The gunner screeched in fright and jumped off the turret. That was a big mistake. He should have tossed the grenade and jumped into the safety of the tank. Remo shot him. The grenade went off inside the tank.
The sound was muffled, but the smoke boiled out of every aperture like floating serpents.
Next, Remo jumped to the crater and tossed several grenades. He lay flat on the crater's lip. The concussions came like a string of exploding firecrackers, but much louder.
There were shouts from the lead and remaining tank. Remo clambered into the crater, rushed past the fiery mess that was the second T-72, and lifted his head above the crater wall. The turret was slowly turning around. The machine-gunner was sweeping his perforated gun muzzle back and forth, his eyes staring stupidly under his pith helmet.
Remo took his head off with a short, concentrated burst and followed the bullets out of the crater. He was on the tank in an instant, pulling pins and popping grenades past the slumping, headless corpse.
The grenades went off. Brief flashes of fire spat from the ports. Remo was already into the roadside trees. He was taking fire from the Land Rover. The helicopters were powering up again.
"Lan!" Remo called. "Don't let them take off!"
Lan came up out of the turret and opened up. She had a rifle cradled under each arm. She braced herself against the hatch well and set the muzzles on the rim to steady them. She fired them alternately. Her body shook with the bone-rattling recoil.
Not designed for ground fighting, the gunships never had a chance. Their main rotors spun lazily, but the machines didn't lift off. The pilots were either wounded or running for their lives.
Meanwhile, Remo got behind some trees, working toward the Land Rover crew. He was back on single firing. He picked off the driver. Another soldier was flat on the ground, firing from under the chassis. Remo ducked behind sheltering trees, pulled a grenade pin, and rolled it along the road. It hit the left-front tire and rebounded onto the road.
The soldier under the vehicle saw the grenade lying mere inches in front of his face. He had no shelter, no time to wriggle out from under the vehicle so he did the only thing left to him.
He struggled to reach the grenade with his hand. No doubt he hoped to lob it back at Remo. But there wasn't time. His shaking fingers touched the grenade, upsetting it. It popped out of reach. Then it exploded.
A piece of shrapnel embedded itself in a tree not far from Remo. It hit with a meaty thunk. Remo sat with his hands clamping his helmet down tightly.
When Remo looked out again, the Land Rover was burning. Something like a charred ham smoked under it.
But there was no sign of Captain Spook.
Remo looked frantically. There was no third body near the vehicle. Captain Spook had been in the Land Rover. Maybe he was in the trees on the other side of the road. But Remo saw nothing move.
"Lan! You see anyone else?"
Up in the turret, Lan swung around. Her face was a smear of dirt and sweat.
"No!" she shouted back.
"There's one running loose. Keep your eyes peeled."
"Keep what?"
"Just watch! We're not out of this yet."
Remo waited, crouching. Silence returned to the road. Insects resumed their multitudinous sounds. Nothing moved other than flame and the nervous twitching of the dead and dying.
Finally Remo decided to make for the tank. He retreated into the bush, worked forward, and flashed across the road.
Seeing him coming, Lan laid down covering fire. She shot at nothing and everything. She disappeared into the tank only after-Remo dived into the driver's hatch.
Remo was breathing hard when he got behind the laterals.
"Button it up!" he panted. "We gotta get out of here. Fast!"
"Why?" Lan asked as she dogged her hatch shut. "You kill them all."
"Not him," said Remo. "Not Captain Spook. He vanished again."
"Who?"
"The NVA officer I killed. Back in the war. I saw him again. He's out there."
Remo sent the tank rumbling forward. It tipped as it slid down into the far, unobstructed crater.
"I think we can push those choppers aside and make a break for it," he observed.
"They will send more."
"Don't get discouraged," Remo said. "We've been doing pretty good so far." His breathing was more regular now. He wiped dirt off his forehead.
"Then why you look so scared?" Lan asked, jamming fresh clips into two rifles.
"I'm not afraid of anything."
"Not true. You fear Captain Spook. I see it on your face."
