Walking Wounded td-74

by Warren Murphy

  "Oh," said the Master of Sinanju, as if just noticing that fact. "Why do you not escape?"

  "How?"

  "These convenient holes," Chiun told him, inserting a long-nailed finger into one of the bullet holes. "They are just right. They make wonderful handholds with which to tear off a nice section of wall."

  "Watch it!" Remo barked. "You nearly poked my eye out. "

  "Your fault for peeking. You do not need to see me to understand my words."

  "You're right, Remo," another voice said. "He is a crazy old gook."

  "Who is that?" demanded Chiun. "Who speaks?"

  "A friend of mine," Remo told him. "What of it?"

  "The one named Youngblood?"

  "Yeah. How'd you know that?"

  Youngblood snorted like a bull. "Because he's a gook," he said. "You've been set up, Remo."

  "It is too bad," said Chiun sadly.

  "What is?" Remo wanted to know.

  "That you have found your long-lost Army friend. It is very sad."

  "Look, Ho. Why don't you take a hike?" Remo suggested. "We've got a lot of catching up to do."

  "How can you speak such hard words to one who has meant so much to you?"

  "Easy. I'm dead. Dead people can do whatever they want. "

  "Ah, then you remember that you are dead. That is good."

  "It is?"

  "Hey, I don't want no part of this conversation," Youngblood said hotly. "This is bullshit."

  Chiun ignored him. "What else do you remember, Remo?"

  "Nothing."

  "Nothing?" squeaked Chiun. So Remo did not remember after all. And until he did, Chiun could do nothing with him.

  "That's what I said. Now screw off."

  "But you do remember that you are dead. You have been dead now for many years."

  "Then it's true," Remo said hollowly. "How did you know?"

  "Why, because . . ." Chiun began. A thought occurred to the Master of Sinanju. A fable of Remo's upbringing he had once shared with him. "It is because I am your guardian angel. Yes, your illustrious guardian angel. I am here to escort you to where you belong."

  "You? My guardian angel is Vietnamese?"

  "No, Korean."

  "North or South?"

  "North, of course."

  "My guardian angel is a Communist?"

  "No, dense one. Your guardian angel is Sinanju."

  "I think there's been some mistake. I'm Catholic."

  "Emperor Smith is worried about you."

  "Who's Emperor Smith?"

  "Why, he is the ruler of America, of course. He sent me to bring you back."

  "Did you hear that, Dick? America's turned into a monarchy. Probably because we lost the war, I'll bet. Hey, why would this emperor send someone to bring back a dead man?"

  "He's messing with your head, Remo," Youngblood said. "Send him away."

  "I am telling the truth," Chiun said haughtily.

  "Prove it," Remo snapped.

  "How?"

  "Get us out of here."

  "Why did you not ask before? Wait here."

  "For what?"

  "I am going to create a distraction to assist your escape."

  "Did you hear that, Dick?" Remo said sarcastically. "Uncle Ho is going to create a distraction. If you have anything to pack, now's the time to start."

  "I ain't listening to either of you. You're both flipped out. "

  "Do not worry," promised the Master of Sinanju. "This will not take long. The elephant of surprise is on our side."

  After the Master of Sinanju had vanished, Dick Youngblood had a question.

  "Did he say 'elephant'?"

  "I think he meant 'element.' Like 'element of surprise.' " Remo was looking through the bullet holes eagerly.

  "What're you looking at?" Youngblood asked. "I want to see what he's going to do."

  "Do? He's going to go to the camp commander and they're going to drink rice wine and laugh at us until the monsoon season comes. What do you think he's going to do?"

  "I don't know," Remo said slowly. "I saw him turn an AK-47 to powder with his bare hands."

  Dick Youngblood sat staring at the dimly lit profile of Remo Williams, his bulldog face cocked quizzically. "You know what I think?" he said at last.

  "What?"

  "I think I'm asleep and you're my nightmare for tonight. I'm going to catch some shut-eye-even though we both know I'm already asleep. I just hope you and that crazy old gook are gone when I wake up."

  Chapter 20

  The first sound wasn't long in coming. A thatched hut crashed. Remo was unable to see what was happening, but the noise was unmistakable. Bamboo splintered. Dry roof grass crackled as if on fire.

