by Mel Odom
He’s going to be surprised, Will thought.
“The two of you need to work out logistical support before you run into each other in the dark,” Larkin went on.
“Agreed,” Will replied. Escaping hostile fire only to be brought down by support troops wasn’t a pleasant possibility.
“I’m bringing him on now,” Larkin said. “Captain Phan, this is Director Michael Larkin of the NCIS.”
“I hear you,” Phan replied.
“We’ve got communications set up and running in the area. We wanted to coordinate my team’s exfiltration from the battleground with you.”
“Of course.”
Will admired the Vietnamese military man. Phan could change and adapt with the best of them. His ability to do so while on the fly was impressive.
“Will,” Larkin called, “are you still there?”
“I am,” Will said, then addressed Phan. “Captain, good to have you with us.”
“I see our plan worked,” Phan said. He sounded a little out of breath, and Will could imagine the man hurrying into the area on foot.
“It did. We also found our missing soldier.”
“Then you’ve been doubly fortunate tonight.”
Will drew a flare from his vest and held it in his hand. “I want to get my people out of here. We’re coming toward you and I don’t want to get accidentally shot.”
“I understand.”
“I’m carrying a flare,” Will said. “I’m going to set it off in a moment. When I do, mark this position. We’re coming straight at you.”
“Skyview confirms there are no hostile encounters between the NCIS team and the local soldiers,” the support guy said.
“Roger,” Will said. “When you’re ready, Captain.”
“Now,” Phan said.
Fisting the flare, Will banged the end against the nearest tree. The flare exploded into ruby light that spun shadows over Will. He threw the flare to the right. Bullets chased it across the ground as Victor Gant’s gunners cut loose.
Will hunkered down behind rocks with Estrella and Nita, who looked pale.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
“I’m fine,” Nita said tightly. She had her arms wrapped around herself. She hadn’t often been in the field and hardly ever under these conditions. “I’ll be fine. There’s just a lot-a lot of noise.”
“You’ll be out of this in another few minutes,” Will said.
“Commander Coburn,” Captain Phan called.
“Yes.”
“We see you.”
“We’re actually to the right of the flare. Your right. Behind a stand of rocks.”
“Yes. We have you. We’ll be there shortly.”
“Captain Phan,” Larkin said.
“Yes.”
“Did you call in air support?”
“No.”
“Then we’ve got trouble. Two helicopters just lifted from the brush only a few klicks from you. They’re speeding in your direction and will be there within minutes.”
That, Will knew, wasn’t good news.
›› 1929 Hours (Local Time Zone)
Savage glee hammered through Victor Gant as the two pilots of the helicopter gunships he’d had lying in wait contacted him.
“Bring ’em on,” Victor crowed. He gazed up at the sky and saw the helicopters shifting back and forth as they sped toward the rendezvous point.
Both helicopters were outfitted with 20 mm rocket pods and. 50-cal machine guns manned by expert door gunners. It was more firepower than the NCIS agents and their Vietnamese army unit could deal with. Their trap had just been sprung and turned into a trap of its own.
Victor smiled and watched the helos zip by overhead as he tried to spot the NCIS agents in the darkness. The helo pilots would have an easier job at it because they were FLIR-equipped. The forward-looking infrared devices would pick up body heat in the darkness.
“Hey, Fat Mike,” Victor growled as he watched the choppers sail across the sky just above the treetops, “seems like old times, doesn’t it?”
“Yeah,” Fat Mike replied.
The dirge of the helicopters’ rotors beating the air grew louder.
62
›› Eleven Klicks Outside Qui Nhon, Binh Dinh Province
›› Socialist Republic of Vietnam
›› 1931 Hours (Local Time Zone)
Shel pulled back into the shelter of a stand of tall trees just as the lead helicopter opened fire on his position. He hooked Max by the scruff of the neck and pulled him tight, wrapping both arms around the Labrador’s neck to shelter him.