Remo said nothing. The crater filled his periscope.
He bounced in his seat, his shoulders striking the cramped cockpit walls. Lan hung to handholds. The tank ran level, then started to climb nose-first, its treads clawing out of the depression.
When the tank lumbered onto the road, Remo let out his breath.
"I thought we weren't going to make it for a minute," he said.
Then he added, "Oh, crap!"
"What?" Lan asked, leaning forward.
"Look."
Lan looked past Remo's shoulder. Through the narrow slit of the port she saw a man in a ragged Vietnamese officer's uniform standing in the center of the road. He carried a Kalashnikov rifle upended like a pole. A white rag fluttered from the muzzle.
Remo stopped the tank.
"He want to surrender," Lan said quietly.
"I don't trust him."
"Then run him over."
Remo considered. "Do no good," he said at last. "He's already dead. Grab your gun."
Remo pushed open his hatch. He pointed his weapon at Captain Spook's pock-marked face. Lan covered him with the turret gun.
Captain Dai Chim Sao shouted at him in Vietnamese. "What's he saying?" Remo asked Lan.
"He say you destroy his unit."
"Tell him I noticed."
"He want to know what you want."
"I want to kill him for sure. No, don't say that."
"What I say to him?"
"Tell him," Remo said slowly, "tell him I want him to surrender. "
Lan shouted Remo's answer in Vietnamese. Captain Dai yelled back.
"He say he already surrender," Lan explained.
"Not just him. Everybody. I want Vietnam to surrender. Unconditionally."
Lan told him. Captain Dai's mean face broke in shock. His answer was brittle.
"He say he only a captain. Cannot surrender whole government."
"Then tell him to kiss his butt good-bye," Remo hissed, lifting his rifle to shoulder-firing position. Captain Dai dropped his rifle and shouted frantically. "He say he can give you better than surrender," Lan said quickly.
"There's nothing better," Remo growled.
"He say he know where American POW's are held. He will take you. You take Americans away and leave Vietnam alone."
"That sounds like surrender to me," Remo said, lowering his rifle. "Tell him it's a deal."
Chapter 19
Captain Dai Chim Sao knew he was finished. He had lost two entire tank groups to a lone American and a halfbreed girl. Before his last soldier fell, Dai knew he would be disgraced. Death was not even a concern anymore.
And because he feared death less than disgrace, Captain Dai formulated a plan. He slipped away from the Land Rover as the last tank exploded in flames. He worked his way through the trees to the ruined helicopters and found a working radio.
He radioed his position and warned the surrounding base camps of his planned route.
"We are not to be intercepted," he had said. "That is an order. Obey me. " And tying an oil rag to his rifle, he'd stepped into the path of the oncoming tank, knowing that at worst it would only crush him under its implacable treads.
But now Captain Dai was squatting under the muzzle of the smoothbore cannon, the bui doi girl holding him under the menace of the turret gun.
For hours, the tank rattled along the north road. It stopped only onc
e to replenish its gas tank with fuel from the on-board supply.
The red sun beat down on Captain Dai's unprotected head. But his mean face was twisted in a wicked smile no one could see.
The American didn't know it, but he was riding into a trap.
Hours later, the tank was grumbling along a grass-choked jungle path. The path had obviously been knocked out of the jungle by many passing vehicles.
In the driver's bucket, Remo called up to Lan. "Ask him how long till we reach the prison camp." Lan spat out the question. She interpreted the captain's surly reply.
"He say soon, soon," Lan reported.
"He's said that before," Remo complained.
Lan said nothing. The path was narrowing. Remo had to expend most of his energy working the laterals to keep the treads from climbing the occasional too-close tree. It was work.
It was still light when Remo jockeyed the tank around a tight turn. The suddenness with which the jungle opened up around them took their breath away.
"Remo!" Lan called suddenly.
"Yeah, I see it," Remo said, craning to see through the periscope. "It's gotta be the camp."
"No," Lan said dully. "Not camp."
"Sure it is," Remo insisted.
