the Last Run (1987)

by Leonard B Scott

  "Gendemen, somewhere in this large area is the North Vietnamese Second Division. Your mission is to find them. Before Major Shane comes up here and gives you the concept of the operation, I want to introduce you to key players who are attached to us. Major Cid Orlando is the Air Force liaison who will coordinate F-4 fighter bomber close air support and B-52 targeting.

  A slight, dark-haired major stood and nodded to the staring group.

  Ellis pointed to another officer on the front row. "And Major Frank Dundee is our Army aviation liaison from the 268th Aviation Battalion."

  The major partially stood and raised his hand before quickly sitting back down.

  Ellis lowered his pointer. "I'm the Corps's representative only. Major Shane is the operational commander. This operation is vitally important to the V Corps and South Vietnam. Finding and destroying the Second NVA Division will send a message to Hanoi that we are not just sitting on our asses in defense positions. You have been selected because of your outstanding combat records. I feel very proud to be a part of this operation and know you will do your utmost to find the bastards. Good luck to you."

  Colonel Ellis sat down as Shane walked to the map and pointed to the recon area. "Tomorrow, the First, Second, and Third Ranger Platoon teams will..."

  General Binh Due was in his hut, reading the radio messages he had received that morning, when Colonel Sy entered and set down another stack.

  The general glanced at the pile. "Anything of importance?"

  Sy shook his head. "No, all is going to plan. The intelligence reports still show no large American changes in disposition. We can safely assume no major operations are planned."

  The general closed his eyes for a moment and stood slowly. "When we return to the tunnel, we must begin plans for diversionary attacks along Highways 1 and 14. This will keep the Americans occupied while we consolidate our major units in the west. The Americans cannot afford heavy losses during their pull- out. We will use the local people's forces for the diversion."

  Colonel Sy raised his brow. "The local units have few experienced troops remaining. Their ranks have given much blood. Perhaps we should consider providing them some cadre from our regular units to bolster morale."

  The general walked to the hut's doorway and looked out at the valley. "The People's Liberation Armed Forces are nothing but phantoms with little fight left, and that is exactly what the Americans must think. They must feel they can handle the small threat while still withdrawing. Should we show our strength too soon they would stop their retreat and begin offensive operations again." The general turned slowly and looked at his friend of many years with a sad expression. "The local forces must shed more blood. Supply them with whatever they need in munitions and arms, but no soldiers."

  The colonel lowered his eyes. "The reunification will be a hollow victory without shouts of joy from so many who began the struggle. The countless dead will never know of their success."

  The general sat down and picked up a message from the stack. His eyes glanced tiredly at the paper, then up to the colonel.4 'The dead will be with us when victory comes. Their shouts of joy will be heard by you and me."

  Wade walked out of the stifling briefing room, drenched in sweat. The hot afternoon sun attacked him unmercifully as he strode toward the barracks holding his map and notes of the upcoming mission. He paused in the doorway and turned around. He wasn't ready yet. Changing direction, he strolled to the plateau edge.

  Below him was the airfield. Simmering heat waves off the runway distorted the shapes of the parked helicopters. The surrounding area was flat except for the mountains looming far to the west. The base was on a plateau that rose up twenty meters. It was the only high ground for miles. Wade wiped sweat from his eyes and glanced at the map he held in his hand. Tomorrow they would again be in the jungle, but this time not to kill. His men wouldn't object to searching for an NVA division. They'd listen to his briefing and accept the mission as routine, but tonight when they lay down to sleep each would ask themselves the question: Is this the mission where I buy it? Maybe this time, this mission, their luck and skill would run out. The odds were against them; if seen they would die. They didn't have the firepower to hold off a large force before the gunships arrived. This mission would be unlike any other. He knew it . . . and soon his men would know it, too.

  Wade took a deep breath and shook the doubts from his head. He was ready now.

  Major Shane took off his sweat-soaked shirt and sat behind his desk. He picked up a one-page report and waved it in one hand. "Do you expect me to believe that four engineers accidentally gassed themselves beside one of our barracks last night?"

  Childs stood beside the major's desk, looking up at the ceiling. "Sir, don't ask no questions and I won't tell no lies. It's a dead issue. The problem we had is solved. We gonna keep this real quiet and it'll all pass."

  Shane stared at his sergeant's weathered face and tossed down the paper. "Okay, it's dead. I won't ask, but damn it, let me know next time. When that Claymore went off last night, it scared the hell outta me. I ran to a bunker and stayed there half the night!"

  Childs rolled his eyes and sat down. "Sir, your briefing went well. The aviators seem to have their shit together and didn't piss and moan like they usually do. The Air Force major worries me a litde with those dumb-ass questions he asked, but we can keep an eye on him."

  Shane agreed with a nod and looked over his briefing notes. "Colonel Ellis got us plenty of air assets, so things ought to go pretty smoothly, but I'm still worried about the fourth recon area, the Stadium Zone. I'll bet a dime to a doughnut they're in that area exactly for the reason we don't like it-no landing zones for infiltration."

