Bamboo Battleground

by Don Bendell

  This really upset the al Qaeda leadership headquartered in Pakistan at the time. They decided now because of Bobby and Bo to try a new approach. They were going to try to bring a large ship into the port of Los Angeles carrying tons of radioactive “yellow cake” nuclear waste seated atop a ship-sized explosive charge, which when detonated would send millions of tons of radioactive dust into the air over Los Angeles and surrounding communities.

  Sen. James Weatherford had no clue that the al Qaeda really planned to kill millions in southern California and with burning radioactive material, no less, but with his mind-set, it may not have mattered to him anyway. He just was driven to become president, as he felt he was the one with the answers.

  The al Qaeda planned to detonate the “mother of all dirty bombs” in the Los Angeles basin, and a self-absorbed, self-centered, egomaniacal, totally immoral U.S. senator was unwittingly, but also uncaringly, going to be the man to pull the trigger.

  Bobby and Bo finished work and were going to head home to their respective town house condominiums, but Bobby asked her if she wanted to go to dinner and discuss plans. They had been told they would be going west, very far west, so they knew they had to start making plans.

  They hopped on the metro and went to Crystal City to go to a restaurant Bo liked. Instead of taking a taxi from their stop, they decided to just walk as the day was so unusually nice for that time of the year.

  The two were always aware of their surroundings, but did not pay much attention to the slight man who got on at their stop at the Pentagon and stepped off at their stop in Crystal City. He stayed far behind them, busily engaged in directing his accomplices to the scene.

  When they entered the restaurant, he breathed easier, sitting down on a bus bench to be even less conspicuous. A large SUV filled with Vietnamese hoodlums showed up outside the restaurant about the time Bobby and Bo’s food was served. Nguyen Win Hoi, who was no relation to Nguyen Van Tran, went over to the car and pulled out a photo of Bo and a photo of Bobby to show the men.

  The leader was a large scar-faced man with an ever-present scowl on his face, who was half Vietnamese and half Chinese and named Vang Duc Minh. Minh came from a sexual tryst between a Red Chinese officer and a married schoolteacher in Hanoi. Her husband was a Communist Party official in the giant bureaucracy, and when he learned of her infidelity, he kicked and beat her horribly, tossing her out of his house. She ended up as a street prostitute to support herself and the damaged baby growing in her womb.

  Because of one of the kicks delivered by his mother’s husband, Minh’s face was slightly distorted due to broken and improperly healed cheekbone and eye socket fractures.

  They originally were going to attack by executing a drive-by, but these men were from the SRV army and not really gangbangers. They were well-trained, hardened killers; however, most of their experience had been in the Central Highlands region of Vietnam killing innocent Montagnard villagers or closer to Ho Chi Minh City killing Cham women and children mainly. Now, they were going up against DSC recipient Bobby Samuels and Silver Star recipient Bo Devore. Had they known the capabilities of the two, they might have requested reinforcements.

  Minh sent two men into the shadows of the barely-lit parking lot, each armed with Uzi submachine pistols, and something Muhammad would have been furious about since the deadly .45 automatic guns were made in Israel.

  Two more were placed on the street, but strategically it was an ignorant move, as one was up the street from the restaurant and the other down the street, so if Bo and Bobby came out between the two, they could shoot each other in the crossfire. Each of them was equipped with .357 Magnum revolvers. Two more with folding stock SKS rifles that were equipped to fire automatic were hidden behind a van a short distance from the restaurant entrance. The driver of the SUV would sit down the street with the engine running waiting to pick up the ambushers as soon as the trap was sprung. The nasty Vang Duc Minh would wait just outside the entrance of the restaurant armed with a giant .44 Magnum automag Desert Eagle in a shoulder holster, but inside his long, dark green trench coat was a Mossberg 12-gauge pump shotgun loaded with double-aught buckshot Magnums. The barrel was only eighteen inches long and the shotgun had a pistol grip handle.

  The men all nervously waited in the dark street, shivering against the chilly evening. This was their first shoot-out against people not armed with bamboo-made crossbows and spears, but possibly with guns themselves. Each man was very nervous and wanted to make sure they made the first shots count.

