Casca 8: Soldier of Fortune

by Barry Sadler

  They had not quite reached the river when Lon's men located the position from which Casey's small party had first exited the swamp. The Meo tracker was eager to get on their trail, but one of Lon's non-coms, eager to show his own skills, ordered the Meo to go back, telling him that he would personally take point. The overly eager sergeant spent about ten minutes in the lead position, urging himself and his followers forward. Suddenly four sharpened stakes swung down from the trees, burying themselves so deeply in the man's belly that their points exited his back, keeping him hanging there screaming. Lon came forward, shooting the man in the head to end his misery and the warning noise his throat was making.

  The Meo tracker reported that the ones they were following had split up. Some, he told his colonel, had gone back into the swamp, but the women and the American were in front of them.

  Lon squinted doubtfully. "How do you know the American is in front of us? How can you be sure?"

  The Meo pointed to the damp earth and a boot imprint in the moistness of it, placing his own foot beside it. It was obvious that a much larger man had passed this way. Lon was furious that he himself had not seen it.

  "Good! Every man on his feet and back on the trail. After the American and his party. Let the Kamserai coward dogs go. We want no more of the waters of that swamp. May the beasts rot in it. I want the American."

  Lon whipped his men forward after the shadows of Casey and his party.

  Gambling an hour, Casey allowed Yu Li and her mother to rest awhile, sleeping under the watchful eyes of Van and George. Yu Li's father used the time to prepare food for them all. Cold rice, foul tasting from the waters of the swamp that had seeped into the plastic wrappings, was all they had. The women woke. Grain by small grain, Huan fed the rice carefully to his exhausted wife, placing small bites between her lips, encouraging her to eat with a combination of endearments and insincere threats. Yu Li ate without speaking and laid her head to the ground again. With one deep sigh she was gone, sound asleep again. Casey was glad she was able to rest. She damned sure needed it.

  He moved on ahead. He didn't see it! He smelled it! The river, he thought. Dammit, it was the river. He could smell the bastard. He broke through the reeds barring his way. There it was, the way home. Follow its course and we've got it made.

  Checking his compass against the map, he saw that they were close to the line of flight of the Chinese Nationalist aircraft, which, if there were no hitches in their plan, was nine overhead tonight. Now they had more than just a chance. Had it been only three nights since they'd left the DZ? Damn! It seemed like three weeks.

  George came up behind him, startling Casey back to awareness. At first Casey thought that something must be wrong for his man to have come after him. He spoke quickly.

  "Is everything okay back there? What's wrong?"

  George put up his hand, nodding that all was fine. At the same moment, from behind them, came a long burst of automatic rifle fire from an AK. The deeper answering fire from Van's G-3 stopped when several other weapons opened up.

  He felt the rush of fear spreading over him, not fear for himself but for Yu Li and the others. They've been captured or, worse, killed! Starting to curse George, he stopped short, realizing that even had he been there, he could probably have done little. A flash of guilt set in. George jerked his arm, pulling him to the ground, bringing him back from the guilt.

  "Easy, Trung Si, easy! We must take things slow and see what we may see. If the gods are kind, we may yet do what we came to this land to do."

  Casey got his thoughts back into perspective, knowing that George was right. Silently they crouched and moved out, blending into the high grass, taking the utmost care to leave no signs behind.

  "They must still have the Meo tracker with them, Trung Si. It would be wise to remove him. He has caused us enough trouble, wouldn't you agree?"

  Casey nodded in agreement, and George slithered away from him into the high grass.

  The Meo was sniffing the trail not fifty meters from where they'd just captured the Viet, the Chinese, and his women. His colonel wanted the American, and he was determined to find him for his leader. The Meo bent over, his eyes drawn, his nose close to the earth. Like Egyptian hieroglyphics, strange figures were freshly etched into the clay like soil. He studied them, speaking softly to himself, muttering: "What do these scratches mean? Why are they here?"

  A steel arm went around his throat as George answered his question. "They are there to let you know you are dead, Meo traitor!"

  George slid his blade beneath the last rib on the Meo's right side, moving the cold steel in and slicing to the left. He severed the tracker's spinal cord. Then there was a quick upward movement, and the steel entered the large artery, allowing a flow of blood into the abdominal cavity. In less than four seconds the Meo was unconscious and paralyzed, bleeding to death internally. George had learned that particular cut from an Algerian in the legion. Algerians were good with blades.

  Returning to Casey's side, he informed him that the tracker would cause them no more problems. "Now, Trung Si, how do we get Van and the Chinese family back into our possession?"

  Casey thought about it. "How many of them would you say are left, George? We took out a good number of them. There should be no more than twenty."

  George nodded as Casey continued. "They wouldn't expect us to hit them this soon. With the .34 we should be able to even up the odds a little more. They will probably figure us to hit them at night, if at all, so let's do the unexpected and look them over now. If it looks good, we'll burn their asses right now and make a run for the river. Without their Meo to track for them, we might just have a pretty good chance to make it. What do you say, little buddy?"

  George grunted. It really made no difference to him whether they hit them now or later tonight. Heavy thinking was not his forte. He would leave all that to Trung Si gladly.