  Childs leaned back in his chair. "Sir, it'll take us four days to check out the three other areas. Don't get excited and start losing sleep over somethin' that ain't a problem yet. Let's see what the teams come up with first."

  Shane looked up with a frown. "Okay, but I'm going to order some photo missions just in case. The Mohawks fly high enough not to be seen or heard. You better talk to the team leaders tonight and make sure they know how important moving quietly is in their areas. If they even think they hear or see something, I want them reporting in."

  Childs noted his major's worried tone and nervous fidgeting. "Goddamn, sir, you're makin' me antsy just listenin' and watchin' you. Relax, for Christ's sake!"

  Shane had picked up a pencil and was jabbing the point into his desk. He tossed the pencil down, exasperated. "What the hell am I supposed to do?"

  Childs stood and walked to the door. He paused and looked over his shoulder. "Ya start by leading by example."

  Shane picked up the pencil and grinned before throwing it at his sergeant. "Get out of here so I can relax!"

  Wade sat on his bed with his map spread on the floor in front of him and his team surrounding him as he explained the mission. "The Third Platoon is going to recon the third area. It's broken down with four team recon zones. Our RZ is here. L-tee Gibson will be infilling us tomorrow at 0700. We're going in a couple of klicks outside our area, so we'll have to walk in, but it'll be safer that way. Once we get in we'll establish a patrol base and break up into two-man recon teams. We'll clover-leaf out and return to the patrol base. If you see or hear something, get your ass back to the patrol base and wait until we all get back. This is gonna be slow and tiring. Be alert and rest when ya have to. No shooting. Just run if ya get compromised. Me and Preacher are Team One. Thumper and Woodpecker, Tvo, and Russian, you and Rose, Team Three. What're your questions?"

  Rose hopped to his feet and pointed at Russian. "No, man, not me and the foreigner."

  Wade ignored the irate soldier and spoke to the others. "We're travelin' light and quiet, so pack accordingly. The dinks won't know we're there, so they'll be half steppin'. Check the wind constantly for their cooking fires and voices. Move slow and keep an eye out."

  Rose stamped his foot for attention. "Man, I can't be snoopin' and poopin' with that hairy
dude. The foreigner is an ox. He makes more noise than a herd of elephants."

  Russian, patting Bitch, eyed the black soldier coldly. "You speak untrue things, crazy one."

  Wade smiled. "Rose, you know Russian is as good as you. You're just worried he'll show ya up."

  Rose's frown turned into a calculating grin. "I'll go with the foreigner if you split the care package."

  Wade's eyes showed confoundment. Thumper smiled and pulled a big, brown-paper-wrapped box from under his bed. "The mail came when you were in die briefing."

  Wade looked at the box and grinned. It had come from Ginny. "If it's food we'll all split it," he said, and pulled his knife. He slit the sides and, raising the lid, peeked in.

  "Well?" said Thumper.

  Matt slammed the lid back. "Nope, it's not chow. She sent me underwear. Sorry, guys." He stood up and lifted the box to his shoulder. "Seey'all."

  The sergeant started for the barracks' door, trying to contain a smile.

  "Matt!" yelled Thumper, jumping to his feet.

  "Hold it, man! Let me check it out!" added Rose.

  Wade spun around and dumped the contents on the floor. Small cans of smoked ham, shrimp, oysters, and colored packages of cheese and breads scattered over the map and concrete floor.

  "Thank you, Lord!" sighed Preacher, grabbing up a can of ham.

  Russian raised a red-foiled package to his nose. "German Gouda. It is very best."

  Rose smirked as he rifled through the stack, picking up cans, reading the labels, and discarding them. "This is all foreign shit, man. Ain't there any canned hambuigers or fries?"

  Thumper picked an envelope out of the pile and handed it to Wade. "I think this is all you really wanted anyway."

  Wade took the letter with a smile. "How 'bout you? Did Mary Ann write?"

  The big soldier patted his breast pocket and winked. "You bet."

  Childs walked out of the tactical operations center into the midday heat. In his hand, he held an unopened letter that Pete had just handed to him.

  Childs stuffed the letter into his leg pocket. He already knew what his wife had written. She always wrote the same things. She'd tell him how much she missed him and what other improvements she'd made to their small house. The last few paragraphs would be the bad news-news of his friends who'd been killed or wounded and how their wives were doing. The words she didn't write were the ones that affected him most, the words that said she understood why he'd extended his tour instead of coming home. They were words she'd never write because they both already knew why. She was a professional soldier's wife and understood he loved his men as much as her. And for that reason more than for any other he cared for her so much.

  The sergeant walked to the barracks and sat down on his bunk. As he opened the letter he felt empty inside. Her letters always did that to him. Her words were no substitute for her touch and smile.

  Linda was a small woman whose hair had turned gray on the ends when he was gone on his first tour. Her face had finally wrinkled around her green eyes during his second. She was growing older without him, but loved him more each time he returned. They were friends as only a man and wife could be, special friends who needed and understood each other. Unable to leave his job at the office, he was cold and gruff to her at times, but she always ignored his roughness and touched his heart with her understanding. He loved her, but rarely told her so. He needed her and never spoke of his desire. He missed her and put the hurt somewhere else. Linda Childs understood all that and loved him anyway.

