Edge of War - [Red Dragon Rising 02]

by Larry Bond

  They were in a cloud of smoke, dust, and water. Mara yelled at Squeaky, urging him to go faster. Squeaky said nothing, struggling to keep the truck headed straight as the bridge began vibrating crazily.

  “Just stay on the road!” said Mara as they reached the other side.

  “Skipper,” said Squeaky, his voice cracking.

  “Just keep going. They’re behind us,” said Mara. “Keep going.”

  The smoke cleared suddenly. There were trees near them, and a row of buildings. It was as if the attack had never happened.

  It hadn’t—here. Behind them, the bridge had just collapsed. The buildings along the river were now being targeted.

  “Stop up there,” said Mara, pointing to an open lot at the left ahead. There was a large barnlike building at the back of the lot. A pair of gas tanks sat just in front of it.

  Mara jumped from the truck and ran to the pumps. Kerfer and the car pulled in behind them.

  “What are you doing?” yelled the SEAL commander.

  “There’s gas here. Come on!” yelled Mara from the tanks.

  “You’re nuts, lady,” said Kerfer.

  Squeaky put the truck in gear and steered over to the pumps. Mara already had the handle out. As she pushed it into the opening, a fresh salvo of shells, these much closer, rocked the ground nearby.

  A small, thin man came running from the building and began yelling at them.

  Mara reached into her pocket and held up some bills, but they didn’t seem to calm him. He stood a few feet from her, arms pumping up and down.

  Squeaky leaned out the window of the truck. “Should I pop him?”

  “No. Go. You’re full.” Mara pulled the pump out of the truck. “Get out of the way.”

  The truck lurched forward. Josh twisted around to see what was going on behind them and saw the old man grab the pump handle as Kerfer drove up.

  A shell whizzed overheard, crashing across the road close enough to throw some bits of dirt on the truck. Mara tried pushing the old man away, until finally she’d had enough—she slugged him in the side of the head, sending him into the dirt.

  “Whoa, she’s got some fight, spook lady does,” Squeaky told Josh.

  Two more shells landed nearby, this time on the left. The old man got to his feet and started yelling again, even as he backed away from Mara. She topped off the car, then put the hose and nozzle back. She held out money, but he refused to take it. Finally she threw it in his direction and ran to the truck as more shells hit the ground.

  “Go, let’s get out of here,” she said.

  The wheels kicked dirt and dust everywhere as they sped back onto the highway.

  “Didn’t want to take your money, huh?” said Squeaky.

  “The gas was for his family,” said Mara.

  “That’s too bad,” said Squeaky. “You shoulda kept the money, maybe. ‘Cause we’re so low.”

  Mara didn’t answer.

  “What was firing at us?” Josh asked.

  “Probably some sort of Chinese destroyer,” said Squeaky. “More than one. We’re not too far from the water.”

  “Were they close?” asked Josh.

  “In the bay, at least. Maybe up the river. Vietnam doesn’t have much of a navy,” Squeaky added. “Probably right offshore. Take care of whatever defenses they might have—probably pathetic to begin with. They probably sailed right up, bombing whatever they wanted. Nothing the Viets can do to them.”

  Josh slumped back in the seat. Mạ’s face was buried in his shoulder. She sobbed silently.

  “So it gets easier from here, right?” Squeaky asked Mara.

  “ ‘Easy’ is a relative term,” she said, turning her face to her window.

  ~ * ~

  23

  Da Nang, Vietnam

  Jing Yo sensed he was getting close to his prey when the shelling started. He was only two miles or so from the river, but the bombardment quickly grew more intense. Finally, he saw a row of cars and flashing lights ahead and realized that the bridge must have been destroyed.

  He took a U-turn and got off National Road 1A, heading back toward Cam Le Bridge. But the attacking Chinese ships had already put it out of commission. His only alternative would be to go farther inland, through the Tuy Loan suburb, before heading southward.

  He found a row of cars stretching before him on the highway when he reached Route 14B. Several were abandoned, and the way was clogged with traffic. Even with the scooter, it was difficult to get around the jam. He treaded back and forth, hunting for open spaces, stopping and starting, several times going backward to try a different path.

  The side roads were just as bad.

  It took nearly two hours to travel three miles. By then the Chinese vessels had withdrawn. Smoke wafted on the breeze, clinging to the highway and the area around the rivers.

  The bridge that took 14B over the river had been damaged by the assault. A barricade had been placed on the eastern bank; opposite him, a lone policeman stood in front of a small sawhorse, warning away cars and the curious.

  Jing Yo stopped near the barricade, examining the roadway. It sagged about halfway across but otherwise looked intact. The bridge itself was only fifty meters long.

