the Last Run (1987)

by Leonard B Scott

  Toan placed a pot on the embers and put in a handful of maize with a little water. Tonight would be a feast. The spirits would provide strength to climb the mountain and see his home again.

  The lowlanders may have gone and left his land alone. Only a full moon ago, the first had come. He had to leave before they saw him and made him their slave. If they were still there, he would have to return, but the spirits would understand. They knew of the lowlanders' ways.

  The bird threw his head back, swallowed the fish, and pecked frantically for another piece.

  Toan gendy laid the mud balls into the embers. When the mud split, the meal would be ready. He was happy. In only five days he would return to his home and enter the spirit house once again.

  Chapter 22

  The Huey plunged down into a valley at ninety-five knots, then pulled up abruptly to avoid a stand of tall trees. The Slick dipped and raised with every terrain contour and obstacle, always keeping as low as possible to avoid detection and becoming a target. The six passengers with camouflage-painted faces appreciated neither the pilot's skill nor the magnificent view. They sat on the floor of the aircraft, feeling sick and holding on for dear life.

  The copilot turned in his seat and held up two fingers. Sergeant Matt Wade mumbled a "Thank God" and yelled to the others, "Two minutes!"

  Wade wanted out of the chopper. The low-level flying had lasted for over twenty minutes, longer than any mission he'd ever been on. The extended time at low level was for his team's safety, but their stomachs hadn't understood. Each man felt like a landlubber in a dinghy in high seas. The abrupt sinking and rising had taken its toll. Rose had vomited first, and that had caused a chain reaction. The smell alone was enough to gag a maggot. Wade had emptied his stomach's protesting contents, but he kept on dry heaving until he thought his intestines would heave out. The vibrating floor was covered with half-digested breakfast food, as was the back of the chopper, which pissed off the door gunners and encouraged them to likewise add their stomachs' goodies to the countryside.

  Wade scooted out to the edge of the open compartment and readied himself, as did the others. The copilot raised one finger.

  Wade didn't need to yell out the one-minute warning. His men were positioned. They wanted out as bad as he did.

  The Slick began its flare and Wade scooted farther out, stepping down on the skid in preparation to jump. The bird dropped into a small open area surrounded by thick scrub trees. Four feet from the ground, Wade jumped and hit the ground at a run. Preacher jumped to the earth beside him, but the weight of his pack with the added weight of the radio threw him off balance and he pitched forward face first. Russian pulled him to his feet with one hand and pushed him toward the tree line as the chopper pulled up and streaked away. Wade lay panting as his men fell to the ground in the standard wheel formation. Thumper tried to breathe through his mouth. He didn't want to smell his vomit- soaked fatigues. Woodpecker gagged and started another dry heave session among the team.

  Wade disgustedly pulled the map from his leg pocket and confirmed his position. He wanted to find the closest river or stream so everyone could clean up. They couldn't begin the mission until they'd gotten rid of the horrid smell; the dinks would detect them a klick away. Wade sighed in relief. There was a stream only five hundred meters to the west.

  Jerry Childs sat in the ops bunker, staring at the situation map, with an unlit cigarette hanging from his lips. Gibson had called in a few minutes before to report that he'd inserted the last team.

  Childs's experienced eyes translated each team's location into a visual picture of mountains, draws, streams, and vegetation. He calculated their movement and how long before they'd laager for the night. His biggest concern had not come to pass-none of the teams had been hit upon landing. The silent radio told him the operation was going smoothly. If his men had landed close to a large enemy concentration, the dinks would have sent patrols out to investigate and would have been seen or heard by now.

  Bitch lay sprawled on the cool cement floor at his feet. She raised her head and placed it on his boot. The sergeant broke his concentration and looked down at the yellow mongrel. "Just you and me again, huh?"

  Bitch rolled her eyes up, but didn't move.