  Jerry Childs read the letter, then crumpled it into a ball. He'd fight the empty feeling like he always did and promise himself he'd make it up to her. There was no time to think about that now.

  Sergeant Thong held the bamboo pole steady and pushed upward. The green mango broke loose from the cluster and fell fifteen feet to the waiting brown hands of the old grinning sergeant. Thong had walked down the hill to the valley floor to gather wild fruit from the old Montagnard fields. The elephant grass had almost taken over, but near the stream there were still mango trees and wild pineapple plants interspersed with huge clusters of yellow and green bamboo. Thong sniffed the mango and placed the ripe fruit in a canvas bag. Tonight he would prepare a feast for the general to lift his spirits. The sergeant hefted the bag to his shoulder and walked along the streambed to collect bamboo shoots. The cooling shade and the crystal clear water beckoned to him.

  Thong found young shoots and picked the most tender. He could already taste the meal he would prepare. He followed the stream until he was blocked by huge, rounded boulders that allowed only a deep narrow path for the water. Beyond, he could hear a faint roar. That meant there was a waterfall just past the boulders. Curious, he dropped his bag to the bank, rolled up his pant legs, and waded into the stream to follow its narrow path. The water came to his waist and forcibly pushed him forward. Only by bracing his hands against the gray boulders was he able to stay on his feet. Ten meters into the passageway the corridor widened, to reveal a magnificent pool. The quiet pool formed a wide oblong behind a rock dam. The land to his left and right first ascended gradually and then became steeper. Higher up it was covered by hundreds of large, green, moss-covered boulders. Thong paused; he could still hear the roar of falling water, but there was no spillway. He took a step forward. His foot didn't touch bottom but was pulled downward. He lost his balance and fell forward. His body was being sucked under. Gasping, he frantically fought the powerful undertow, kicking back toward the boulder. Regaining his footing in the shallower water, he climbed up the boulder and sat shaking. From the height of the boulder he could see at the end of the pool a large swirling hole in the water. A whirlpool the size of four men's heads churned in deadly silence. Thong stood and hopped from boulder to boulder around the pool. Jumping to a laige, flat-topped rock, he caught his breath and sank to his knees. Two feet away was a vertical drop of forty meters. The height and precarious position made him feel faint and weak. The pool had an underground passageway that led a few meters below the lip of the dam. There it spewed out to a rock-strewn stream far below. The spray misted upward in a cloud that danced with hundreds of rainbow prisms. Had he not been able to break the undertow's grasp he would have surely Men to his death.

  Thong crawled back from the boulder's edge and slowly made his way back to the narrow boulder passageway. Afraid he would not be able to fight the current, he decided to climb over the boulder.

  Twenty minutes later he sat down tiredly beside the canvas bag of fruit. His hands and legs were bruised and scraped from the climb. He lay back on the bank, looking up at the countless leaves of bamboo. He was too old to be curious. The stream had almost lured him to his death. A younger man would have had no problem, but his old body was too weak for exploring. Still, the thought of the adventure brought a smile to his lips. It would be a tale he could tell his grandchildren for many years.

  The old sergeant rose and picked up his bag. He would collect two more of the mangos and place them in the spirit house. The Montagnards believed in making an offering to the spirits after a good hunt or a significant event. He didn't believe in spirits but it seemed fitting to thank someone for his life.

  Thong walked up the bank with a spring in his step, feeling young again.

  Ku Toan laughed loudly and raised his fish trap. The fish spirit had slept and let his family stray. Six small fish flopped madly at the bottom of the rattan basket.

  Reaching into the small opening, Ku Toan grasped one of the smaller fish and tossed it back into the river. "Go and tell the spirit I release you."

  Toan ran a reed through the fishes mouths and gills and tied a twig to its end. Holding up his catch to sparkle in the fading sun's light, he could see the mountains looming across the shallow river. The mountain had been his home for sixty years. He and two other free men had stayed when the tribe was moved to a resetdement village five years before. He was the only one left to appease the spirits until his people returned. The other men had died-one by
snakebite and the other by sickness that had eaten his body from within. He alone, the tribe shaman, was left to watch over the mountains. The Sedang were strong people and would one day return and claim their rightful home. The low- landers that had come would leave soon. They knew nothing of the spirits and did not appease those who provided.

  Ku Toan walked back to his hut and stirred the embers of the small hearth. The fish would be wrapped in mud balls and baked on the coals. His dark skin turned golden brown in the fire's glow as he squatted down and poured water from the rusted can to make his mud. Soon the rain would come and he wouldn't be able to climb the trail to his old village. He had to go quickly or he wouldn't be able to make the journey until the red-streaked fish mated.

  The blackbird squawked beside him at the sight of the fish. Toan cut one of the fish into tiny pieces and held a portion in his fingers. The bird poked its head through the bamboo-strip cage, striking ferociously at the pink meat. Toan laughed and tossed the pieces into the cage. "Eat well tonight, my black friend. Soon you fly again over the mountain."