Shock of War rdr-3

by Larry Bond

  “The captain says there is a stream that runs beneath the highway a little farther north,” said Chaū. He pointed on the map. “There is high land on the west side. If we landed there, we would be only about two miles south of the hamlet.”

  “All right, let’s try it,” said Zeus.

  They pulled across to the Stolkraft, and after a few words the PBR captain slid his vessel ahead, steering it through a patch of muddy water. They passed a set of wooden staves on the left, fence posts that separated small fish pens from the rice paddies behind them. The boundary had been erased.

  A fork loomed ahead. The boat captain started spinning the wheel, pushing the PBR to port side. As he did, something shot through the air a few inches from Zeus.

  Zeus’s first thought was that it was a swarm of insects; they’d passed several already. Then another part of his brain pushed him to his knees.

  They were being fired on.

  The soldier manning the forward machine gun started blasting the trees to the right. Soldiers on both boats started yelling and returning fire with a vengeance.

  “Cease fire! Cease fire!” yelled Zeus, seeing that the Chinese had already stopped shooting. There had been one or two men at most. “You’re wasting ammo!”

  He turned around and shouted at the captain. “Get us out of here! Get us upstream! Go! Go!”

  The captain had already gunned the throttle. The PBR lurched forward, pushing toward a group of houses on the left. Meanwhile, the soldiers on both boats continued shooting. Zeus scanned the opposite shore, but saw nothing — no flashes, not even an area of cover where someone could be firing from.

  “Chaū! Chaū! Get them to stop firing!” yelled Zeus. “Just get the boats up to a place to where we can get off. We’re wasting ammo.”

  He looked behind him but couldn’t see Chaū. One of the sailors had grabbed a rifle and was standing next to the captain on Zeus’s left, firing wildly. From the wild look on his face Zeus knew he was simply firing from fear, without any target. He kept shooting until he’d run through the magazine.

  Zeus saw Chaū crawling across the deck toward him. He ducked down and yelled in his ear.

  Chaū yelled something from his crouch, but his voice was hoarse and even Zeus, right next to him, couldn’t hear.

  “Tell me the words for ‘cease fire,’ “ yelled Zeus. “We need to get us ashore.”

  Chaū’s voice was gone, and even leaning against Zeus’s ear, couldn’t make himself heard over the din. The boat lurched hard to port, then back, swerving wildly. Something clunked hard against the side, and Zeus thought they’d been hit by a shell or a grenade. But it had only been the top of a fence post, brushing against the hull.

  Zeus rose, pulling Chaū with him.

  “There’s a road ashore,” Zeus yelled at the captain. He pointed ahead, where he saw the crown of a dirt road rising above the water. “Get us there! Go!”

  The sailor on the deck gun had run through his second belt. As he paused to reload, some of the soldiers on both boats heard the lull and stopped firing themselves. Finally, the firing died.

  “We go ashore near the road! We get out here!” yelled Zeus. “Chaū — tell him. There! We land!”

  Chaū squeezed over to the captain, cupping his hands to his mouth to try to amplify his weak voice. The captain altered his course, aiming just to the south of the road.

  Zeus slipped to the stern of the PBR. The Stolkraft was behind them, separated by almost twenty yards and listing serious to starboard.

  “Land the men ahead!” Zeus yelled. He spun around and tried to mime what he wanted them to do.

  The Stolkraft tucked toward its port side, angling to come up next to the PBR. Zeus decided it would have to do.

  He turned back to find Chaū. Just then, a black brick flicked overhead. Zeus started to react even before the brick materialized into a shell, exploding about a hundred yards beyond the two boats in a burst of water and mud.

  “Get us to the shore!” he yelled.

  A few seconds later, there was a whistling scream as a full volley of shells, seven or eight at least, flew overhead and crashed into the swollen stream behind them. Hoisted from at least two miles away, they were well off the mark, hitting the water three hundred yards behind the boats.

