As he passed her, she nodded to him, and he to her.
• • •
A dozen kilometers later the exhausted soldiers made camp in a thickly forested valley bottom. The Daen Lao Range rose all around them now—a rugged jungle wilderness.
As Durand sat in the gathering darkness, watching Frey bandage his many blisters, Thet approached and sat down with them. He wasn’t his usual smiling self.
“How’s the wounded man, Thet?”
“He died as well, unfortunately.” Thet gestured across his own abdomen. “The shrapnel pattern is designed to cause internal bleeding.”
Durand said nothing.
“Tomorrow we cross the Salween River. It runs north to south in our path—two hundred and fifty meters wide.”
Frey sighed. “Do I even want to ask what’s waiting for us there?”
“The Salween is always our biggest barrier. It is watched, but our people watch it as well. No one is better at getting supply chains across the Salween than my sister. But I wanted you to know what’s coming tomorrow.”
Durand nodded. “Thank you.”
“Pray for rain and fog.” With that Thet moved away to speak with the other men.
Durand could also see Bo Win moving from group to group, listening to them. Durand could see she had the men’s respect. She had undoubtedly earned it.
• • •
In the night Durand and the entire camp were suddenly awakened by a spine-chilling shriek that ripped past overhead. It sounded like a chainsaw cutting corrugated tin, and almost as quickly as it had arrived, it faded away down along the valley.
Looking across the camp, Durand could hear the clatter of weapons as men huddled beneath their thermal tarps. Whatever it was, it wasn’t going to be held back by anti-drone nets. He figured it had been going a few hundred kilometers per hour.
He turned to see Frey’s eyes in the darkness.
“What in the living Christ was that?”
“Probably something looking for us.”
Durand peeked out beneath the tarp to see lights in the sky and more horrific sounds like tearing metal. He tried not to think about the large stretch of water they were going to cross come daylight.
• • •
Before dawn Bo Win walked among the men. They got up, hastily ate rations, then broke camp without a word necessary from her. They headed upslope, trudging all morning toward a ridgeline they couldn’t see through the thick canopy of trees.
But finally they crested the ridge, and for a moment, Durand could see through the treetops, down into the valley and the massive brown river flowing between jungle mountains below them. It was like something from another age. No development lined its banks. No ships appeared on the several-kilometer stretch he could see.
And then he was moving downhill, back beneath the trees.
Unfortunately the day dawned clear. By early afternoon Shan fighters lay concealed behind trees and boulders as sunlight shined through the trees ahead—marking the river’s edge.
Several of the men stole glances at Durand. He looked at his forearms and could see that his tattoos had never truly faded from the night before. He felt them keenly now—as though they were becoming more a part of him.
Thet moved at a crouch to Durand and Frey, who were lying with their backs against a vine-strewn boulder. “Our transport has arrived.”
Frey looked relieved. “So we’re not crossing the river on our own?”
“No. Local people have fished and worked the Salween for centuries. Their boats move up and down the river. They help us. We will stagger the crossing so as not to draw attention. We load the weapons and ammunition in a nearby stream. On the far bank of the Salween we will be met by more of our people.”
Frey took a deep breath. “How many times have you and your sister done this?”
“Many times.” Thet smiled. “Follow me.”
Durand and Frey fell in behind him as they moved along a line of other fighters, readying their weapons. They emerged onto the bank of a calm stream that flowed into the wide body of the Salween. Waiting for them there was a colorful long-tail boat piled with crates that were covered by a purple tarpaulin, lashed in place by nylon cord. A small cabin stood just ahead of the engine, which resembled nothing so much as a car engine bolted, open-air, into the bottom of the boat. From it a differential linked it to a long pole, at the end of which was a propeller that the operator steered like a rudder.
The entire length of the boat was painted green and red, with highlights of gold leaf and ornamental Burmese script.
They climbed the gangplank and took places inside the small cabin, joining three other Shan soldiers.
Thet smiled. “The first boat is already across. My sister is waiting on the far shore. The second boat is nearly there as well.”
Frey looked reassured.
The powerful engine rumbled to life, drowning out their conversation for the moment. Several men pushed the boat into the stream, where the pilot quickly lowered his propeller and hit the throttle.
Durand watched the trees race past with surprising speed. He’d ridden in navy go-fast boats. This vessel wasn’t far off their pace.
They roared out of the tributary and turned in against the Salween’s current, still driving upriver with impressive speed. Thet motioned for them to remain low as they plied along, looking to casual inspection like a local bringing goods to market upstream.
Glancing ahead, Durand could see the wake of similar boats here and there along the Salween’s silty brown water. So the river wasn’t deserted. Likewise, he could see a small village with bamboo docks and thatched roofs upriver on the far shore. It was like something from a previous age.
The air felt cooler here on the water, and the breeze flowing around them felt even better. He glanced over at Frey, who was leaning back, enjoying it.
Frey laughed. “I didn’t think it was going to be this nice.”