  Inside, Bobby and Bo spoke across a candlelit table, each eating delicious lobster tails.

  Bobby said, “Bo, I have really been wanting to have a long, very important talk with you ever since I got back from California, but they keep us so doggoned busy.”

  Bo said, “We can talk right now, or do you want to wait?”

  “It is too important to discuss here,” he said, “and we are going to be shipping out any day for the PR. How about we get out of here, Bo, and head to my place or yours so we can talk privately?”

  Bo’s heart started pumping wildly. Was he going to talk about love? She hoped and prayed. Bo was deeply in love with Bobby, but she always knew she could not compete with the memory he carried of Arianna, his late wife. She had seen Bobby shed tears over the woman more than once, and she had been dead for well over a half a decade.

  He was indeed going to talk to her about love, because Bobby finally understood about the self-imposed psychological Armor All Protectant he had worn over his emotions for years now. His time at the Betty Ford Center not only helped him understand the disease of alcoholism that afflicted him and his late father and made him realize that, like a diabetic avoiding sugar, alcohol was poison to him that he must avoid at all costs. It also clarified something to Bobby very plainly: He was, despite his strong posturing to avoid ever getting hurt again, very much head over heels in love again with his partner, the very voluptuous and beauteous Bo Devore.

  Because they worked together and their jobs were so dangerous, he could not just be a romantic. They had to really discuss issues, so they could still work effectively.

  Bo said, “Why don’t we go to my place?”

  He smiled and nodded, reaching for his wallet and removing a platinum credit card.

  She asked, “Can you give me a hint about what this is about? I am a cop, you know.”

  Bobby grinned, saying, “Sure. I’ll be right back.”

  Now her curiosity was really piqued, as she saw him go up and pay the bill, then leave for the entrance foyer. When they came into the restaurant, Bobby noticed there was a coat check room and a large machine with a steel claw and numerous stuffed animals inside. When he paid his bill, he got change for a ten-dollar bill, and he now smoothed one out and inserted it into the slot of the machine.

  It took the bill and indicated he would have two plays. He grabbed the joystick and looked over the many varied colored bunnies, bears, dolls, and stuffed cartoon characters. He saw what he wanted, a fluffy, bright blue teddy bear holding a red heart with the words “I love you!” in white script. It was partly covered by an official Bugs Bunny character, and Bobby decided to hook it out of the way first, and he caught Bugs under one arm on the first try. He was amazed, as he watched the claw, in its always fragile grip, move the character across the other stuffed toys and drop it into the bin in the front left corner of the machine.

  Bobby pushed the hinged door in the front, and he reached in the machine and pulled out Bugs Bunny, displaying his ever-present bucktoothed grin despite his being taken from his comfy home. Bobby tucked Bugs under his arm and turned all his attention to the blue bear. He figured if he could manipulate one of the pincers in between the red heart and the bear’s paws, it should be easier to lift it out. It took two more dollars to accomplish it, but his theory proved correct.

  With the blue bear in his right hand and Bugs Bunny in his left, he headed back toward the table. Bo saw him enter the room with the two animals and she
blushed. Halfway to their table, he stopped and looked at a cute little eight-year-old girl eating with her parents.

  Bobby said, “You sure are cute. Do you ever watch Bugs Bunny on cartoons?”

  She said shyly, “Yes.”

  The mother corrected, “What do you say? The nice man said you are cute.”

  She said, “Thank you.”

  Bobby winked at the father and handed the bunny to the little girl, who smiled broadly. He said, “Now don’t ever take gifts like this unless Mom and Dad are with you, okay? But I want you to give Bugs a good home, will you?”

  She nodded enthusiastically, saying, “Thank you very much! Bugs will stay in my room.”

  The mother enthusiastically said, “Thank you so much, sir.”

  The father shook hands with Bobby, smiling, and softly said, “Thank you,” probably embarrassed that he had not won a gift for his little girl.

  Bo was so impressed with the generosity and niceness of Bobby Samuels, who was also the most dangerous man she ever knew.

  He walked up to her and sat down, saying, “You asked if I could give you a hint about what we are going to talk about, so here it is.”

