead. The grenade landed behind the third tank, which had stalled crosswise in the road. It didn't explode at first, and for that long second Zeus considered whether he should have tried to grab it and throw it back. Then there was a sharp boom and a flash, most of the explosion muffled by the tank.

As Zeus hunkered down, he glimpsed a boot a few yards away. One of the Chinese tankers had fallen there; a gun poked its nose out from under his body.

The gun was a small Chinese Type 79. Intended mostly for internal security forces, it was a 7.62 lightweight submachine gun occasionally used by tank crews as an emergency weapon. Its small box was full.

Another grenade sailed through the air. This one, too, overshot. Zeus pulled the submachine gun next to his chest and ran from the tanks into the field behind the Chinese soldiers. The grenade exploded as he ran. He counted to three, then belly flopped to the ground inelegantly but in time to avoid being seen.

He could hear the Chinese talking. They were between ten and fifteen yards away, to his left.

Throw another grenade, boys. Throw one.

They obliged. Zeus saw the soldier rise, then drop down immediately as it left his hand. Like most soldiers, he was inordinately fixed on the device's explosive power, and took no chances once he let it go.

Zeus figured he was ten yards away at most, and directly ahead of him.

As the grenade exploded, Zeus jumped up and began firing. Sweeping three quick bursts into the grass, he ran to the spot where the soldier had ducked down.

Someone moved. Zeus fired another burst, then went down as gunfire erupted on his left. He pulled his legs under him, curled on the ground, and waited.

He wasn't sure how many bullets he had left in the gun, but it couldn't be many.

Someone groaned a few feet away. It must be the grenade thrower, Zeus thought. He scanned through the weeds, not sure where the others were. He tried to quiet his breath, listening, but he could get no clue either from sound or sight.

Slowly, Zeus shifted his weight in the direction of the man he had gunned down. He leaned forward onto his elbows and knees, crawling in the man's direction.

The groans got louder. There was another—there were at least two men wounded here.

Farther back in the field, someone shouted something in Chinese. The moaning got louder, but there was no answer.

Zeus pushed through the weeds until he saw a dark-green blotch in front of him—one of the soldiers. The man was sprawled on the ground, eyes gaping. Zeus's bullets had caught him in the throat. He'd drowned in his own blood.

The soldier had a Type 95 assault rifle still in his hands. Zeus pried it from his fingers, then pulled two spare magazines from his belt. Stuffing the boxes into his pants, Zeus crawled away. He held the rifle in his left hand, the submachine gun in his right.

The groans were getting louder. But now there was a new sound: tanks again, engines revving.

Huddling against the wet weeds, Zeus crawled in the direction of the nearest moan. It was the grenade thrower, who'd been hit in the side of the face and arm. He lay on his back, blood seeping around him in a pool. He blinked his eyes when he saw Zeus.

Zeus crawled next to him. He couldn't see the man's rifle, but he had a sidearm in a holster. Zeus, covering him with the rifle, let go of the submachine gun and reached to the holster. He undid the catch and pulled out a small semiautomatic pistol.

The man tried to speak, but the only sound he could manage was a choking cough. There was a green canvas bag a few feet away. It looked almost like a shopping bag, bulging slightly with fruit.