  The next volley came close enough to splatter water over the PBR. The wake of the explosion shoved the boat sideways against a fallen tree. The vessel lurched, then stopped short. The motor revved but Zeus knew they were never going to reach the spot he’d picked out.

  “We land, now!” he yelled. “Off the boat! Everyone onto land! Get away from the shells!”

  He started for the side, thinking he would jump off onto the tree, then realized Chaū wasn’t with him. Turning back, he heard the whistle again, a brief — all-too-brief — high-pitch whine of the air unable to resist the inevitable rush of the Chinese shell. And then the next thing Zeus knew, he was face-first in a pile of wet green slime.

  He pushed upright, only to fall into the water as the branches he’d lodged against gave way. Zeus rolled to his right, dug his foot down, and found ground just solid enough to support his weight.

  Straightening, he heard something wallop the air behind him. It was a strange sound, one that didn’t correspond to anything he knew or had experienced before. Before he could decide what it was, the water rose up and hurled him forward, throwing him up over the tip of the tree into a patch of mud.

  Zeus punched down with his arm and managed to get to his knees. Something grabbed his side — one of the soldiers. Zeus leaned down, hooking his arm beneath the man, and together they dragged themselves toward a clump of weeds. To Zeus’s surprise, the man had a missile box in his right hand.

  Zeus turned, expecting there would be a whole group of soldiers with their gear struggling after him. But there was nothing, just a clear patch of flooded field. He couldn’t even see the boats. The felled tree he had landed on poked out of the water about forty feet away. Beyond that, the flooded stream rippled with white froth, extending sixty or seventy yards to a green bank.

  Zeus’s AK-47 was still strapped over his shoulder. But the extra ammo he’d had in a small field bag was back somewhere on the boat; all he had now were two banana magazines, one loaded and the other taped to the first magazine.

  “The road is up this way somewhere,” Zeus told the soldier who’d come out with him. “There are some buildings — let’s get up there and get our bearings.”

  The weeds were actually a berm separating two fields. Though flooded, the next one was only ankle-deep with water. There was a pair of buildings at the far side, maybe thirty yards away. Zeus, the AK now in his right fist, began trotting in their direction.

  The shelling had stopped.

  The buildings were small farmhouses, similar to the hovels he’d seen before. Zeus pounded on the door of the nearest one.

  The words he’d heard earlier came to him: “Xin châo!”

  Hello! A strange thing to say in the middle of a war.

  No one answered. He looked at the soldier, gesturing that he should say something as well. The man yelled something of his own, a different phrase, but again there was no answer.

  They ran to the next building. This one had a window at the front, next to the door; Zeus knocked on the glass and yelled. When no one answered, he pounded on the door, then found it unlocked.

  They went in. The front room was some sort of family room, with chairs and cupboards. There was a wet spot in the corner opposite the door, apparently where water had come up from below. They searched the house quickly — there were only three other rooms: a kitchen, a bedroom with a small bed and a crib, and a bath. All were deserted.

  “Stay here,” Zeus told the soldier, gesturing. “I’ll be back with the others.”

  He went outside, calmer now, heart no longer throbbing. The road they’d been headed toward was across another field directly in front of the house; he could see the crown running in a backward Z to the n
orth.

  There were more buildings on his left. From here they looked deserted.

  Starting back toward the flooded paddy, Zeus tried to triangulate where the other boat would have been when he was thrown overboard. Somewhere to his right, he decided, and he angled that way, climbing over a row of half-submerged vegetation dividing the fields. Another cluster of houses, four or five them, sat along a flooded lane just beyond a sparse cropping of trees. These were much bigger houses than the one he had left the soldier at, a much more logical place to gather the missile teams. Zeus decided to head for them and check them out.

  The closest building was a bamboo-roofed two-story house whose lower level was perched on stilts, apparently protection against flooding. A porch ran around this level, plantation style.

  When he was ten yards away, he saw a man emerge from the lower level of the house, walking out of a basement room. Zeus raised his arm to wave at the man. The man froze, then threw himself down.