  Bo received the blue bear and looked at the heart and the three magic words she had only dreamed about, and tears flooded her eyes as she looked up at a smiling Bobby. He leaned across the table and touched her cheek, gently guiding it toward him. Their lips met softly, and he lingered there, kissing her gently, but with soft passion. As their lips parted, he pulled back slowly, smiling into her eyes with a penetrating stare that said clearly, “I want you.”

  Bobby stood and reached out for her hand and lifted her to his side.

  Bo looked up at him from under his steely arm and said softly, “Thank you, Bobby. I will keep this always.”

  They headed for the door, arms around each other, feeling the warmth of each other’s bodies and both wondering what it would feel like to be against each other in the nakedness and full vulnerability of love.

  Bo and Bobby stepped out the door just when Minh had taken his hands off the shotgun long enough to light a cigarette with a butane lighter. It would be the split second they needed to even hope to have a chance to survive.

  Bobby saw the look on Minh’s face and the big man’s hands reached under the long coat, and he didn’t even try for his weapon. He dashed forward and reached for the big man’s wrists. His right hand hit the handle of the Desert Eagle, and Bobby simply drew it from Minh’s holster and flipped the lever off safe, aimed at center mass, and squeezed off two quick shots, as the big man started to bring up the sawed-off shotgun.

  Bo was drawing her Glock 17 while this happened, and suddenly, before Bobby shot, felt something slam into and glance off the ceramic heart plate of her IIIA Second Chance Kevlar vest. She also felt the round tear through her blouse and jacket, and immediately spotted the Vietnamese shooter to their right, who had just nailed her in the area of the heart with his .357 Magnum. Once again, her vest had saved her life, and as Bobby boomed twice with the Desert Eagle slamming Minh backward through the front glass of a curbside Cadillac, she fired a double tap as well into the chest of the shooter to their right.

  Before the shock even cleared, Bo heard Bobby yell, “Down!” and she dropped to the sidewalk, bruising both kneecaps, as bullets tore over her head from behind, and she heard the giant Desert Eagle boom, twice more. Bo looked behind her, seeing the other punk with a .357 Magnum spin with Bobby’s first round and his head literally explode with the second round.

  Bo felt something slam into her thigh from her right and bullets cracked around her in steady staccato, as she rolled forward over the curb into the street under the Cadillac. Bobby rolled on top of her protectively, and she heard him unload the Desert Eagle in the direction of the automatic weapons.

  “Let me out,” she screamed, pulling Bobby’s Glock, as she quickly rolled under the large car and out onto the street.

  She saw the SUV’s lights come on, and jumped up behind the Cadillac body with her Glock in one hand and Bobby’s in the other. She spotted the Uzi shooter and opened up with both weapons spitting fire. In the meantime, Bobby grabbed Minh’s body and grabbed a new magazine for the Desert Eagle, which he slammed into place, and opened fire again. Bullets in the street rattled like a symphony of hate and bad guys fell in place. Bobby stood with the sawed-off shotgun in one hand, Desert Eagle in the other, and all were down. He could see Bo’s face was ashen. She had been hit. He also saw the SUV bearing down on her, and Bobby dove across the hood of the Caddy, landing on his feet, protectively standing between Bo and the oncoming car. He dropped the .44, lifted the Mossberg shotgun, and pointed at the hood of the SUV and opened fire, knowing from training and experience that aiming at the hood should put the pellets through the windshield. Bobby did not wait to find out, as he quickly ejected spent shells and jacked new rounds into the chamber of the black shotgun. He ran out of ammunition as the vehicle seemed to swerve, and he turned and wrapped his arms around Bo protectively and threw both of them onto the trunk of the luxury car a millisecond before the SUV crashed into it and exploded in a ball of flame. The impact sent Bobby and Bo through the air, but he kept his arms protectively around her.

  The air left him as he hit the pavement twisting his body to take the impact while Bo landed on top of him, her fall cushioned by his body. He quickly looked down to see where she was hit.

  He put her palm against the wound and commanded, “Push down hard, Bo.”