  Moving silently, they returned to the edge of the small clearing where they'd left the others a short time before. George made his way quickly up a tree and looked the situation over while Casey covered him. Sliding down with a style that strongly resembled that of a cheetah, he told Casey what he had viewed from above.

  "Twenty two men to my count, Trung Si. The Khmer have only five or six posted as guards. We can easily bypass them and take out the two on our side. The others are gathered around their colonel, who is busy showing off his prisoners to his men and making a speech on his successful mission."

  "Okay, George. That's great. Where are the two sentries that, as you say, are on our side?"

  George quickly outlined their direction, and Casey made his decision. "Alright, George, here's what we'll do. You take the one on the left, and I'll take out the one by the tree stump."

  Slinging his .34 to his back, he and George slid into the grass, each making his own way toward his target, a target that waited unknowingly for death. The Khmer were not concerned about a counterattack. They were used to being the hunter, not the hunted.

  The young Khmer by the tree stump was daydreaming about his tender thirteen year old who waited for his return to their home village as Casey's knife opened his windpipe, letting the air escape from his lungs. He drowned in his own blood while Casey counted the rounds he had remaining and loaded his MG.

  "Four belts of fifty rounds each," he said almost too loudly to himself. "That should do it for now."

  Waiting for George to complete his kill, he advanced to the edge of the tall grass and waited, belly to the damp ground, his eyes taking in the entire scene before him, mentally calculating the position of everyone.

  Van was on his knees before the leader of the Khmer soldiers. Casey immediately recognized the insignia of rank on the officer.

  "A colonel! So that's the bastard chasing us and screaming at the top of his lungs," he whispered to himself.

  One of the colonel's men had Van by the hair, forcing his head to the rear while the officer interrogated him. He could see that Van had been hit. A round had c
lipped him through his trapezius. Now that the man had twisted Van's head around, Casey could see that another had hit him in the cheek, fracturing the zygoma. He could hear the colonel informing Van what would become of him and what he would let his men do to the women if Van refused to tell him what he wanted to hear.

  A small cough told Casey that George had finished his mission. Holding his hand slightly up in the air and grinning, George proudly showed him the trophy he'd taken from his kill a small, yellow, bloodstained ear. Casey grunted in disgust and pointed to the position of Yu Li and her family.

  "Get them over to me when the shooting starts. Van still looks in good enough shape to take care of himself. You get close to Yu Li and wait for me to kick off the action. Got it?"

  George nodded, fading back into the brush. Moments later, he gave Casey the high sign that he was in position, close to the girl and her family, waiting for Casey's next move.

  Instinctive moves would take over now, Casey knew. He drew a deep breath, let it out, and drew another, holding it in for only a second. He aimed at the bulk of the Khmer troops, gathered near their colonel in a cluster, watching intently their glorious leader's action with Van.

  The MG fired without his even realizing exactly when the trigger had been pulled, shattering the silence of the moment. Again, the familiar feel of the gun throbbing against him made itself known, as the 7.62 NATO type rounds whipped their way through the packed bodies of the Khmer Rouge, flesh giving easily against the flying metal. He used the burning of the tracers to follow the paths his bullets took, moving the gun to the group situated around Van, sighting head high so as not to hit his own man. He let loose with a long hosing burst that sent all in the vicinity diving for cover. As they dove, Van straightened, giving the Khmer who had been holding his hair a swift, accurate kick to the throat, fracturing the man's esophagus and leaving him to choke to death. Van raced to the sound of the MG's fire and threw himself to the ground beside Casey.

  George had by this time grabbed Yu Li, motioning to her mother and father, and the four of them had pulled quickly back into the edge of the clearing and out of the Khmer's sight. The soldiers were presently too concerned with their own safety to be looking for the captives. They raced in all directions toward the safety of the brush, trying to escape the bright streaks of death that flew around them.

  At their head was Colonel Lon. He ran until he stumbled and fell to the ground, knocking the wind from his burning lungs. His body was shaking from fear. That was too close, he thought. He had almost been killed. The idea of being killed was almost more than he could bear.

  Casey moved his piece from side to side, spraying the edges of the clearing, keeping the Khmer in confusion with their heads hugging the ground inside the high grass. Van raced back into the clearing and retrieved his weapon along with the Swedish "K" the Khmer had dropped in their haste to put some distance between themselves and these foreign beasts who didn't play fair.

  When he returned to Casey's position and they had reunited with George and Yu Li's family, they wasted no time heading for the river. Entering the cool water, they stayed close to the edge, losing themselves in the reeds, letting the current carry them slowly down river. They moved in this manner until darkness set in and then moved to land, shivering from cold and exhaustion. The three mercenaries dried their weapons as best they could and motioned for the family to follow. Together, they moved as one through the small willows and brush by the water's edge, passing several small boats, their owners resting or repairing their nets for the next excursion. Finally, Van pointed to one that seemed somewhat larger than the rest and unattended. But was it? The family or crew were more than likely already asleep inside. From all appearances, though, it had exactly what the six of them would need. An outboard motor was visible in the shadows, and the sampan looked in great shape, about thirty five feet in length, with one large square sail. Probably as good as they'd find, Casey surmised.