  Childs looked into Bitch's eyes, wondering if she felt as empty as he did. Both of them had waited through coundess days, unable to feel whole until the teams were in. Bitch waited for Russian and he waited for them all. Maybe that's why she always waited with him. She needed someone to share waiting's torment.

  Childs looked back at the map. The next few days would drag by, but somehow he felt better knowing the little animal resting on his foot would be there with him.

  Rose, Woodpecker, and Thumper sat in the shallow stream, rubbing mud into their fatigues, while Wade and the others stood guard on the banks. The gritty mud would take out the foul smell as well as lye soap. Each of the men cleaned himself and his equipment, then exchanged places with the guards.

  Minutes later, Wade walked downwind of the assembled team and sniffed the air. The mud bath had worked; there was no trace of their breakfast. Wade frowned as he motioned Rose to move out. Remembering Childs's rule of six P's-prior planning prevents piss-poor performance-he'd planned everything, in perfect detail, everything but the extended low-level flight. Damn, he should have known!

  He reached in his leg pocket for his chewing tobacco pouch, but his stomach rumbled a warning-it wasn't ready yet. Wade brought his hand back up to his weapon in disgust. The mission hadn't started off any too hot and now he couldn't even chew. Goddamn fly-boys!

  Four hours later, Wade toyed with the gold medallion on his chest as he sat back on his rucksack waiting for the rest of his men to return to the patrol base. They'd broken up into two-men recon teams to do the search. He and Preacher were the first ones back. They'd only found a few trails and no signs of recent activity. Wade let the medallion fall. Someone was approaching. Preacher patted him with a grin, pointing to Rose and Russian as they appeared through a tangle of vines.

  Rose sat back tiredly on his ruck and shook his head at Wade's questioning stare. Russian spoke in a whisper. "We see nothing. What you find?"

  Wade whispered back, "Nothing," and lay back, shutting his eyes. The local terrain was thickly vegetated because die small trees allowed in so much sunlight. Each man's sweat-soaked uniform was torn in several places where the damnable vines known as Wait-a-Minutes had taken hold.

  Thirty minutes later Thumper and Woodpecker walked into the patrol base and fell to the ground, exhausted. Their recon area was more rugged than the others', and their gaunt faces looked drained of strength.

  Wade reported in by radio that his team had found nothing and would be staying in the patrol base for the night. Tomorrow they would continue the mission. He then ordered his men to drink a full canteen of water and to eat, even though they didn't feel like it. Heat could be just as deadly a killer as the enemy, especially jungle heat, which was like no other. Long ago, on his first patrol, he'd fallen flat on his face from heat prostration, though he'd never received the normal warning signals from his body. The pumping adrenalin covered the danger signs. If you felt thirsty it was too late; you were already dehydrated. There was nothing like it. The teeming green plants seemed to radiate heat and suck all life from the air. Sweat-soaked fatigues became sweltering, chafing torture and movement had to be consciously forced. The air was oppressively sultry and reeking with rot.

  Wade pulled out his map to find some water, but there was no stream close by. Tomorrow they'd move their base and recon another area that promised more of the thick vegetation. Shit!

  He opened his ruck and pulled out a C ration can of peaches. The sweet juice and fruit was the most prized of all rations. Using a P-38 can opener, he quickly punctured the metal and rocked the small device back and forth, cutting the top off. The delicious fluid helped him to forget the heat.

  Childs saw the NVA soldier rise up from the corner of his eye, but it was
too late. The AK^7 spit out a tongue of flame and bullets tore into his chest.

  The sergeant snapped upright in his cot, drenched in sweat, and felt for the gaping holes. There were none. Hot perspiration- not blood-clung to his fingers. Childs stared into the blackness, shivering.

  He'd seen the bullets coming toward him in slow motion. They'd pierced his skin and burrowed into his heart like red-hot drill bits, twisting, plunging deeper. The crushing, searing pain had been too real to be a dream. Had he screamed? Was it a heart attack?

