by Tom Wilson
He'd explained the Hotdog team to her. He said there were others in the People's Army who would fight communism if given the chance. He also told her about an American named Sarge Brack, and what a good man he was. How he was going to arrange it so they could also become Americans and go to Ha Wa Eee.
"It's beautiful there," she said.
He nodded slowly, his eyes intense, although he'd seen it only in descriptions from others.
"I went there with my fiancé," she told him. "We loved it."
The lieutenant told her how, after she'd first been taken, Kunnel Lokee had come to Nakhon Phanom to ask for their help in finding her. That was before the lieutenant had crossed the Mekong into Laos, to the camp at Ban Si Muang, and found her the first time. She said she remembered the NVA lieutenant who had told her it would not be much longer, and he apologized that he'd taken so long. The lieutenant thought highly of Lokee Anduhson. He told her they were a good team, she and Kunnel Lokee, like Hotdog.
Linda grew pensive. It hadn't occurred to her that she'd get out of the terrible situation. Now that there was a ray of hope that it might happen, she wondered about her relationship with Paul. A quiver of fear embraced her. Whore, they'd called her after so many men had—
"Kunnel Lokee need you," said the lieutenant, interrupting her thoughts.
She remained silent.
"You need Kunnel Lokee, sistah. Mebbe bo'f need same-same."
"I miss him so much," she whispered wistfully.
"Kunnel Lokee same-same."
A serenity settled over her as she thought of it. The lieutenant was a sage man, and she decided he was likely a very good leader of his people. When she prepared to sleep, the lieutenant carefully checked her mosquito netting, as he'd done every night of the trek, and reminded her again that she was safe.
Saturday, March 9th, 0915 Local
They had to cross the roadway to get to the Ma tribe's hidden market path, but the lieutenant said that for the past two hours it had been periodically traveled by enemy soldiers from the camp, as well as by a train of horses and men who'd brought them supplies.
The tribesmen wanted to go back eastward for a couple of klicks to try it there, but he doubted it would be better. They'd post a lookout and wait for a lull in the foot traffic.
"Perhaps we should wait for darkness," she suggested.
"Mebbe," he replied. He was anxious to get her to safety. He'd told her that the previous evening during their conversation.
She waited as the lieutenant left to observe the road again. Twenty minutes later he returned. No one had passed during that time.
"Led's ged gone, sistah," said the lieutenant.
She pushed to her feet and was immediately assisted by two tribesmen.
There was only fifty yards of open area, but she moved so slowly that it took far too long. Their luck ran out when they were smack in the middle of the clearing. A group of soldiers came trotting down the roadway, a dozen or more of them, all in clean field uniforms and looking very military, quite unlike the stragglers they'd seen.
The Ma panicked at the sight and set up a chatter, but the lieutenant spoke sharply and they quieted and continued helping her along.
When the soldiers were twenty paces away, one of them called to the lieutenant.
He answered in an authoritative voice.
The leader of the group called out something. He looked at them suspiciously and was not at all subservient. As the lieutenant spoke with them, the Ma tribesmen and Linda continued to make their way across the clearing. They were almost to the trees when the lieutenant called out and trotted up behind them.
The militia soldiers demanded that they wait until they'd conferred with their officers, the lieutenant told first her, then the Ma leader in his tongue. They'd sent a runner to their camp, he said.
The tribesmen stared at the soldiers anxiously and again babbled among themselves, for the militiamen held their weapons in a ready position, and seemed suspicious.
As the lieutenant looked at the soldiers, he quietly told Linda she must go ahead with the tribesmen. He didn't wait for a response, but immediately spoke with the Ma leader.
The headman glanced at the soldiers, weighed the words in his mind, then nodded.
"See ya ladah, sistah," the lieutenant said crisply. His eyes were narrowed, his face hard.
As Linda started to respond, two tribesmen swept her off her feet, as if suddenly uncaring about her injuries, and began running with her. She tried to twist about and see what was happening with the lieutenant, but it proved impossible.