  Jing Yo decided he would brave it.

  “Are we going across?” asked Hyuen Bo.

  “If we don’t go here, it will take us another hour to find a crossing,” he said. “And we’ll be even farther from our direction. Do you think we can make it?”

  “If you do.”

  “Hold me tightly,” he said, pulling her arms around him.

  He revved the scooter and shot forward. He’d gone no farther than ten meters when the road started to give way below. It dipped, then sprang back, as if it were a diving board. Jing Yo tacked left, easing off his accelerator. The road swayed left, and there was a loud noise, the crack a tree limb makes as it collapses in a heavy storm.

  Jing Yo knew the road would not come back up this time. He accelerated, charging forward as the steel supports under the bridge swayed and snapped, one after another.

  The policeman turned around and began waving his arms at him.

  Ten meters from the end of the bridge, the right side of the road folded and fell below. Jing Yo hunkered against the handlebars, willing the scooter to the extreme left, clearing the remaining pavement as the deck collapsed.

  He nearly ran into the policeman, who was too stunned to react as they sped past.

  They drove on the highway for a few more minutes, until they were almost in Dai Hiep. Jing Yo slowed as they neared a cluster of stores and shops.

  “Are you hungry?” he asked Hyuen Bo.

  “If you are.”

  “We’ll get something to eat,” he said. “They have too much of a head start now for us to catch up.”

  ~ * ~

  ~ * ~

  Bystander Killed in Hotel Melee

  Boston (AP-Fox News)—A mother of two was killed by a stray bullet today as armed hotel guards broke up a robbery attempt outside the Boston Crown Hotel.

  The guards, all off-duty policemen, are a common sight at business-class hotels in Boston and most major cities, as crime against businessmen has spiked. The robberies are seen as part of the general spike of crime and violence against the wealthy as the country’s economic downturn continues. . . .

  Germans May Disband Health Care

  Berlin, Germany (World News Service)—The latest victim in the continuing worldwide depression may be one of the lynchpins of Germany’s welfare state, universal health care.

  The continuing fiscal crisis, which has hit Europe particularly hard, is causing governments across the region to cut services. Nowhere are the fiscal problems more severe than in Germany, where the government has traditionally eschewed deficits and other so-called tricks of the trade. . . .

  ~ * ~

  1

  Ho Chi Minh City (Saigon), Vietnam

  A state of emergency had been declared in Ho Chi Minh City. The army as well as
the police patrolled the streets, and a strict curfew had been imposed. Army units were gathered at different points along the highways; tanks were being dug in and other defenses prepared. Militia—in most cases little more than vigilantes with rifles older than they were— mustered at various municipal buildings and trolled the residential areas in pickups and the occasional van.

  But the city itself seemed to be taking little notice of the crisis. Motorbikes, buses, cars, and trucks filled the highways in both directions; there was no mass panic or exodus.

  Concerned that the regularly scheduled planes would be booked or even diverted, DeBiase had arranged for a plane to meet Mara and the others. The charter would then take them to Tokyo. Leased from a small Japanese airline named Goodwill Japan, the aircraft was one of several used on an occasional basis by the CIA.

  The arrangement was straightforward. Mara would bring everyone to the airport, get through security, then go to the main terminal. She would page a ticket agent working for a regular airline but on the CIA payroll as a “friend.” The employee would help them through passport control and out to the flight, which was due to arrive no later than 5 p.m.

  Two hours from now.

  Josh was sleeping again. He’d have to wait until they landed in Tokyo to see a doctor. But it seemed like the best way to do things.

  They bogged down in traffic about four miles from the airport, and Mara had Squeaky change places with her so she was behind the wheel. Kerfer beeped the horn at her as she ran around the truck. He tapped his ear, indicating that he wanted her to turn on her radio. She got the truck going again, then did so.

  “What’s the game plan?” he asked.

  “Straight to the airport, like I said.”

  “No shit.”

  “Just follow me.”

  “Leave the radios on.”

  “The batteries going to last?”

  “We’re taking off in two hours, right? We got plenty of juice for that. Little Joe’s coming up to ride shotgun in the back.”

  “Why?”

  “ ‘Cause I’m fucking nervous, that’s why.”

  Mara shook her head, but at this point there was nothing she could do about it. The SEAL hopped over the tailgate.

  “Little Joe, you got your radio on?” she asked over the circuit.

  “Big-time.”

  “Keep your gun in the bag. We don’t want to be stopped.”

  “We saw a lot of people with weapons.”

  “They’re militia. And they’re not white.”

  Mara saw a 757 lifting off in the distance as the traffic snaked forward. They’d be doing the same soon.