  “Friend! Friend!” yelled Zeus, running toward him. He couldn’t remember the Vietnamese word.

  “Friend!” he repeated, leaping over a small hedge. As he landed, he saw the man cower. Zeus raised his eyes, looking toward the corner of the building. There was another man there, and a second, and a third.

  “Hey!” he yelled.

  One of the men spun toward him. He had a uniform, and a gun. The rifle barked.

  Zeus hit the dirt. The rifle was a QBZ-95 bullpup, easily identified as Chinese.

  As was the uniform of the man aiming at him.

  15

  The Gulf of Tonkin

  The lead ship, the Filipino Star, was less than a half mile off the port bow when Silas had her hailed via radio.

  “We are an American warship, and we intend to inspect your cargo according to UN sanction 2014-3-2 forbidding the passage of military aid to the belligerents in Southeast Asia,” declared Silas. “Prepare to be boarded.”

  The seas were still heavy, and sending a rigid hulled craft across would be risky. But with the sun up now and the last squall of the storm drifting northward, Silas would do so anyway. The McLane had no helicopter at the moment; it had been used to transport the SEALs and had not yet returned.

  “No answer, Captain,” said the communications mate.

  “Try it again, broadcasting on all channels,” said Silas. “We’ve been patient all night.”

  Indeed, the merchant ships had sat off his bow now for quite a while. Since they weren’t moving forward and with the Chinese cruiser and her frigate nearly thirty miles to the east, Silas had bided his time.

  Those were, after all, his orders. The merchant ships were just to the east of Vietnam’s coastal waters, in open seas. Technically, he could stop them whenever he wanted to inspect the manifest, but the admiral had directed that he wait until the ships were clearly embarked toward Hai Phong — which to Silas meant inside the twelve-mile limit.

  But the cruiser had just changed course for him. It was time to bring things to a head.

  After the message was repeated, Silas had the helmsman adjust his course to get a little closer. He wanted to make things as easy as possible for the boarding craft.

  He had a sudden inspiration and ordered weapons to have the forward gun track across, making it very clear to the cargo vessel that he was prepared for business.

  “Boarding party, stand by,” ordered Silas over the ship’s intercom system.

  “Captain, the merchant vessel is turning off,” said the helmsman. “Moving northeastward, sir. All ships.”

  A few seconds later, Lt. Commander Li reported that all of the Chinese merchant ships had changed direction. They were heading back toward China.

  “Do you plan to pursue?” Li asked.

  Silas wanted to. But his orders were to get the ships to leave peaceably if possible.

  He could go ahead. But if they really were packed with men, his boarding party would be in a dangerous situation. In the end, he’d probably ending up sinking every damn ship around him, which was what he wanted to do. But he’d also lose some good men in the process.

  “I intend to hold my position off Hai Phong,” he told Li. “If the Chinese want to just turn and run, that’s okay with me.”

  Belatedly, Silas remembered that the admiral had directed that he contact him before issuing the Chinese an ultimatum.

  Ooops.

  He smiled to himself. Even when he didn’t do it on purpose, he seemed to drift toward insubordination.

  “Arrange a secure video link to fleet,” he told his communications mate. “I’ll take it in my quarters, after I’ve changed.”

  16

  Inland from Halong Bay

  Neither Zeus nor the soldier who’d spotted him moved, both too surprised by the other to react.

  A burst of gunfire cut through the weeds. The soldier ducked back around the corner. Zeus dropped to the ground.

  The gunfire came from beyond the house. It was from AK-47s. Zeus guessed what was happening, though he couldn’t see — the Vietnamese soldiers had come ashore and stumbled on the men here.

  He had their retreat cut off. Zeus edged to his right, trying to work himself into a position where he could get an angle on the Chinese soldiers if they stayed where they were. Dampness seeped up his pants legs, and from his chest around toward his back. The ground oozed with water.