She heard the loud sounds of automatic weapons fire as she was borne into the dense forest.
From their first step Linda felt sharp pains shooting through her injured limbs, but she gritted her teeth and endured. Another Ma tribesmen joined the first two, and three were now carrying her. Two others dropped behind, and she heard their weapons fire joining the first group's. Bullets whispered through the trees. One of her bearers staggered and went to his knees and she was almost dropped, but another tribesman took his place and they continued at a trot, one man at her shoulders, another at her midriff, the third at her legs, all grasping her tightly. On and on they went, their route through the dense jungle sure and swift. They continued like that as the weapons fire at the clearing grew faint and distant—then stopped.
They emerged finally, almost magically, onto a narrow but traffic-smoothed path, turned onto it, and ran faster yet.
They'd borne her for half an hour when, as abruptly as they'd begun, the small men stopped, edged off the path and into the trees, and carefully deposited her. Then they collapsed about the periphery of a tiny clearing, panting and catching their breath as they waited for the others.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
Monday, March 11th, 1200 Local—VPA Headquarters, Hanoi, North Vietnam
General Xuan Nha
Captain Quang Hanh had summoned him from his office, down the hall to a small room where he'd set up the long-range radio. Brave Hero was calling from Yen Chau.
"Go ahead," Xuan rasped into the microphone.
"It has been twelve days," Nguyen Wu lamented. "Surely it is safe to send a helicopter now." His voice was plaintive and anxious.
"We must wait longer, Brave Hero. The Mee aircraft are still attacking."
There'd been no bombardments in the area for the past several days.
"How long?" Wu tried.
"Until it is safe, Brave Hero. You are too important for us to take chances. Everyone agrees. Even your aunt and the Lao Dong party officials. They are planning a fine reception. "
Even that did not seem to impress Wu. He ended the radio call with yet another plea.
Xuan immediately radioed Quon on the other compromised frequency.
"Brave Hero has called again," he told him. "Why has nothing been done about him?"
They'd both believed the Americans would attack the village after intercepting their daily conversations, but they'd waited in vain. The matter was increasingly worrisome to Xuan Nha.
"Perhaps he is safe there because the Americans do not attack civilians," Quon tried.
"Don't they know that it is not a village, but a hidden military base?" Xuan spoke the lie easily, hoping to encourage the Americans. It didn't bother him that a few hundred civilians might be killed if the Mee believed him. Not only did he despise his wife's nephew for what he had done, but if Nguyen Wu returned and Li Binh learned that Xuan Nha had placed him in jeopardy and delayed the revelations of his secrets, she would destroy him.
Tuesday, March 12th, 1600 Local—Waikiki Beach, Honolulu, Hawaii
Captain Manny DeVera
The sun had been just right, casting just the appropriate amount of light and heat to make him feel lethargic, as if he had not a care in the world. It had been another great day in paradise, the way to cap off a grand stay. Tomorrow morning he'd climb into a contract airliner bound for Tokyo, then on to Don Muang airport in Thailand. He had mixed emotions
about returning. He'd like to stay another week, but there was unfinished business back at Takhli. Not that he'd spent much time thinking about the place—he hadn't—but there were things he had to do.
He rose from the sand and brushed himself off, staring at a pretty blonde a few feet away. She gave him a pleasant smile before demurely looking away. Life was good.
"Hi, there. You're a hard guy to find."
Manny swiveled his head, still wiping sand from his feet. It was the aging hooker he'd had the drinks with the previous week. What was her name? Oh, yeah. He smiled. "How are you, Ann?"
"Not bad for an old broad." She nodded at a cabana bar nearby. "Buy you a drink?"
"Best offer I've had all day."
He slipped on thongs and joined her.
"I saw your friend Lyons."
Manny remembered they'd talked about him.
She told him the way the night had begun.
"You give him a mickey?" He was horrified at the thought before he remembered who they were talking about, then he changed his mind. Lyons had deserved it.