Durand turned back upriver and studied the looming mountains to the north. The Salween wound its way through them from up near the Himalayas. Here, they were far from just about everywhere. Africa had never felt this remote. This inaccessible. And it occurred to Durand that he would likely never return from this journey.
This thought darkened his mood considerably despite the sun and fair breeze.
A shout came from up on deck. Durand looked up to see a man on the bow pointing. He followed the man’s gaze toward a distant object hoving into view around a bend in the river. It soon resolved into some type of hydrofoil craft—a vessel whose propulsion and stabilization lay beneath the water. These lifted the body of the vessel out of the water at speed—eliminating most of the resistance and enabling fast movement.
Thet stiffened and drew compact binoculars. “This is a problem.”
Frey looked up with a start. “What is it?”
Thet passed the binoculars to Durand. “Patrol drone. They sometimes move submerged for stretches. It must have gotten past our lookouts.”
Frey sat up straight. “A drone boat?”
Durand aimed the binoculars upriver and saw what was unmistakably an unmanned patrol boat with what looked like a twenty-millimeter cannon up front.
Thet shouted something at the driver.
Durand looked back to see the man was unsettled.
“We duck down and rely upon our cover. It is an autonomous vehicle—unlikely to open fire on locals who don’t match its target pattern.”
Durand ducked low but looked ahead to see the hydrofoil veering to their port, heading in toward the lead boat that was half a kilometer ahead of them. “What’s it doing?”
Thet watched with obvious anxiety.
The lead long-tail boat took evasive maneuvers and made a beeline for the far bank. Durand immediately knew it was a mistake. Algorithmically, flight was likely to el
icit a pursuit response from an autonomous weapon. The boat pilot had panicked.
Thet muttered. “No. No . . .”
An orange tracer round suddenly raced out from the stable platform of the drone gunboat—with a rapid series of cracks reaching them a moment later.
The lead long-tail boat ripped apart—its cargo exploding and casting flaming debris high into the air.
Frey dove for the deck.
Thet shouted at their pilot, motioning to head straight upriver.
Durand watched as orange tracer rounds suddenly streamed out of the jungle from various places on shore, skipping off the water and past the hydrofoil as it arced back toward its prey.
A rocket suddenly streaked out from the far shore as well. It impacted the hydrofoil aft, causing its rear foils to buckle. The vessel rolled at speed into the water, breaking apart in a geyser of white foam.
Thet shouted up to their boat pilot, motioning toward the far shore.
But already Durand noticed movement in the sky. Apparently something had been waiting for them after the incident with the crawling mine. “We’ve got incoming, Thet!” Durand pointed. He focused the binoculars, though it was hard to keep them steady.
Autonomous choppers—torpedo-shaped gray slugs heading over the ridgeline and across the water.
The long-tail boat leaned into a turn, and soon they evened their keel, making a run for the far bank, just a hundred meters away now.
Suddenly the supersonic snap of bullets ripped the air around them, shattering the nearby window, piercing the wood with spots of sunlight and sending splinters everywhere. One of the three soldiers slumped over as Durand and Thet dove for cover next to Frey. The other two soldiers climbed out on deck.
The long-tail boat pitched right, then left again as the soldiers moved to the gunwales and opened fire on an incoming drone chopper.
Tracers still streamed out of the jungle toward the evasive, fast-moving aircraft.
Thet looked to the stern of the boat, shouted, then got up and raced aft.
Durand turned to see that the boat’s pilot was missing—the entire rear of their boat had been speckled with bullet holes. The engine was still running, but unattended, the long-tail propeller slalomed from side to side. They were making little progress toward shore.
Thet crawled across the deck to grab the throttle.
Durand moved to check the pulse of the soldier who’d slumped over in the cabin. He laid the man down next to Frey and could see there was a sucking chest wound. The unconscious man struggled for breath with his other lung, blood spilling out of him.
Durand pulled a can of wound sealant from the man’s web harness, bit the cap off, and inserted the sterile tip into the worst of the bleeding—pressing the actuator. The medical coagulant oozed out, covering the wound. He shouted at Frey, “You’re a doctor, aren’t you?”
“Not that sort of doctor!” He covered his head as more bullets snapped in.
The soldiers fired their M4s into the air just outside.
Between shots and the roar of the engine, Frey shouted, “We need to get off this goddamned river!”
Durand looked back at Thet directing the long-tail’s rudder.
A chopper flew past, ripping the deck with bullets and detonating the fuel tank. Flames roared into the cabin as Durand hit the deck again. The flames receded, but the boat’s engine died.
Durand looked up to see that Thet was gone. The aft deck was on fire.
Durand raced toward the stern, past the smoking engine, and looked out behind them, through the flames.
Thet’s body lay facedown in the current some ways back. Glancing over his shoulder, Durand could see the boat was nearly to shore—and clearly had the momentum to reach it.
Durand tossed his kup and pulled off his tunic, then dove into the silted river. He surfaced, feeling the current draw him onward—away from the flaming boat as it impacted the riverbank.
