by Barry Sadler
Phang rested his men for a while. He spoke to one of them. "If the Khmer dogs are following, then it would not hurt to reduce their numbers. Is that not true?"
The Kamserai grinned, showing long yellow teeth. "Agreed, father of us all!"
Still grinning slyly, he left. Taking two others with him, he went back down their trail, carrying a small rucksack. Selecting a likely spot, they went to work, setting up a daisy chain booby trap with hand grenades. When the wire was tripped by the point man of their pursuit party, five grenades would explode at intervals to his rear, killing or wounding some of the troops behind him. They were exceedingly careful to leave no sign of the trap, except for the trip wire. They set the wire where the trail narrowed and then put a piece of torn blanket on a jagged edge of a broken tree. Whoever passed this way, his eyes would automatically be attracted to the trail sign of the cloth and away from the wire at his feet. Finished, they scanned the ground immediately around the trap for any signs they may have overlooked. Satisfied that there were none, they returned to their fellow tribesmen and informed Phang that all was in readiness.
Phang nodded approval. "Good! It is good. Now the dogs will follow much slower. Now we shall return to my friend and his family in distress and make sure nothing happens to hamper his departure."
He waved his men to their feet, and they again took to the trail, leaving five steel balls of death on their back trail, eagerly awaiting the Khmer Rouge.
While Lon and his troops headed up Phang's trail, Casey and his small party were heading for the drop zone. An hour ahead of them, Van and George waited at the edge of the DZ, eyes alert. Van unslung his G-3 from his shoulder and broke it down. It was always smart to take care of one's weapon when one had a chance. The process of breaking it down, cleaning it, and then reassembling it took no more than five minutes from start to finish. George contented himself by eating a handful of last night's rice, cradling his shotgun on his lap. His shotgun was not as intricate as Van's rifle. They waited for Casey and the family to arrive, sitting at the edge of the clearing, waiting and watching, tired but alert.
Colonel Lon halted his troops briefly to confer with his Meo trackers. Grunting, they told him that they were no more than two hours behind and closing. They were gaining on the target and should catch them by nightfall. Lon smiled in approval.
"Good! Good! Then let us get after them. We must have them in our sights before darkness falls this night."
His men fell back into line formation. Lon was tired, but as long as he could march, his men would follow. They did. The lead Meo guide made his way rapidly along the easy trail. His eyes caught sight of something off to his side. It looked like a piece of cloth, maybe ripped from a backpack in passing. He moved over for a closer look. His bare toe felt the wire; and without thinking, he threw himself to the side of the trail, face down, hands covering his head protectively. The warning cry that was only now breaking from his lips was immediately drowned by the dull repetitive explosions coming from behind him on the trail. Before the vibrations of the exploding grenades had faded, a chorus of screams had set in to take their place. Two lay dead, and three were wounded beyond marching capability.
Lon cursed his fortune as he whipped his men on. He left one medic to do what he could for the wounded. Damn them! They know we are following, he thought. He urged his men on, not letting them exercise more caution. The two Meo trackers slowed, eying the trail carefully, but Lon called one of them to him, telling him of the fate that awaited him and his companion if they didn't hurry. They chose to hasten, more afraid of Lon's wrath than of the possibility of more booby traps ahead.
On a ridge across the valley, Phang and his men could hear the distant thumping of the exploding grenades. He smiled knowingly.
"Good, my children. We have wounded the dog. He will go slower now." Phang didn't know how wrong he was. Lon would not slow down. Phang, without the aid of a compass, pointed his face unerringly in the direction of the drop zone. "This is the way we go now, my sons. Hurry!"
Colonel Lon stumbled and fell in his haste. He lay on the ground, his chest heaving and aching for breath, his face dark with anger and exhaustion. Why, he wondered, had they done it? If they knew we were following, they must also be bright enough to know that their trap would let us know they were on to us. They could have made better time without letting us know. They could have better covered their trail. Cover their trail? That's it! We have been following too easy a trail. It was left by them to lead us away. But from where? Where did they first learn that we were following? The lake? Yes! The lake! It must be the area that they did not want us to linger at. That must be where whatever is to happen will take place.