The. 50-cal rounds chopped through the tree branches and smaller trees like scythes. Leaves, branches, and trees fell to the ground like the rain that continued to relentlessly pound the jungle. Purple tracer rounds made the bullet streams visible, and they danced only a few feet away.
“Shel!” Remy called over the headset.
“I’m good,” Shel replied as he watched the helicopter swing around his position. “But this guy must have night vision. He’s circling my position like he can see me.”
“There’s a FLIR mounted on the undercarriage,” Remy said calmly. “He’s got your number.”
Desperation filled Shel as he burrowed more deeply into the trees. The bullets struck rocks and threw sparks that flared only briefly before dying. He caught momentary glimpses of the door gunner hanging outside the helicopter’s cargo doors. The chopper looked like a predatory insect in the darkness.
“Know what the weakest point on any helicopter is?” Remy asked almost conversationally.
“The tail rotor,” Shel answered. He shifted, dragging Max with him, putting trees between himself and the helicopter gunner.
“Hold tight,” Remy warned.
Even as he moved, Shel saw sparks suddenly dance along the helicopter’s tail section. The chopper was moving slowly, so the target wasn’t as difficult as it could have been. In the next moment, the tail rotor suddenly swung out of control. The pilot tried to recover, but the chopper started turning circles in the sky. Then it descended and smashed into the trees.
There was no explosion. It just went down seventy yards from Shel’s position. By the time he was in motion, the second helicopter had marked Remy’s position and was moving in for the kill.
“Hang on,” Shel said. “Help’s on the way.” He ran through the jungle, dodging trees and brush. He cradled the assault rifle in both hands as Max loped at his side.
The second helicopter was too far away, on the other side of Remy rather than being between them as the first one had been, so Shel moved toward the downed chopper.
Both door gunners had survived the impact and were struggling to free themselves from the safety rigging. When the first one saw Shel, he reached for his sidearm.
Shel shot the man on the run, stitching a three-round burst from the gunner’s hip to his shoulder. The man slumped in the rigging.
The pilot stumbled from the cockpit and brought up his pistol. Before he could use it, Max clamped his huge jaws over the man’s forearm and smashed into him, knocking them both to the ground.
The other door gunner turned and fired at almost point-blank range. In his hurry, he missed. Shel spaced a double tap over the man’s heart, then tracked a round up between his eyes in case the man was wearing Kevlar.
Shel took hold of the. 50-cal machine gun, twisting it experimentally on its gimbal. It still had full movement.
Tracking the. 50-cal drone of the other helicopter, Shel turned the machine gun in that direction, found the aircraft, and then lit up the night with tracers. He was wide and low of the helicopter for just a moment; then he tracked the tracers onto the chopper’s dark body.
The. 50-cal rounds punched through the helicopter’s body and marched toward the cockpit. The pilot juked and tried to take evasive action. Shel stayed locked on, knowing the fuel tank was there somewhere.
Finally the tracers ruptured the fuel tank and ignited the gas. In the ne
xt second the helicopter became a roiling ball of orange flames and dark gray smoke against the black sky and silver rain. Flaming pieces of the aircraft showered down over the landscape.
“Not bad shooting, Marine,” a gruff voice said. “Looks like I’ll be walking out of here.”
Shel spun as he recognized the voice as Victor Gant’s.
“But that’s okay, because I’m gonna walk out of here knowing I squared things with my son’s killer.” Victor Gant stood next to a tree. Only the M79 grenade launcher and one eye were visible.
Shel knew he wouldn’t have a chance if he ran, so he jumped back through the helicopter’s cargo area toward the open door on the other side. He was in midair when the 40 mm grenade slammed into the helicopter’s interior and the explosion engulfed him.
›› 1934 Hours (Local Time Zone)
Victor Gant watched the incendiary grenade fill the helicopter’s interior with twisting flames. The illumination spun and whirled as it chopped into the darkness. He didn’t see the Marine’s body anywhere.