"Yes, camp. But look to side."
Someone was shouting orders in brittle Vietnamese. "Shut him up," Remo said, stopping the tank.
"Cannot," Lan said. "Not captain. Come up, Remo." Remo climbed up to join Lan at the turret hatch. He looked around. Then he saw the other tank. It had been laying for them at the edge of the camp clearing. Like the finger of doom, its gleaming cannon was pointing directly at them.
Remo grabbed the turret gun. He pointed it at the back of Captain Dai's head.
"Tell them to back off or I'll blow his head open," Remo shouted.
Frightened, Lan relayed Remo's threat.
The tank commander stared back stonily. Remo watched him out of the tail of his eye, afraid to tear his gaze from the back of Captain Dai's head. Dai turned. His face was alight. He bared his shovellike teeth in a sneering grin.
"Don't be so smug," Remo said. "I killed you once. I'll be happy to do it again."
Lan relayed Remo's words. Captain Dai's face lost its catlike grin. A variety of expressions crossed his features. "What are they doing?" Remo whispered.
"Waiting," Lan said. Her face was drawn.
"For what?"
Then they knew. Out from behind the tank, a line of men marched with heads bowed and shoulders drooping. They wore gray cotton. They were Americans. Behind them marched others, who were not all American. Lan recognized them as her fellow Amerasians. Her throat tightened painfully at the realization that they hadn't made it to Thailand. To Remo, they meant nothing.
The stone-faced tank commander pointed to the line of captives. They were under the menace of several soldiers' rifles. The officer shouted angrily, gesticulating at Remo and again at the prisoners.
"Don't tell me," Remo told Lan. "We surrender or they get chopped down."
Lan nodded silently, fighting back tears.
Remo's fingers tightened on the machine-gun trip. He wanted very much to pull it. Captain Dai saw the look in Remo's eyes. His smile completely fled. Sweat broke out all over his unlovely face.
Finally Remo said, "You're not worth it," and backed away from the machine gun, its muzzle dropping impotently. Remo raised his hands.
"No choice, kid," he said thickly.
No longer fighting her tears, Lan threw her AK-47 into the dirt. She raised her hands.
"Good-bye, Remo," she whispered thickly.
"We're not dead yet."
The soldiers surrounded the tank and motioned Remo and Lan down from the turret. They forced them to kneel, their crude hands feeling their clothes for hidden weapons. Remo's helmet was cast aside. Others helped Captain Dai off the tank. He had difficulty walking. His knees wobbled.
Unsteadily he walked up to Remo and slapped his face twice, first in one direction and then with the back of his hand on the return sweep.
"Hai cai nay ra!" Dai screamed at the tank officer. Lan was dragged away to a thatched hut. The prisoners were marched after her.
Then they escorted Remo across the camp, taking him to the far side, where a bulky steel container about the size of a garbage- dumpster stood in the dirt not far from-if the overpowering stench meant anything-an open latrine trench.
Remo was forced to kneel again, and the sudden night of Vietnam fell upon them. The refrigeratorlike door at one end of the long container was thrown open and Remo was kicked and jabbed into its dark interior.
The door clanged shut and the locking lever was thrown.
Remo found himself in a stifling cube of heat. The air was heavy with stale human smells. A little light filtered in through bullet holes in the sides.
Remo put an eye to one of the holes and tried to see outside. A low voice pulled him away from the hole. "They don't usually put two men inside at once," it grumbled. "But I do appreciate the company."
"Who's there?" Remo asked.
"Who do you think, fool? Youngblood. You been brainwashed or something?"
"Youngblood?" Remo asked. "Dick?"
"Hey!" Youngblood suddenly shouted: "I don't recognize your voice. Who the hell are you?"
"It's me, Remo."
"Yeah? Remo who?"
"Williams. How many other Remos do you know?"
"Williams ... Remo Williams...... The voice was low, as if tasting the name. I usta know a marine by that name."
"Dick. It's me."
"Prove it."
"Tell me how."