  As they edged toward the exit for Ha Huy Giap to get down to the airport, Squeaky saw that the ramp was closed, blocked off by a pair of military vehicles. Mara decided to try and talk her way through. She pulled off in front of the trucks, angled so she might squeeze past if one pulled back. The soldiers went over to the passenger-side window, eying Little Joe in the back suspiciously.

  Mara had to lean across the others to talk. She spoke in the quickest Vietnamese she could muster.

  “We have to get to the airport,” she said. “I need to get on the highway.”

  “The highway is closed,” said the sergeant in charge of the detail.

  “But I need to get to the airport.”

  “Not by this road. It’s closed.”

  She pleaded some more, but the soldier and the two privates with him simply walked away. Mara had to edge back into traffic.

  “Why didn’t you try bribing him?” asked Squeaky.

  “I’m just about out of money,” she said. “We could maybe buy a few loaves of bread; that’s it.”

  “Can’t grease a palm with spit,” said Squeaky philosophically.

  The ramp to Highway 22 was closed as well. Mara continued in traffic for another mile and a half, well past the airport, until she saw an open emergency ramp that led down to a city street. She followed several cars off, then began wending through the crowded, narrow city streets back in the direction of the airport.

  The traffic thickened steadily, gradually choking off to an unsteady crawl. When finally she came in sight of Tuong Son, the main road to the terminal, she saw why—the airport entrance was closed. Cars were being sent down the road to make U-turns before fighting their way back into traffic.

  “Stay with the truck while I find out what’s going on,” said Mara, hopping out.

  Kerfer got out as well, trotting up behind as she walked down the line of cars. A pair of armored personnel carriers sat in the middle of the airport entrance. Two military policemen were directing traffic—or rather, trying to wave it onward.

  “How do you get into the airport?” Mara shouted.

  One of the men held his hand up to his ear. Mara squeezed around the tangle of cars and ran over to him.

  “I have a flight,” said Mara. “How do I get in?”

  “No more flights today,” said the policeman.

  “I just saw a plane take off.”

  “No more flights.”

  “I need to talk to someone in charge.”

  The man ignored her.

  “Hey!” she yelled.

  He didn’t answer, turning instead to a nearby car whose driver was crying that she was lost.

  “We can just walk in,” said Kerfer. He pointed to the lot across from them.

  “What about the soldiers?” she asked.

  “We duck around the side, back on the block where we turned. Near the end of that taxiway. There’s no one there.”

  “You don’t think there are soldiers inside?”

  “We worry about them when we find them.”

  “It’s too risky. If we get arrested, we may never get out,” Mara told him. “Go back with Josh and the others. I’ll find the officer in charge here and find out what’s going on.”

  “Not by yourself,” insisted Kerfer.

  “You’re a pain in the ass,” she told him, starting toward the parking lot.

  “And you’re a bitch,” said Kerfer, walking with her. “I’d say we’re made for each other.”

  “Touch me and I’ll deck you.”

  “I’d love to get physical.”

  “I doubt I’m your type.”

  “I’ll just throw a paper bag over your head.”

  Mara would have decked him if they weren’t being watched.

  Kerfer started to giggle like a thirteen-year-old.

  Jerk.

  The soldiers wouldn’t even listen to her questions. Mara walked parallel to the building, looking for an officer. She found a lieutenant having a cigarette on the sidewalk. He told her the airport was completely closed.

  “I have a plane that’s meeting me,” Mara told him. “It’s a charter. I have a little girl and—”

  The officer cut her off, saying that she would need to take up her problems with the travel ministry. When she asked where the office was in the terminal, he replied that it was downtown, not here.

  “Who can I talk to here?” she asked.

  “No one,” he insisted. Mara pressed him for his commander’s name; the lieutenant finally gave her the name of a captain, who, he said, was back by the trucks where the traffic was being diverted.

  “We can walk down that alley there, hop the fence, and get in,” said Kerfer as the lieutenant went back to his men. “Easier than this bullshit.”

  “Yeah.”

  “What time’s our flight?”

  “It should be here in an hour,” said Mara. “But they’ll wait.”

  The area around the perimeter of the airport was packed tightly with buildings. They were halfway through them, heading toward the fence at the end of the runway, when DeBiase called her on the sat phone.

  “Bad news, angel. Your airport’s closed.”

  “No shit,” said Mara. “Tell the pilot we’re going to hop the fence. Ask him where to meet.”

  “You’re not following me. They can’t land. The Vietnamese closed the ai
rport to civilian traffic. They mean business. There are armored cars on the runway. Word is they’re using it for fighter operations tonight.”