  There was yelling, panic, and Vietnamese voices raised in shrill confusion. And in the midst of it all, a bellowing animal sound.

  Dick Youngblood jumped to Remo's side. "What's happening. What's going on?"

  "I don't know," Remo said. He moved from vent hole to vent hole, trying to see.

  Knifelike fingernails suddenly appeared in a cluster of bullet holes near Remo's face. He recoiled.

  "Uncle Ho again!" he cried.

  The fingernails slashed down. The sound of steel being sheared hurt their eardrums. Youngblood scurried to the furthest corner of the conex.

  "I don't believe what I'm seeing," he said.

  One section of the conex wall hung in strips. The strips were swiftly peeled back, opening up a man-size hole.

  A wrinkled parchment face poked into the conex interior.

  "What are you waiting for?" Chiun inquired. "Come." Remo didn't hesitate.

  "You coming?" he asked Youngblood.

  "I know I'm dreaming."

  "You can wake up later."

  "Or you can die now," Chiun said sharply. "Come."

  Youngblood crawled out of the conex, saying, "I read somewhere back in the world that if you die in a dream you're dead when you wake up, so I figure I got nothing to lose."

  "This way," said Remo.

  The camp was in a panic. Surprisingly, there was no shooting.

  "What did you do, Ho?" Remo asked.

  "The name is Chiun. I am Master of Sinanju."

  "And I'm the King of Siam," Youngblood said.

  "You are going to make what I must do easier," Chiun warned.

  He led them into the bush. Remo threw himself to the ground. He scrambled back to see through the reeds.

  "What's that you said, gook?" Youngblood asked.

  "Nothing," Chiun told him. He turned to Remo. "What are you waiting for? We must be gone from this place."

  "Lan's still in there."

  "My men too," Youngblood added. "I ain't leavin' 'em, either. "

  "Agreed," said Remo.

  "Not agreed," said Chiun. "I rescued you. Therefore you must do as I say."

  "I don't remember agreeing to that. You, Dick?"

  "Nah, the old gook is crazy anyway. See that barracks hut? Think we can get to it?"

  "Maybe. All the commotion seems to be on the other side. Sounds like a tank run amok."

  "Tanks don't sound like that thing. You're hearing an animal. "

  "It is," Chiun said. "What is?" Remo asked. Suddenly a spotlight was turned on. It showed a rearing gray monster. A Vietnamese soldier was scooped up by a snake of flesh and smashed against a wall. A hulking mass descended on a thatched hut. It fell like a house of cards.

  "Holy shit!" Youngblood breathed. "That's a fucking elephant. "

  "Not an elephant," Chiun said with satisfaction. "It is the elephant."

  "What elephant is that?" Youngblood asked, wide-eyed.

  "The elephant of surprise you Americans always speak of. "

  "What'd I tell you?" Remo said.

  "I don't want to hear it. Listen, we gotta get us some weapons. What do you say?"

  "I'm game."

  "Yes," Chiun said sternly. "You are both dead ducks if you blunder ahead. Wait here, I will find your friends."

  "Who pu
t you in charge?" Remo asked, turning around.

  There was no reply. Remo nudged Youngblood with an elbow.

  "What?"

  "Look behind you," Remo suggested.

  Youngblood looked. There was no sign of the old Oriental. He groaned.

  "Not that spook shit again. I hate this."

  "Look," Remo said.

  "No way. I ain't looking at nothing. I'm dreaming." But Dick Youngblood looked anyway. The old Oriental was inside the camp, calmly walking toward the main cluster of buildings. He paused and cupped his hands over his thin lips. A weird cry was emitted.

  The elephant trumpeted a reply and lurched away from the camp. It crashed into the bush, its long trunk slapping from side to side. It moved with unbelievable speed.

  A pack of Vietnamese soldiers followed it with sticks.

  "Why don't they just shoot it?" Remo wondered aloud.

  "You kiddin', man? We're in Cambodia. An elephant is like a horse to these slopes. He's a pack animal and a tow truck rolled into one, and if he starts eating too much, you can always shoot him and eat off him for a month."

  "They're not going to catch him anytime soon," Remo pointed out. "Let's go."