Pulling himself his feet with the aid of a hanging liana vine, he turned his men back down the trail the way they'd just passed. "Hurry," he screamed, "to the lake. Back to the lake. We must hasten!"
They raced, with several of his men falling beside the trail, hearts almost breaking from the strain. But Lon would not wait. He ran, and his men ran. Infected by their commander's intensity, they entered a fog, daze like, an unfeeling denseness like Olympic runners feel when their minds seem to leave their bodies and one foot is placed automatically ahead of the other until reaching their goal.
They ran, many of them slowing down to vomit and then running even faster to catch up to the rest. Their footsteps, in unison, seemed to say, "The lake, the lake, the lake." When they reached the lake, they would rest.
Casey came upon the clearing, with Yu Li following closely. Once, back down the trail, he had stopped suddenly upon hearing something, and she had bumped into him, her breasts flattening against his lower back. He'd felt the warm, full pressure of them and would have liked to find reason to stop again the same way. Would it seem too obvious to her? He didn't know that Yu Li was hoping he would try again.
How strange, she thought, that just to touch this new man could bring strange flashes to her thighs and loins. It was at this moment that she decided to take this man for her own, and Yu Li was used to having her own way. Yes, this was her man, the one she'd been waiting for.
The six of them entered the clearing slowly, cautious eyes scanning the far side for any movement. He'd seen signs to indicate that Van and George had passed down the same trail he'd taken, and he knew that they were around somewhere. Casey stepped from the brush and into the open, ready to jump back to cover if anything went down. He felt a sigh of relief escape his lungs as the figure of George raised itself from the waist high grass and waved him over.
George called softly, "Over here, Trung Si."
Casey told Huan and his family to remain in the treeline and walked over to George's position. "Where's Van?"
"Van go to look around, Trung Si. To see that no Cong come here."
To George, all enemies were Cong, no matter what their race. Casey had tried more than once to explain the difference to George, but he'd given up when George had asked what the difference was as long as he knew personally whom he was speaking of.
He returned to Huan's location. Kneeling, he told them to rest and feed the children. It would be getting dark in two more hours, and if there were no problems, the plane would be overhead.
He left them, going in search of Van. Phang and his men would be arriving soon, and they must plan their perimeter defense to protect the family and the supplies that would be dropped. Possibly they had landed undetected and no one was looking for them. He doubted it, though, and it was better to be prepared for the worst than to be caught with your drawers down.
He could not get his mind off Yu Li. Damn it to hell, the little shit was beautiful. He hadn't seen anything to compare with her. Not even the dark haired beauties of Rome could touch her. Why was he avoiding her eyes? he wondered. What was it about her that made him feel like an overgrown, inept schoolboy? His loins ached just thinking about her. He forced her from his mind when Van stepped from behind a tree to his side and damn near scared him to death.
CHAPTER T
HIRTEEN
While Phang's Kamserai raced for the clearing, Poi Lon and his troops sprinted for the lake. At dusk both parties reached their goal: Phang at the field, where he was met and greeted warmly by Casey, and Lon at the lake, where his men fell exhausted into the cool waters and drank. Many threw up and then drank even more of the sating liquid.
Lon raised his eyes from the water's edge. Almost as if it were too distant to hear, not certain that it wasn't the beating of his own heart, he heard a throbbing sound, now growing gradually stronger. Now he was sure. A plane! A big plane was approaching. His men were silent as they listened to the droning of the engines.
"There." Lon pointed. He could see it now; it was a large cargo type aircraft, flying low to the ground and off to the right of their location.