She told him about the photos she'd taken.
"Jesus, you're not going to blackmail him, are you?"
"Not my style, but I hope the asshole's sweating bullets. I thought of making about a thousand copies and spreading them around town, but I . . . ah . . . wasn't looking my best, and my vanity couldn't take it. I was pretty foxy when I was younger, Manny."
"I wish I could have met you."
"Me too, you handsome devil. You look a lot better, by the way."
"I feel better. They couldn't find anything wrong at the hospital. Maybe I was just tired."
She lowered her voice. "I robbed the asshole."
Manny held up his hands. "Hey. I don't wanna know about that."
"Couldn't resist it." She waved him toward an umbrella-shaded table. "I'll bring us something to drink. What would you like?"
"How about a Bud?" He waited, thinking about Lyons being robbed, and almost felt sorry for his part in it.
Ann brought two opened bottles of beer, then sat and groaned. "I've walked all over hell looking for you. Been looking for a whole week."
"Good thing you caught me today. I'm leaving first thing in the morning." He thought about Lyons again. "I hope to hell you didn't catch anything from him."
"He never got that far." She smiled. "Nice of you to worry, though."
"You're okay, Ann."
Ann lifted a painted eyebrow. "You sure remind me of my kid—the way you grin. I'll bet you're a real ladies' man, like he is."
Manny laughed.
"There's something I think you oughta see."
"What's that?" He sipped the beer, going slow with the booze. Everywhere he'd been, they'd served mai tais, zombies, and other tasty rum drinks, and he'd drunk entirely too many of them.
She reached into her purse. "Something I took from the asshole's room."
He held up his hands again. "I told you, Ann, I don't want to know anything about it."
Ann pulled a sheaf of papers from her purse and handed it over. "Take a look."
"Dammit." Manny started to push her hand away, then paused and took them. On top was an onionskin stamped SECRET. He went to the next page, which was filled with notes. He looked closer . . . and found the word JACKPOT.
"Whattaya think?" Ann asked.
"Yeah," Manny breathed. "I'll take 'em."
"I didn't read 'em or let anyone else see 'em. I wouldn't do that."
He nodded absently as he looked through the papers.
"Maybe you oughta burn 'em," Ann said.
"Just forget you ever saw them."
Manny didn't stay downtown. Instead he returned to his BOQ room, found a large envelope, and with his left hand scribbled on the outside FOUND IN THE BAR OF THE ROYAL HAWAIIAN HOTEL. He inserted the classified messages along with some of the notes with Lyons's name on them, and carefully burned the remainder in the ash tray. When it was quite dark, Manny walked to the headquarters building, which was not far, made sure no one was looking, and dropped the envelope at the entrance where the security-police guards would find it.
On the way back to his BOQ room, Manny DeVera whistled a lively tune and thought about how much better he was feeling. Damned good, in fact. There was no more blotchy skin, and no more bags under bloodshot eyes. His hands were steady, and he felt as if he could take on a grizzly.
And . . . the retribution against Lyons felt sweet. The least he'd get would be an official reprimand.
Yeah, he felt a lot better.
After the first couple of nights, which he'd spent sleeping soundly in a hospital bed, the docs at the Hickam Hospital had placed him on outpatient status. Then they'd given him the longest, most drawn-out physical examination he'd ever experienced.
Manny wondered what they'd been looking for that had taken so long.
1855L—Trailer 12, Takhli
Lieutenant Colonel Lucky Anderson
He answered the rapping on the door.
"Hi, Yank." Lucky held it wide so Donovan could come inside.
Recently Yank had become a regular at the Officers' Club, hanging out there almost every night and drinking with the men from his squadron. It was certainly not a bad thing to do, but seemed out of character for the surly instructor pilot he'd known back in the States.
Tonight Donovan was brooding about something, his face still marked from the oxygen mask he'd worn on the afternoon combat mission.
"Whiskey?" asked Lucky on his way to the kitchen.