  "I'm with you. Semper Fi, do or die."

  They charged out of the bush and sought the lee of the long barracks building. The camp was starting to quiet down.

  "I'll go first," Youngblood said, peering around the corner.

  "If you see a Vietnamese girl with green eyes and freckles, she's friendly," Remo said, pushing him off. Youngblood's legs churned. For the first time, Remo had a good look at him in bright light. He was heavy. A big man whose muscles had been softened by time and confinement. He looked old. Remo looked at his own smooth hands, wondering how they could belong to someone who was Youngblood's age.

  No time to think about that now, Remo thought. He got ready to run.

  A safety clicked off directly behind him and Remo felt the flesh over his spine writhe like a snake.

  "Chu hoti!" the voice of Captain Dai Said. It was high-pitched, nervous.

  Recognizing an order to surrender, Remo turned slowly, his hands lifting.

  "Looks like it's you and me again," Remo said resignedly. Whatever happened, he was going to buy Dick Youngblood enough time to do what he had to.

  Captain Dai Chim Sao knew how to make a man talk. A woman would be easy. He had had the bui doi girl, Lan, taken to his office. Her hands were tied behind her back and a bamboo pole inserted under her crooked arms, where it would stretch the shoulder joints in their sockets. That alone was painful enough to make some men talk without further torture.

  The girl Lan required more.

  Captain Dai used his cigarette. First on the soft palms of her hands. Then on the soles of her feet. He stood behind her, toying with her growing sense of expectation. She couldn't see him apply the smoldering butts. The psychological advantage was enormous.

  The girl cried and whimpered. She bit her lips to bloody pulp. She refused to beg. Like the detestable Phong. Once, she swore, and he slapped her face. She spat at him and he slapped her again. Just like Phong. She would pay like Phong too.

  It didn't take long to break her. And it was a simple thing that did it. He set her long hair afire with a lighter. She screamed. Dai threw water over her head. What remained of her hair smoldered. Her face, raw now, began to puff up.

  "No," she whimpered. "No more. Please."

  "My English is poor," Dai told her in Vietnamese. "My question is simple. The American said something about killing me again. What did he mean by that?"

  "He told me he killed you during the war with the Americans," Lan sobbed.

  "So," said Captain Dai. His eyes were like cold embers.

  "I know nothing more," Lan told him through peeling lips.

  Dai's eyes refocused.

  "You remind me of Phong," he said cruelly.

  "I know no Phong. "

  "I will change that,". Dai said, placing his sidearm to her temple. "I will send you to meet him."

  He fired a single shot.

  Lan fell sideways, her body hanging up on the bamboo pole across her back. Slowly she slipped down it until her head touched the pool of water around her. It began to turn red.

  Captain Dai stepped out of the interrogation hut. It was incredible. Somehow, fate had sent to him the one American he'd never dared hope he would face. The man who had murdered his father, the father whose face he now wore with arrogant pride.

  Captain Dai strode to the conex. He was oblivious of the sounds of confusion erupting all over the camp. Dimly he recognized the trumpeting of an elephant. An elephant wasn't important on this night. Only the American killer of his father was important.

  Captain Dai wrenched down the conex door lever. He threw it open. His set jaw loosened, sending his dangling cigarette to the ground.

  The conex was empty. Moonlight filled the interior from a gaping hole.

  Frantically Captain Dai raced into the camp. He hoped no one would kill the American before he found him. He prayed to his ancestors that he would not be denied that exquisite pleasure.

  When Captain Dai saw the black sergeant blunder out from behind a hut, he slipped around to the other side. His pocked face broke out in ugly joy.

  The American was there. He turned slowly.

  Captain Dai would have shot him in the back without hesitation. Just as he had done to countless nameless Americans he had ambushed during the war. But he wanted this American to know why he was going to die. "You killed my father," he told him in Vietnamese.

  "My hands are up," the American said. "I'm chu hoing, bien?"

  The idiot did not understand him. It was important that he understand.

  "My father NVA, bien?" Dai said. The American shrugged his shoulders.

  "You killed him. For that I have killed many Americans. Now I kill you. Crackadill, bien?"