Cursing, wishing he’d been able to kill the big man less quickly and regretting that it was already over, Victor tossed the M79 to the side and pulled the M14 into his hands. He stayed low and duckwalked to the back of the helicopter. Staying next to the downed aircraft while it burned wasn’t his first choice, but Victor wanted to make certain of his kill.
“Fat Mike,” Victor called.
“Yeah.”
“You got my six?”
“Like always.”
Fat Mike stayed in the brush and kept a weather eye peeled while he held on to his M60 machine gun. If anyone made a move against Victor, Fat Mike would cut the assailant in two with the weapon.
“That dog was with him,” Fat Mike said.
“When you see it, euthanize it,” Victor said. “We’re scorched-earth here.”
“Reading you five by five.”
Victor felt the pressure of the clock against him. Maybe they’d chased the NCIS team off, but the Vietnamese People’s Army soldiers were moving in. His window for escape was closing.
“Victor,” Tran called over the radio.
“I’m already gone,” Victor replied, but he kept circling the helicopter. He wasn’t going to leave until he saw the Marine’s dead body for himself. “You with me, Fat Mike?”
“I’m on your six. You’re clean and green.”
Victor smiled. It was like old times. Hunting Charlie through the brush had always been a thrill. When he ducked under the helicopter’s tail section, he felt the heat pushing at him. It was almost hot enough to sear.
Then Victor saw the Marine. Shel McHenry lay almost twenty feet from the stricken helicopter. He was facedown on the ground, his assault rifle another dozen feet away.
Cautiously Victor closed on the man’s body. “You still alive, jarhead?” he called softly.
The big man didn’t move.
“You wouldn’t be lying there playing possum, would you?” Victor stepped closer. The M14 led the way. “Maybe I should just put a round through the back of your head to make certain.”
Shel McHenry lay motionless on the ground.
Closer now, Victor saw the embers still smoldering against the man’s shoulders and back. A fine dusting of them trailed through the short blond hair. Bits and pieces of him were on fire, but he wasn’t moving. Victor knew the man was either dead or unconscious.
“I think I’m going to take an ear or maybe a finger,” Victor crooned. “Some piece of you to remember you by. What do you think about that?”
A dark shadow rose from the ground and launched itself like an arrow across the broken ground. Victor saw just enough of it to know what it was, and he knew where it was headed.
“Fat Mike!” he yelled. “Watch that dog!” He tried to spin and draw a bead on it. But from the corner of his eye, he saw Shel McHenry rise from the dead.
›› 1936 Hours (Local Time Zone)
Later, Shel was never rightly able to say what had woken him from unconsciousness as Victor crept up on him. The last thing he could ever clearly remember was the explosion. The concussive force had blown him clear of the helicopter and hurled him several feet through the air. He didn’t remember hitting the ground, but he had the bruises and abrasions to prove it.
But what had woken him remained a mystery. On some days, he thought that it had been a feeling, an outgrowth of the combat senses he’d developed while in action. Other days, however, he was certain it was his daddy’s voice, fierce and hard, telling him to get up before he got himself killed. When he told Don about it, Don had another take on just exactly what had happened.
All Shel knew was that he woke and saw Victor Gant drawing a bead on Max as the Labrador streaked for the brush. That had been enough to galvanize him into action. He pushed himself up from the ground, caught Victor’s eye rolling toward him, then saw the rifle coming around to meet him.
Shel blocked the rifle with his left hand, felt it chug as it spat bullets into the ground, and curled his right hand into a fist. He put his shoulder into the effort and-even though he was on his knees-got his weight behind it and hit Victor Gant as hard as he’d ever hit any man.
Victor was knocked sideways. Shel yanked on the M14 and pulled it from the other man’s grasp. Before he could reverse it and use it himself, Victor came back at him with a Ka-Bar combat knife clenched in his fist. Blood trickled down Victor’s face and made him look like a madman.
“Thought you were dead, boy,” Victor roared. “I gotta admit, I like the idea of killing you myself even better.” He slashed at Shel with the knife.