  Childs raised his head, breathing in deeply to try and stop his shaking.

  Bitch rose from the floor and laid her head on his trembling hand. Childs blinked his eyes and tried focusing on the dog. The heat and lack of sleep had gotten to him. He'd had nightmares before but none so real as this one. He patted the dog's head and lay back on a wet poncho liner. The past three days of waiting had been the worst that he could remember. The Second and Third Platoon teams had found nothing, but the First Platoon teams had reported seeing numerous large groups of NVA pushing bikes packed with equipment and munitions. They'd all been heading east.

  Major Shane and Colonel Ellis sat with him every day, listening to the reports. They knew the supplies had to be heading for the Second NVA Division. The First Platoon teams had cautiously moved east to find the base camp, but had come to the end of their recon area. The dinks were moving into the Stadium Zone.

  He, Shane, and Ellis had stayed up until two a. M. that night, planning how they would search the area. The teams would be extracted in the morning, given two days' rest, then reinserted. The search was almost over, and the noose was tightening. One of the teams would soon be calling in excitedly and reporting it had found the base camp.

  Childs shut his eyes, even though he knew he wouldn't really sleep until after that call came in and the mission was over.

  Peteroski stood outside the door of the orderly room watching Childs cross the compound toward the barracks. Just then Sergeant Gino walked by. "Hey, Pete, was Childs givin' you a hard time again?" he said with a grin.

  Peteroski frowned. "Does Childs seem alright to you?"

  Gino shrugged his shoulders. "He's still cussin' and kickin' ass as far as I know." Gino waited for a smile from the clerk, but when none came, Gino let his own smile drop. "Look, Pete, he ain't been sleepin' none too good. Hell, none of us have. The teams just got back in and a couple of them gotta go back out real soon. The operation is a hairy one, and he's worried about it, that's all. Nothing to be concerned about. Childs's been through this before."

  Peteroski nodded, but he wasn't convinced. Only minutes before, Childs had come into the office acting so strangely. The sergeant had given him an envelope for safekeeping and told him not to tell anyone about it. It wasn't like Childs to be so secretive.

  Gino opened the screen door and motioned Peteroski inside. "Worry about Childs when he stops drinkin' beer. If that ever happens, then we'll know somethin' ain't right."

  Preacher shut his eyes and sank to his knees in the shower bay floor. The cool water washed away three days of sweat, grime, and frustration. It was the most glorious feeling he could remember. The team had been picked up by chopper an hour before.

  The tired men had landed at An Lorn, dumped their gear, and walked straight for the showers.

  Rose plugged the shower drains with his fatigues and the water rose to a three-inch-deep pool before spilling over the shower bay doorway. The team sat and lay in the pool under the refreshing spray of water.

  Woodpecker, sitting on the floor, looked up at the kneeling Indian. "I've never been so pooped," he whispered.

  Preacher laughed. "What are you whispering for?"

  The redhead looked around him at the naked men sprawled in the pool and yelled crazily, "I'm tired, naked, and sittin9 on the damn floor! I can't get up and I don't care! I'm stayin' here till I wrinkle up and..."

  Woodpecker's voice caught in his throat when he noticed Childs standing in the shower doorway, scowling with his hands on his hips. "You people all gone queei?" he barked. "Ya look like you're all auditioning for a damn California porno flick!"

  Rose got to his feet. "Aw, Sarge, we was just..."

  "Plain crazy!" snapped Childs, then pointed at Wade, who rose up to a sitting position. "Wade, you and your collection of perverts are going out again in two days. Clean this mess up and get your ass to the TOC in thirty minutes for the mission brief."

  Wade nodded-in silence. He'd already realized they'd have to go out again. It'd been obvious none of the teams had found the enemy base or the Ranger camp would have been buzzing with the good news.

  Childs shook his head as if in disgust, shoved the latrine door open, and whistled loudly.