  The American looked blank. Captain Dai swore. If only he knew the English word for "kill."

  The Master of Sinanju freed the prisoners by a simple method. He found the hut where they were imprisoned. It was easy to identify. It was a little way from the others, and had two armed soldiers standing at the entrance.

  Chiun slipped up to the back and with a fingernail sliced a low rectangular hatch out of the wall. He slipped in and invited the Americans and Amerasians to accompany him to safety.

  "I am sent by the American government," he whispered. "Follow quietly. There is a submarine waiting for us."

  They looked at him without comprehension. A ripple of expressions greeted him: doubt, suspicion, fear. They didn't budge.

  Chiun nudged them with his lightninglike fingernails. The pain made the prisoners scramble out of the hut as if it'd been filled with swarming hornets.

  Chiun beckoned them to the safety of the bush, and motioned for them to stay hidden. There was still the girl. Naturally, she would be the one who would make the rescue difficult.

  Then he saw the black man, Youngblood, lumbering from hut to hut like a bear. Chiun rolled his eyes. Americans. They were like children, never staying where you told them.

  He raced after Youngblood and saw Remo standing in the shadow of a building with his hands raised in surrender. A Vietnamese officer had him covered. The Vietnamese was babbling some nonsense at Remo. Chiun could tell by Remo's puzzled expression that he did not understand the Vietnamese's angry words.

  "Remo!" Chiun called.

  Remo's head turned. He looked frightened. "Hey, Uncle Ho. Give me a hand here."

  Chiun hesitated. He was too far away. If he moved on the Vietnamese, there would be shooting. He did not want to lose Remo to a stupid little rock.

  "If you harm my son," Chiun told the officer in his own language, "a terrible death will descend upon you."

  "I fear no death, old man."

  "I am Sinanju. That white man is also Sinanju. Think hard upon that fact," Chiun intoned.

  "Hey, Ho, whatever you're telling him, better stop. He's
only getting madder."

  "This American killed my father," the Vietnamese told Chiun, and his finger tightened on the trigger.

  "I think he's going to shoot, Ho!" Remo yelled.

  "Remember your training, Remo," Chiun called sternly.

  "What?"

  "Your mind calls them bullets, but they are only rocks."

  "I'm about to be cut down and you're talking geology."

  "You fear the little rock only because your mind tells you to," Chiun went on, stepping forward carefully. "You would not fear a man throwing a big rock at you."

  "I fear bullets," Remo said, his eyes fixed on the quivering gun barrel.

  "Yes," Chiun said. "That is right. Look at the barrel. Do not take your eyes from it. Relax. Do not move until you see the bullet coming."

  "Move? I'm petrified."

  "Old man," the Vietnamese said, "tell this American for me that he killed my father, Captain Dai Ma Qui, and I will spare his life."

  "Remo," Chiun said, "this idiot says you killed his father."

  "Tell him I know," Remo said, his eyes so intent upon the barrel they almost crossed.

  "He says he knows," Chiun said. Captain Dai fired.

  "Remember!" Chiun called as he flashed ahead, but Remo did not hear him. The dark gun muzzle filled with fire and smoke, the bullet a grayish blot speeding just a microsecond before them. Remo's head seemed to expand. He was no longer in control of his body. It was moving on its own, moving with a deliberate speed that made the world seem to stand still.

  The bullet sped toward Remo's chest. It seemed so slow. Remo jerked aside. The bullet passed him, not an inch from the front of his T-shirt. The sharp bullwhip sound of the bullet's passing was a sharp pain in his ears.

  Remo batted the pistol out of the Vietnamese's hands before he could squeeze off a second round. Remo kicked him in the groin, and when he slipped to his knees, clutching himself, Remo knocked his shovellike teeth loose.

  Chiun appeared beside him. "Sloppy. Bad technique."

  Remo turned. "Are you kidding? I side-stepped a live round at point-blank range and bashed this clown's face in."

  "Why do you not kill him?"

  "Can't."

  Chiun almost staggered. He braced himself against the building and placed a stricken hand to his breast. "Can't!" he squeaked. "My son, the assassin who cannot kill. Why not?"

  "It's against the Geneva Accords to kill a prisoner."

  Chiun blinked. "Against . . ."