"Vodka on the rocks, if you've got it."
"How was the mission?"
"Okay. No losses." He'd led the Takhli strike force to pack four, where they'd bombed a petroleum-storage area.
"Defenses?" Lucky was leading the morning go, back into the same area.
"Three SAM sites and a lot of guns. We were fortunate."
Lucky handed him his drink, then went back to pour a Scotch for himself. He seldom drank alone, so visitors gave him the excuse he needed. He poured three fingers of Chivas over a single ice cube and returned to the sitting area, swishing the liquid about in the glass to cool it.
"I've been thinking a lot recently about the way we're flying here."
Lucky smiled. "That's about all any of us think about."
The old Yank would have snapped back. The new one just brooded. Finally . . . "We're losing too many young guys. Kids who don't know what it's about."
"Maybe, but they learn."
"They shouldn't let the kids go up to pack six at all."
Lucky narrowed his eyes, started to respond, but held his tongue.
"I mean, guys like you and me, we've been there. We know how to fight and survive, Lucky. These kids—"
"Not kids, Yank. They're men, and they sure as hell prove it."
Donovan wouldn't be baited. "Okay, young men. Guys who don't know where it's at yet."
"Being young means their reflexes are better. You heard the old man. Leska won't even lead missions anymore, because he knows his eyes and reflexes aren't what they used to be."
Yank snorted. "I disagree a hundred percent. Young eyes and reflexes are fine and dandy for a basketball game. In combat it's experience that counts. Knowing what to do when the chips are down. Which way to attack from and which way to recover, and how to do them both and survive. I think it ought to be only the guys with experience who go to packs four and six. Let the kids . . . the young men . . . fly where it's safer."
Lucky shook his head. "It's a young man's war, just like all other wars have been. If we did what you're saying, we'd just lose all the old heads. Buster's right."
"I disagree."
"Then let me put it this way. Buster Leska's our wing commander. He plays something, the rest of us march to the tune."
They spoke of other things, and Lucky poured them both another drink. But he knew that Donovan hadn't been convinced about keeping the younger pilots from harm's way. When Yank left an hour later, Lucky quickly forgot ab
out the conversation. He would remember it a few days later.
Wednesday, March 13th, 2100 Local—McCarren International Airport, Las Vegas, Nevada
Major Benny Lewis
The Boeing 727 flew west of the city, parallel to the strip, and the passengers talked about the gaudy lights and how anxious they were to get to the action and try their luck. Benny stared with them, but his mind was on something more poignant.
The captain moved the flaps from half to full down position, and they flew slower yet.
He'd gotten everything done at the Pentagon he'd gone to do. Not only with Moods's smart bomb project, but also with coordinations between the various forces which would be required to ensure LINE BACKER JACKPOT went off smoothly.
At the Pentagon, Colonel Mack MacLendon was General McManus's front man for the OPlan, and the project could not have been placed in more capable hands. He was working relentlessly to make sure everything went off without a hitch. By the time Benny had left, Mack had briefed in more than a hundred officers and NCOs, and they were giving their all, just as others had in his squadron at Takhli. Mack was a leader.
Benny had continued at the Pentagon until there were no more excuses to stay away. He'd not tried to called Julie Stewart.
The desert city of lights would be a dismal place without Julie. He'd gladly put up with her mother's interference if he had the chance to do it again. At least he'd known she was there—and he believed she'd sincerely cared for him. His heart ached dully, as if it were weighted with lead, as it did each time he thought of her and what he'd missed.
The airliner made a wide, looping 180-degree turn and descended on final approach. The landing gear squealed as they lowered.
In his latest message to Nellis, he'd given his flight number and requested that someone from the office meet him. It would likely be Moods, for he'd want to know details of how things were going with the smart bomb procurement.
Good man, Moods. The Air Force needed his intellect and spirited dedication.
The 727 flared slightly, then the tires squeaked at touchdown. A little long, Benny thought, but not really bad. He rated the landing a seven out of a possible ten.