  Bitch bounded up the steps of the TOC and ran straight for him. Childs held the door open for her and walked back to the miniature pool. The dog saw Russian lying in the water and immediately jumped into die water and pounced on him.

  Childs growled, "Russian, keep that mangy mutt away from me! She's chewed up two pair of my boots and ruined my poncho liner."

  The hairy soldier looked up innocendy. "Yes, Sergeant, I will teach her no do such things."

  Childs grunted and strode for the door, mumbling, "Goddamn gook mutt ain't worth a shit. She ain't nothing but. . ."

  He stepped out and lowered his head. He already missed her.

  Colonel Ellis lowered his magnifying glass and looked up at Major Shane. "You're right. It looks big enough to land a bird."

  He tossed the aerial photo to the tabletop, walked to the wall map, and pointed to a spot ten kilometers due west of the horseshoe bend in the river. "I make it about here."

  Shane tapped the map. "The only other spot suitable for landing choppers is this huge open area inside the horseshoe bend, but we sure as hell can't use it. It's ringed by hills, and if dinks are in there it'd be suicide. Of course, there's the river itself. There's plenty of open space and right now it's shallow enough, but that sound will carry down the river and anybody along the banks will hear the bird land."

  Ellis shook his head dejectedly. "What are we going to do?"

  Shane picked up a pointer. "Sir, Sergeant Childs and I discussed the problem this morning. We think there's just one way to handle tins operation safely. The first thing we have to do is check out the Stadium. We need it as an LZ and to establish a radio relay. From there we can put in the rest of the teams and then they can recon the whole fourth zone. What we plan is to put one team in the small LZ west of the Stadium. Their mission will be to head direcdy for the valley itself. We put in two more teams on the river just above the horseshoe bend. They'll climb up the ring of mountains at the most eastern end of the Stadium and split up. One team'll check out the ring of hills around the valley to the north and the other'll move south. They'll link up with the team that comes in from the west and then we'll know it's safe and begin the big search."

  Ellis pulled at his chin as he looked at the map. "The backside of those mountains looks steep as hell. You sure your men can climb the eastern end?"

  Shane picked up the aerial photo. "Sir, I'm sending Lieutenant Gibson out as patrol leader of Sergeant Wade's and Sergeant Zubeck's teams. The teams are the best we have and Gibson has plenty of field experience and is a graduate of the Mountain Climbing School at Fort Carson. If there's a way up, they'll find it."

  Ellis stared at the map. If dinks were sitting on the top of the eastern end of the Stadium, the men Shane spoke of would be like ducks in a shooting gallery. "There sure are a helluva lot of ifs. If the teams fly in undetected, if they can climb the mountain, the valley is clear." His eyes shifted to the map for a moment, then back to Shane. "But we don't have much of a choice, do we?"

  Shane's eyes met the colonel's with determination. "No, sir, we don't. In ten minutes I brief the teams that'll be going in."

  Ellis lowered his head. "At Corps, we move divisions and brigades around to find the enemy. Here, the biggest opportunity to find the enemy
the Corps has had since Cambodia lies with a handful of men. I should be excited. I'm not. I feel shitty."

  Shane looked at the map as if hating it, and then spoke sofUy. "I know, sir ... I know."

  Chapter 23

  Matt Wade shut his eyes tightly and jumped. He fell ten feet before splashing into the river and sinking to his waist. The rest of the team splashed into the water beside him as the Huey lifted up and nosed over, gaining speed for the getaway.

  Wade walked as fast as he could toward the near bank, cringing, half-expecting bullets to tear into his body. They were completely in the open. Anybody on either bank could easily hose them.

  Another Slick streaked in low and came to an abrupt hover. Its rotor wash kicked up miniature waves and whipped spray onto Wade and his men.

  Lieutenant Gibson jumped into the shallow river. Sergeant Zubeck and his team followed. Within seconds the bird was gone, leaving the struggling men in deathly quiet.