Shel threw himself backward, rolled, and got to his feet in one smooth move despite the wooziness rocking his skull. He felt slightly disoriented as he moved, but everything was there.
Victor quick-stepped toward him, trying to step on his lead foot, but Shel managed to get his foot away and duck back again. This time he smashed the palm of his right hand up against Victor’s elbow and trapped the man’s arm for a moment. While he had him blocked, Shel drove an overhand blow into Victor’s face that split the man’s cheek.
Max’s growl in the brush let Shel know he was dealing with a threat himself. A man’s frightened squalls echoed around them.
“Come on then, boy,” Victor taunted. “Let’s see what you’re made of.”
Shel felt for his pistols, thinking to put a quick end to the knife fight. His holsters were empty. Evidently the explosion or the landing had knocked them free. Reluctantly he gave ground.
Victor stepped forward quickly again and slashed twice. The blade whispered across the front of Shel’s Kevlar vest.
“Why are you running?” Victor sneered. “You come all this way to get a piece of me. Well, here I stand. Let’s see how bad you want me.”
Black anger filled Shel and he almost rushed the man. Remembering how he’d fought his daddy gave him pause, though. His daddy had fought back even harder than he’d expected. Shel knew that Victor Gant would be no less of an opponent.
He also realized that Victor had circled him and was driving him back toward the burning helicopter. He felt the heat blazing against his back and heard the fire crackling in his ears.
“How bad do you want me, boy?” Victor taunted. “Looks to me like you just come all this way to die.”
Unbidden, the image of the small chapel in the hospital filled Shel’s mind. He’d been at peace there. Even with everything that had gone on with his daddy, he’d been at peace.
All his life, he’d felt he’d chosen a different path to walk than Don. His brother had gone the way he believed God had pulled him. But in the end, had Shel done any less? Even with his world filled with violence and bloodshed, wasn’t Shel drawn to the same goal of helping others who were lost and unprotected?
In that moment, with more clarity than he’d ever expected, Shel knew that he wasn’t so different from his brother. Don was a shepherd. So was Shel. They just tended different flocks in different circumstances.
In all that time, Shel knew that his daddy had never once truly turned away from that calling. Maybe he hadn’t had the soft words or the understanding that some daddies did, but his war hadn’t ended in Vietnam. For forty years, that guilt had been the biggest war Tyrel McHenry had ever fought.
He’d never once stepped away from the burden God had given him to do.
A calm peacefulness like he’d never felt suddenly filled Shel with clarity. He knew what he was supposed to do, and he knew that there wasn’t another path he would ever take.
He stopped backing up before Victor Gant. When he dodged the knife this time, he set himself and delivered a full-on body block that lifted Victor Gant from his feet and hurled him backward. Victor landed and set himself immediately, but it didn’t do him any good. Shel came at him without fear, without anger, with only the knowledge that he was doing what was right and what he’d been born to do.
He punched Victor in the mouth and drove him back. “I’m here, Victor.” He hit him again, driving him back once more. “Do you feel me now?”
Victor threw a punch.
Shel slipped the punch easily, shoving it away from him. “And I’m taking you back with me, Victor. Not a piece of you. All of you. You’re going to stand trial for every evil thing you’ve ever done.”
Victor swiped at Shel with the knife, but Shel caught the man’s wrist and twisted. The knife dropped from his fingers. Stepping forward, Shel delivered a forearm shiver that knocked Victor backward and almost toppled him.
“Do you feel me now?” Shel asked.
Desperate, Victor tried to kick Shel in the crotch. Shel caught the man’s leg, lifted, and twisted. Victor spun and crashed to the ground. When he tried to get up, Shel hit him in the jaw. Then he rolled him over and jacked an arm up behind his back.
Shel knelt on his prisoner, placing a knee in the middle of his back, and pulled a pair of disposable cuffs from his combat vest. He fit the cuffs onto hand, then the other, pinning both behind Victor’s back.