  The Chinese soldiers were at the front of the building, behind a barricade or a wall under the porch between the stilts. They didn’t seem to be returning fire.

  Were they simply conserving ammo? Or were they out of bullets.

  They ought to conserve their ammo, Zeus thought. Sure as hell they’re going to need it.

  A low berm ran across the field a few yards away, disappearing into the water on the right. He got up, intending to throw himself against it, but just as he reached it he fell into a drainage ditch that ran along the other side. As he struggled to pull himself against the raised dirt, gunfire stoked up, from both sides this time. Zeus pushed along the ditch until he was parallel with the front of the house. He saw a green uniform moving beneath the porch and fired a quick burst; the man jerked almost upright, then slumped down.

  There were two or three men behind him, maybe a fourth. Zeus fired a burst, but couldn’t see into the shadows to even know if he’d hit them.

  They didn’t fire back. The Vietnamese stopped firing as well.

  The truth was, the Chinese were in a good spot. They could probably hold their position for some time unless the Vietnamese rushed them. And in that case the Vietnamese were sure to take at least some losses.

  They hesitated, probably calculating the odds. Zeus looked to his left, toward the back of the house. He might be able to backtrack, and come up from the other side. As long as the Chinese remained pinned down, he could probably sneak close enough to surprise them.

  Should have thought of that earlier. Now it would be harder.

  There was a shout from the area of the house. Zeus looked back. One of the Chinese soldiers had tied a piece of cloth to the end of his gun, and was waving it in front of his position.

  The cloth was green, but it got the message across. They wanted to surrender.

  What a break, thought Zeus.

  He moved to his right, trying to get into a better position to cover the Chinese soldiers as they came out.

  Someone shouted something from the Vietnamese side. There was an answer from the Chinese.

  The man who had raised his gun to signal the surrender started moving along the front of the house, toward Zeus, holding the flag. The Vietnamese barked something. The man stopped, threw down the gun, and held his hands high.

  Zeus was close enough to see the private insignia on his uniform.

  The Vietnamese soldier said something else. The Chinese private began moving out. Two more men popped up and joined him. Their hands were high in the air.

  “All right! All right!” yelled Zeus, wanting the Vietnamese to know he was there. “I’m here
! It’s Zeus! The American!”

  He rose slowly, his AK-47 pointed in the direction of the house. He was ready to drop; he glanced to his right, trying to see if the Vietnamese saw him.

  There were two Vietnamese soldiers moving forward in the field in front of the house, sloshing through the water. Four more men were behind them. All had their guns trained on the three Chinese soldiers.

  One of the men had been wounded; his arm hung down.

  The Chinese soldiers waited. One of them glanced at the body of the man Zeus had shot. He lay facedown in the mud, clearly dead.

  They were kids, eighteen maybe at most. They were shivering, probably with fright.

  One of the Vietnamese soldiers told them to drop on the ground, and they complied.

  Zeus moved to his left, peering toward the bottom of the house to make sure there was no one left inside. He glanced at the Vietnamese soldiers, waved to make sure they saw him, then cautiously moved under the house, his finger resting ever so lightly against the trigger.

  It was empty.

  He started to relax, backing out.

  Something flashed on his right.

  He turned in time to see the Vietnamese soldiers who’d come forward to accept the Chinese surrender lace the prisoners with several dozen rounds.

  * * *

  There was nothing, no sound except the bullets leaving the gun. Zeus heard nothing — not the cries of the boys killed, not the tears of their betrayal, not the unrequited hatred of their murderers.

  * * *

  Zeus fell to his knee, unsure what exactly was happening, ready if there were more Chinese, if it was a trap. He told himself not to fire until he saw a target.

  He reminded himself that bullets were more critical than fear.

  The Vietnamese were shouting. Zeus remained on his knee. Finally, he heard someone yelling in Vietnamese-accented English.

  “Clear!”

  Zeus rose slowly. Two Vietnamese soldiers ran up, nodded at him, then went into the underside of the building. One fired into the body Zeus had already killed.