Lon quickly removed his map from the case and looked carefully over the surrounding area. There was only one clearing of any size in this area, and it wasn't large enough to set down a plane of any great size. At any rate, it must be where the invaders were located, waiting for their plane. But for what purpose? he wondered. What could they have accomplished in so short a time? Could more troops be arriving with the aircraft? Or supplies? Yes, they must be at the clearing. No other place made sense.
Getting his men to their feet, he moved them into the trees. At a double time pace he herded them toward the clearing and what he hoped would be the lair of his prey.
"Hurry," he screamed. "Hurry! They must not escape." He was avid, eagerly anticipating closing in for the kill. He would have their hides nailed to his door before the morning meal tomorrow.
The C-130 was heard by the Kamserai before Casey had caught the sound of its approach. It was right on time. Major Shan was right on top of the operation, Casey thought, mentally forgiving the good major for a number of real and imagined offenses.
George took the radio entrusted to his care by Casey out of its case and handed it to his boss. Casey hit the talk button.
"This is Romain, do you read me? Over."
"Yes indeed, Yankee, we read you five by five. Are you ready for your drop? Over."
"Roger!" Casey responded. "On your next pass, come in from the same direction you just did. Drop the gear as soon as you clear the trees on your side. The wind is out of the south southeast, about ten knots. Do you roger? Over."
"Roger, round eye, here we come. Out."
One of Shan's wise asses. Casey smiled. "Hey, Van, do you have any relatives in the Chinese Air Force?"
"Certainly not," Van replied indignantly. "There ain't no chinks in my family tree, boss." He too laughed.
Huan left the treeline, entering the clearing to stand beside Casey. "Is there anything we can do to help you?"
"Not right now, Huan. It would be best if you stay with your family. Keep them happy; reassure them everything will be fine. Okay?"
Huan nodded, returning to his people. Casey could see him talking to them, all heads nodding, their eyes wide with excitement as they turned to watch the events in the clearing.
The C-130 was on its approach now. Casey saw the drop doors opening. Like mushrooms, four small parachutes broke free from the plane and floated to the ground.
Good drop, Casey reasoned, dead center of the clearing and none in the trees. He keyed the button again, talking to the plane.
"Orbit this position for twenty minutes. If I don't call in any changes, use the same approach for your pick-up."
"That's a roger, Yankee. We are at your disposal."
Everyone except the Kamserai on guard around their perimeter raced for the chutes, collapsing them as fast as they hit the ground, dragging the bundles into position in the center of the field. Breaking them open, they removed the individual kits. Casey had the bundle with the balloons. He handed them to Van and a couple of Phang’s warriors, telling them to fill them. He called Huan over and told him to prepare the two young boys for the pickup. They would go up first. Huan called to the boys. They came running, eyes wide with expectancy, and stood by the two men.
After a few words from Huan to his boys, Casey started to harness them, asking Huan to translate for him. This was to be the greatest ride of their entire lives, he said. They were to sit down, putting their heads on their knees, and wrap their arms about their legs, holding them there as tightly as they could. They would not be harmed, Casey assured them. And just think of the story they could tell their relatives on Taiwan. All of this Huan relayed to the youngsters, adding a small amount of encouragement of his own. They were his sons, and it was time for them to act like good soldiers, following orders and being brave. The two boys grinned at each other, a frightened and tight lipped grin but a grin just the same. They would do, Casey thought.
Casey adjusted the harnesses to a tight fit, snug but not too snug. He walked them to field center, where Van had one balloon fully gassed and ready. He pushed down on their heads, forcing them into the sitting position as their father had prepared them to do. Van's balloon was rising now. The Kamserai were holding tightly to the balloon's retaining lines, acting like children with a giant balloon toy. Up it rose, to a height of a hundred fifty feet. The boys were seated and in position, four feet apart. Casey hooked the youngest one to the balloon line. He was too light.
He called to Huan. "Get the other boy over here, too. This little sucker is too tiny. We'll send them up together."
He sat them back to back, connecting the line to both harnesses, and tied their straps together with extra line.