Durand swam as fast as he could toward Thet’s body, rolling with the slow current. As he did so, he saw yellow and green tracers rip across the sky. One of the choppers pinwheeled in flames a thousand meters downrange. But he also saw more choppers cresting the distant ridge.
Durand swam harder, and heard the same buzz saw sound they’d heard in the middle of the night, and only now realized it was what you heard right before one of these damn things flew over you.
Durand dove deep into the water and heard high-velocity rounds whip into the water all around him, slowing almost instantly. Moments later he burst back to the surface to see the fiery turbofan at the tail end of a receding chopper—racing across the water, chased by tracers streaming from both shores.
Durand reached Thet and grabbed him by the tunic collar, rolling him faceup. He then wrapped an arm around the man’s chest and pulled him backward, as he’d been trained in innumerable navy rescue drills. His arms felt powerful, capable, and he pulled for shore, simultaneously checking Thet for visible wounds. He didn’t see any bullet punctures on the front of the man’s tunic, but he did see a nasty, bleeding gash on Thet’s head. He focused on pulling him to shore as chopper engines, gunfire, and bullets tore up the air overhead.
Minutes later Durand came into the shallows under the shade of thorny acacia trees, roughly five hundred meters downriver from where the long-tail boat burned on shore.
He strained to pull Thet up onto the bank, and then did a fireman’s carry to bring him into the jungle. There, Durand laid Thet down, and checked for breathing and a pulse. He found neither and started doing CPR, pressing the heel of his palm at a measured pace as river water bubbled out of Thet’s throat and his head wound bled.
Durand heard thrashing in the brush nearby and looked up to see two Shan resistance fighters emerge. They put down their weapons and came to assist. Durand pointed at the bleeding scalp wound before returning his focus to CPR.
The men broke out field dressings and applied pressure while the gunfire still raged out on the river.
Moments later Thet coughed out the last of the water and gasped for air. Several moments after that, he opened his eyes.
Durand stopped the compression. He looked into Thet’s eyes. “You see me? Do you see me?”
Thet nodded.
“Follow my finger. What’s your name?”
“Thet Ko Lin.”
“Good.” Durand looked up to meet the gaze of the soldiers. “Go see if Dr. Frey is okay.”
Thet coughed again, and to Durand’s surprise, he translated Durand’s instructions to the two men.
• • •
The two soldiers put Thet’s arms over them and followed as Durand blazed a trail back upriver. The gunfire and chopper noise had begun to die down. After several minutes of thrashing through the undergrowth, they could hear orders being shouted. It was a voice Durand recognized.
Bo Win.
They emerged from the brush to see a dozen soldiers pulling boxes out of the still-burning long-tail boat.
One of the soldiers shouted and pointed at Thet being carried. Several of the men moved to help. Win raced to the front of them, talking fast.
Thet waved her away as she tried to examine his head wound. Durand watched them go, while others remained to unload the weapons and ammunition from the boat.
“I’m alive, in case you’re curious.”
Durand turned to see Frey holding a bandage against his own bleeding scalp.
“I could use some sealant, I think.”
“We need to get inland.”
A shout went up at the sound of approaching jets. The Shan grabbed the last of the crates, motioning for Durand and Frey to move.
• • •
That night unseen aircraft crisscrossed the skies for miles around their camp—thundering jets and autonomous choppers—but the Shan fighters lay concealed beneath a rock outcropping, hem
med in close by artocarpus trees and a heavy jungle canopy.
Most of the weapons and other supplies had made it across the river, but several of their fighters had been killed, wounded, or were still missing. Likewise, a couple boats were still hiding in tributaries on the eastern bank. But they would follow in coming days. Still, Durand counted at least twice as many people now and saw new faces. Apparently they’d linked up with some other group.
Durand could see Bo Win speaking gravely with another Shan commander as they examined maps on LFP glasses over near the base of the rock face. Word had come down that the supply column would be moving onward at dawn.
Thet was in a makeshift infirmary tent, among other wounded. Frey and Durand had lost their interpreter for the time being. Instead, Durand heard the Shan fighters whispering as he passed by. They smiled and bowed wais to him.
He knew his tattoos were still visible. A glance at his arms showed they had not faded at all, even hours after the river crossing.
Later, while Durand sat in the darkness, trying to remember the contours of Miyuki’s face, he became aware that the men around him were making room for someone walking through.
He looked up and barely discerned Bo Win’s features from the reflected light of a three-quarter moon. Durand stood and bowed, peaking his hands.
She stood silently before him for several moments, then put her hands together and bowed, looking back up at him. She said in halting English, “My thanks . . . for brother . . . Mr. Durin.”
He bowed to her again.
Her expression softened for just a moment; then Win moved on, slipping between her soldiers—who all looked back at Durand in the darkness. He could feel their eyes on him.
Durand longed to be home. To be himself. And yet the trajectory of his life could be very different. He sensed how thin the cord was that tied him to himself.
Frey sat up from the shadows nearby. “You saved Thet’s life?”
Durand nodded.
Frey’s eyes followed Win. “Good.” He got comfortable on his bamboo mat. “I rather like Thet.”
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