  They waited in hiding until all the fires by the water's edge had died out. Casey sent George, along with Huan's family, downstream to wait and watch for them. They would reunite when he and Van had successfully taken the boat. Although Van was hurting, he hadn't complained. He was carrying no lead, and Casey figured he'd make it all right. The tough bastard had caught worse before, Casey knew, and the quicker he got him on the boat, the quicker he could rest up.

  Gently, the two of them slid into the river. He seemed as light as a feather suddenly from the buoyancy of the water and the change in his body temperature. Van had taken his MG with him, not wanting to chance losing it. The loss of its burdensome weight alone was enough to make a man feel a hell of a lot freer.

  Letting the current sweep them along, they finally bumped into the boat, smelling the wet wood and foul pitch that was used for caulking. They eased along the side of the craft to its rear. An anchor line held the boat in position there, and they used it to haul themselves silently aboard. Goose bumps whipped over Casey as a slight breeze cooled the wetness of his clothing. He heard a small cough from inside the cabin and realized that he'd been correct in assuming that the craft was occupied. He made his way down the side of the deck to the sound of the cough.

  Taking his K bar out of its scabbard, he eased through the opening to the cabin and to the side of the sleeping figure. He put its point to the throat of the man occupying the bunk. The Cambode opened his eyes as Casey shushed him, his knife's point warning him to be still and silent, making itself known from the slight and sharp pain at his throat. His eyes, Casey could see in the dim moonlight, were wide with fear. Casey motioned for him to rise and wake the others. From where Casey crouched, the two other figures appeared to be a woman and child. Holding the knife steadily on the man, he allowed him to bend over the woman, speaking softly and shaking her gently. The fisherman whispered softly to her, explaining the situation. The woman rose and picked up her sleeping child. Together, they moved outside, where Casey motioned for them to get off the boat. The man seemed more than eager to do as he was instructed, glad to learn that they were not to be killed. It was bad enough to lose one's boat, but one's life was something else.

  Once they were on land, Van cut loose the bowline, freeing the craft from its anchor and allowing the sampan to float free and into the current. Then Van released the stern anchor, and they were in the river, moving silently downstream and away from the shore. Using the tiller and a long oar pole, Casey guided the craft down river, quickly moving to shore when he saw George waving from the bank. Quickly, George and the family boarded the sampan. Once they were all on deck, Casey headed the boat into midstream again in the direction of the coast. All that night they traveled down river.

  The following morning he moved inside, allowing Van, George, and the Orientals to appear as a fishing family. His Occidental round eyes would definitely cause suspicion if seen.

  They passed town after town, many built on stilts and piles by the river. Van and Yu Li waved nonchalantly at the villagers as they passed by. They rested that night under the shelter of the cabin. Yu Li came to him again, unashamed at the presence of her parents, and slept in his arms. It was pleasant having her there near him. The tenseness of the action of the past few days slowly left his body, and he too rested.

  Casey heard a familiar sound, a throbbing that was gradually increasing in tempo. Raising his eyes, he was still unable to see it, but overhead somewhere, hidden in the clouds, he knew that a plane was looking for them, searching for the party below, waiting to take them out of here and to safety. The cloud cover was preventing the aircraft from seeing them, and there was not a damn thing he or anyone else could do to correct the situation.

  Xin loy, he thought (sorry about that). What else could he do? He rolled over to face Yu Li and slept, letting the rolling waters of the Kampot rock them gently in their sleep, allowing the river to move them each minute closer to the coast and safety.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Colonel Lon was not sleeping, however. He was hig
hly pissed. He was making his way down river in a commandeered truck along with his best troops who had survived the skirmish with the American dog and his people. He had only eight men left now, but they would do for the remainder of his mission.

  By radio, he informed higher headquarters that all was in order, that several of the invaders had been killed, and that more had been driven across the border into Vietnam. Also, would headquarters please notify their Viet brothers in socialism that a unit of Kamserai was presently heading south toward the Iron Triangle?

  Lon had long since questioned the fisherman and his family whose boat the American had stolen. He gained what details he could from them and then headed his men downstream in hot pursuit. sometime that night, unknown to him and his men as well as to Casey and his crew, the colonel had passed the sampan's location in the darkness. Lon could not tell headquarters the truth about what this mission, simple as it had seemed from the outset, had cost them all and how he still had nothing to show them for that loss. After all, if he caught them in the end, he could easily justify the cost.

  Driving all through the night, Lon stopped at each large village, telling the cadre in charge to be on the alert and to send word ahead to him if they spotted the craft. They were not to attempt to stop it themselves, nor would they fire on it. That pleasure would be his alone.

  Lon's truck pulled into the town of Prey Nop. He dismounted and went directly to a small motorized river patrol unit. After identifying himself, he immediately pulled rank and issued orders personally to the unit. He did, however, inform the gunboat commander that he would be highly rewarded for his cooperation in this security matter. The captain, sensing that something important was in the wind, agreed with the colonel. After all, he was outranked. If anything went awry in the operation, it would be the colonel's ass, not his.