Huan looked worried, glancing from the boys to Casey's eyes, and then to the treeline, where his wife was biting her knuckles worriedly.
"They'll be okay, Huan. Don't worry. This way they'll be together and less afraid." They didn't look at all scared now, at least to Casey.
He keyed the mike on his radio. "Okay, you Chinese von Richthoften, this is it. You're picking up the children first, so be extremely careful. Come on in and get 'em. Over."
"Roger on that, Yankee. No sweat. We were the group with the highest score on this operation at Fort Bragg. Here we come. Out!"
The plane swung wide for a long approach, its engines straining as the props reached for more air. The V shaped catching device on its nose was beginning to line up with the balloon. They came in then, throttling back as the line was snagged. The two boys seemed to sit still for just a moment. Then they were up, rising absolutely straight for a distance of about sixty feet, pausing there for an instant, and then taking off in pursuit of the plane, looking as if they were chasing it. The air crew started to winding the winch, bringing them in to the aircraft. Huan looked like he were breathing a little easier.
The radio snapped at them. "Okay, Yankee. It was a clean catch. Get your next one ready and stand by. We'll return in a moment. Do you roger? Over."
"I read you, Chinaman. They'll be coming to you one at a time from here on and…" He was interrupted by Phang's frantic yell.
"Khmer Rouge, Casey, Khmer Rouge. They are coming!"
Oh, shit, Casey thought, we're in for it now. Why couldn't the bastards have waited another hour or so? He yelled at Phang: "How far away are they?"
"About one half kilometer," came Phang's reply. "Will you have time for completion of your pick-up?"
"Hell, I don't know. How many are there? Will you be able to hold them back for a while?" He knew before he spoke the question that it was too much to ask. They'd need all the help they could muster, and besides, the Khmer would probably be shooting into the air at the escaping pickups as they rose. Phang answered his question.
"There are about seventy five of them. We can hold them for a while if they do not flank us. I don't have enough men to cover the entire area."
"Okay," Casey barked, "this is how we'll handle it. Set booby traps. Grenades with tripwires, whatever you can rig up." He called the plane. "Okay, Chinaman. You've picked up all you're going to get from down here, at least for a while. We got some unwelcome company coming. Are the kids okay?"
"Roger, Yankee. They are A-1
shape. Any message for our boss?"
"That's a roger, Chinaman. Tell him to try and contact us farther south in three days. We'll need that much time to shake off these dogs following us."
"Roger, Yankee, straight south on this same approach. We will keep our ears open. Ding how, Yankee."
Casey turned to Huan. The wife and daughter stood close by him. "Huan, we've got to run. Can your women keep up??"
Huan nodded. "Yes, they are strong, my friend. And they are Chinese. They will do what we have to do."
"Good enough! Get them into the center of the line as we move out. Oh, and tell them not to worry about the boys. They'll be in their uncle's care tomorrow." He turned to the Kamserai chieftain. "Phang, get the flankers out and into position. George will take point. Van, you stay with the women and Huan. They represent a considerable amount of money to us, so watch 'em close. Besides that, they deserve a break."
Phang's men raced in from the trees, shouting that the Khmer were only a couple of hundred meters beyond the treeline. "Move 'em out, George! Di, di."
George took the point, leading them into the southern edge of the trees, heading south. The skies were beginning to glow with the coming of night. That was their hope, Casey reckoned. Losing their pursuers at night should be relatively easy, giving him time to figure out what to do with them tomorrow. Phang had assured him that the grenades were in position behind them. That would slow their pursuers a bit.
The wall of trees closed in behind the last of the Kamserai bringing up their rear.
"Faster," shouted Lon Pol. "Faster! We almost have them."
One of the Kamserai soldiers pointed up the mountain. Barely visible in the distance was the pickup balloon. "What is that?" he asked his colonel. "A balloon? Why?"
Then the C-130 made its pickup. Lon saw the dark bundle being raised into the sky and following the plane.