"Lemme see your face. Get over by the vent holes back here, where there's light."
Remo scrooched over. His eyes were becoming used to the lack of light. He made out a dim, hulking form with bright, suspicious eyes.
The eyes came closer. They were familiar. But not the surrounding face. It was thicker, the skin coarse and lined.
"Shee-it!" Youngblood said. "It is you, you sonovabitch!"
"You look old," Remo said slowly.
"The hell you say," Youngblood scoffed. "After twenty years, what did you expect, Nat King Fucking Cole?"
"Then it is true."
"What?"
"The war. It's over."
"You ain't heard?"
"I haven't been able to believe it," Remo admitted.
"Say! What the hell are you doin' here?"
"I don't know. I don't remember. I woke up and here I was."
"I enlisted, myself," Youngblood growled. "Thought you were drafted."
"They tell me it's been twenty years, but all I can remember is the war."
"They found you in the jungle, did they?"
"No, I captured a tank. I drove it here. They ambushed me. Another tank."
"An old T-54?"
"Yeah."
"Hah! You dumb shit. You got snookered. That thing's got a wooden cannon. It can't shoot riceballs."
"Well, you don't have to be so happy about it," Remo complained.
"Sorry, man. I been here so long I'll take my entertainment any flavor at all."
"Who else is here?"
"There's only seven of us now. There used to be more than thirty. I'm senior officer now. That's why they got me in this here conex. You'll love it. Like an oven during the day and an icebox at night. What happened was, a prisoner escaped. A Vietnamese named Phong. They got me in here as punishment. Hey, is that how you come to be here? Did Phong send you?"
"I told you, I can't remember what I'm doing here. In my head, it's still 1968."
Youngblood grunted a laugh. "Yeah, my watch kinda stopped too. You know, Remo, you look different. "
"So? "
"I mean it. You look different. But not much older than I remember. Geez, wherever you been, man, you ain't aged a lick."
"I think I'm dead," Remo said hollowly.
"What?"
"I think I died in the bush. I'm a ghost."
"Hey now, man.
Don't you be pulling any spook stuff on me. That shit don't go with me."
"Spook," Remo said. "That's the other thing. Remember Captain Spook? He's here. We killed him and he's still alive. What does that tell you?"
Dick Youngblood's low voice rose in gales of laughter. The conex shook with the enthusiasm of his howls. "Remo, you are one confused fuck," he chortled. "But I know how you must be feeling. I felt my own ass pucker the first time he turned up in my face."
"Huh?"
"That ain't Captain Spook. That's Spook Junior. His son. Calls himself Captain Dai. They do seem to be painted with the same ugly stick, don't they?"
"Son?" Remo said in a dazed voice. Then, "Shh. I hear someone coming."
In the darkness, Dick Youngblood put an ear to the metal wall.
"I don't hear shit."
"Footsteps. Very quiet."
"You're hearing ghosts. Probably your relatives."
"Then I'm seeing them too," Remo said. "Look." Youngblood let Remo guide him to a bullet hole.
"A gook," Youngblood said. "Old, too. Never seen him before."
"That's Uncle Ho."
"Ho Chi Minh is dead too, but if that's him, I take back everything I said."
"Uncle Ho is what I call him. I met him out in the bush. "
"Just like that. Who is he?"
"I don't know his name. But he claims he's my father. "
"Yeah, now that you mention it," Youngblood said dryly, "I can see the family resemblance."
The Master of Sinanju waited until the camp settled down for the night. He had patiently awaited the coming of his pupil to the Vietnamese prisoner camp. As always, Remo was late.
It had been simpler to allow Remo to be captured than to interfere. In Remo's present state, Chiun did not wish to risk losing him to wild gunfire. When he believed Remo had been in the big metal box long enough, Chiun approached silent and unseen by the few guards picketed about.
"Remo," he whispered.
"What do you want, Ho?" Remo asked in a surly tone.
"Simply to speak with you, my son," Chiun said sweetly. "Are you comfortable?"
"Of course not. I'm a freaking prisoner."
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