  Bobby reached inside his jacket and pulled a loaded 9-millimeter magazine out, inserting it into his Glock, which he took from Bo. Sirens approached rapidly, as Bobby checked all would-be assassins, pointing his weapon. All were still; he glanced quickly at Bo and noticed she was hugging her blue teddy bear.

  Bobby looking around and pulling his badge out, said to her without looking down again, “Bo, you okay?”

  She said, “Yeah, I think I’m shocky, but I did not lose much blood, and I know it missed the bone. It burns like hell. It feels like it went into the muscle on the back of my thigh.”

  Numerous police cruisers pulled up, sliding to screeching stops, as Bobby held up his badge for all to clearly see. He used the barrel of his Glock, indicating the fallen would-be killers lying all around the street.

  Officers were out all over, guns drawn, with two pointing at him.

  “U.S. Army CID,” he yelled. “My partner is down! She needs an ambulance ASAP!”

  No sooner had the words left his mouth than an ambulance pulled up and next to one of the shooters, and two cops ran over and directed the vehicle over to Bobby.

  Bobby spotted a sergeant who seemed to immediately take charge and yelled, “We were ambushed when we came out of that restaurant. None of them are checked. The driver in the SUV tried to run us down! Check the SUV!”

  Walking toward Bobby and looking all around, gun drawn, he nodded to two officers who checked the inside of the SUV. They both made faces.

  One yelled, “The guy don’t have a head, Sarge!”

  The sergeant came to Bobby and Bobby presented him with his and Bo’s badges and IDs. He looked at them while Bobby turned and watched while the paramedics worked on Bo. They started to put her on a gurney, and one attempted to take the blue bear, but she jerked it back, holding it firmly.

  “Ma’am,” the EMT said, “we can’t take that in the ambulance. I’ll give it to your partner for safekeeping, and—”

  Bo interrupted, “You’ll get your fingers broken trying to take it from me. I appreciate your help, guys, but nobody touches this bear.”

  The paramedic looked at the other, who grinned and nodded.

  The first one said, “Yes, ma’am,” and they loaded her onto the gurney.

  Bobby looked at the sergeant, explaining, “She’s my partner. I have to ride with her, Sarge. Can you have someone interview us at the hospital?

  The police official said, “Sure, Major Samuels. Of course. Just, do you think there are any more?”r />
  Bobby said, “No clue. Never saw them before, and we don’t have a clue why they attacked us.”

  Later, Bo opened her eyes and saw sunlight streaking through the window of the hospital room. She blinked and yawned and saw an IV attached to a plastic needle going into a vein on her left arm. She turned her head to the right and saw her hand was being firmly held by Bobby, who was wide awake in a chair next to the bed.

  Bobby smiled at her, leaned forward, and kissed her forehead. She noticed a splint on his left forearm. He, too, was dressed in hospital clothes. Bo looked straight down and saw that the blue bear was resting in the crook of her arm.

  Bo said, “Bobby, what happened to your arm? Why are you wearing that? Why are you in a hospital gown and robe?”

  Bobby said, “Nothing. Just got scratched.”

  A laugh from the doorway turned both of their heads, as a distinguished-looking doctor entered the room. “Because he has a greenstick fracture and severe bruising of the forearm, and two bullet holes in him.”

  Bo said, “What?”

  The doctor said, “He didn’t even speak to anybody about it until he was sure you were being treated. He had his upper thigh and lower thigh on his right leg torn open by bullets that apparently creased him pretty good. You had a bullet enter the back of your leg and tear out a little muscle and tissue, but fortunately it passed through your thigh without mushrooming at all. You will be sore, but I think fine.”

  Bo asked, “Why aren’t you making him stay in bed, too, Doctor?”

  Again the doctor laughed, saying, “This man is your partner, Captain. Do you want to tell me that anyone is going to make him do what he doesn’t want to?”

  Bobby gave her an impish smile. Bo started laughing.

  There was a knock on the door and the chief of staff of the U.S. Army, Gen. Jonathan Perry, entered the room, and Bobby, moaning, stood at attention.

  “Sit your ass down, Major,” Perry commanded and stuck his hand out.

  Bobby complied, saying, “Yes, sir,” and shook hands with him.