Cambodia

by Nick Carter

  "Hell, now they're talking about chicks. Old Tonle Sambor thinks they should have some chicks in the temple. He's saying maybe they ought to go on a recruiting campaign for women. Uh-oh, another one of the generals says bad news. They can't do that; it would turn the villages against them. It might be the end of all their recruiting programs. Old Tonle Sambor doesn't like that kind of talk, but he says he knows the guy is right. They must keep their recruiting program alive." Chong frowned. "Hell, now they're laughing."

  "Laughing?"

  "Yeah, like it's all some kind of a big joke." He shook his head, then the muscles in his face stiffened. "They're talking again, but they're still laughing. They're calling the soldiers fools." Chong's face flushed; his jaw muscles tightened. "They're talking about something called Operation Snake." Then he stared at me in open mouth shock, his eyebrows arched, his eyes wide. "Nick," he said in a hoarse voice. "Nick, Tonle Sambor and his generals are Chinese Communist agents!"

  Twelve

  I sat back, leaning my head against the stone wall. Operation Snake? What the hell was Operation Snake? Chong was still listening. His face had gone sallow. The way Chong felt about Communists, I could see a large case of hate building inside him for Tonle Sambor.

  "Chong?" I said. "I have to know what this Operation Snake is. What are they doing now?"

  When Chong spoke, his voice sounded strained. "They have finished laughing now, the bastards. Chairs are scraping. The other four generals are leaving. Tonle Sambor is bidding his generals goodnight. Feet are shuffling along the floor. The door has opened. Now they have all gone. Tonle Sambor, that motherless cockroach, is still chuckling to himself. Paper is being moved. A chair scrapes." Chong looked up at me. "He must be sitting at the desk, either reading or writing."

  I nodded. "Keep listening."

  An hour passed and all Chong heard was Tonle Sambor moving around the room. There were no visitors and no voices. When another half hour had passed, Chong told me he heard an empty boot thonk on the stone floor. Twenty minutes later the little general was snoring.

  I reached for the headset and removed it from Chong. "Look," I said. "Why don't you take a nap? I'll listen on these, and if I hear anything I'll wake you. When you've slept for a few hours you can relieve me."

  I put on the headset and relaxed with my back against the wall. Because of the roof in our little cubbyhole, we couldn't see the stars. I listened to Tonle Sambor's snoring and allowed my own eyes to close. The last words of Hawk drifted back to me. He wanted information. Did the Society of the Silver Snake really exist?

  Yes, it existed as an army. Where? Some abandoned ruins at Angkor Thorn. Was this Society really trying to reclaim the Delta for Cambodia, or was it a cover-up for other motives? I still didn't know the answer to that one. I found out they were Communists, but I still didn't know what their purpose in Cambodia was. I was sure this Operation Snake had something to do with it, and there was nothing I could do about the Society until I found out what the operation was.

  The night was quiet. Somehow it didn't seem quite so hot. All I heard through the earphones was the snoring of Tonle Sambor. My eyes were closed. My mind drifted to the face of Sariki. During quiet times my thoughts returned to her. I had never known anyone quite like her.

  Then I could see brightness just on the other side of my eyelids; I knew I couldn't have been asleep more than 20 minutes. Yet the brightness was there, not constant like the burning of the sun but flashing all around.

  I could hear the men now, walking along the crumbly wall top, talking to each other in a foreign tongue. I remained motionless letting only my eyes race along the wall, pinpointing each man by the beam of his flash. I counted seven.

  I leaned forward slowly. Placing my left hand across Chong's mouth I shook his shoulder with my right. His eyes popped open wide. I put my right finger to my lips, knowing it was unnecessary because he couldn't see me.

  We both gathered the receiver, the mats and packs and pulled them with us while we pushed back to the inside wall. We each took a far corner and pressed ourselves into it. I pulled out Wilhelmina. Chong dragged out his army bayonet. We waited.

  They were coming toward us all right. The light beams danced toward the middle of the temple floor, then moved in our direction. There were four men on the wall to our right, two on the left, and one on the far wall directly in front of us. As long as they stayed on the walls, I figured we were okay. But if that one in front of us climbed down and shined his flash in our direction he would definitely see us, and I'd have to kill him — and that would set off a chain reaction. Each one of the soldiers was carrying a rifle. And they kept jabbering to each other.

  They came down to us. In shuffling back against the wall I had removed the earphones. Chong shuffled as silent as he could toward me. Orders were barked. The light beams made little circles right in front of us, then played once more over the temple floor and disappeared. The voices grew lighter and finally seemed far away.

  Chong let out a long, wheezing breath.

  "Did you hear what they were saying?" I asked in a whisper.

  Chong nodded. "They found our two friendly cats in the high grass, man." He shook his head. "Bad scene."

  * * *

  We alternated through the night with the headphones. I was on them most of the morning. I heard Tonle Sambor rise and call for his breakfast, then I handed the earphones to Chong. We ate the rest of the baloney while we waited.

  I knew time was pressing. They would make one light sweep over the ruins trying to flush us out. It was a large area, and they probably wouldn't devote many men to it.

  Around noon when Chong was on the set, he suddenly held up his hand. It had been a fruitless night and morning. Tonle Sambor had either been reading or going over some papers. Chong gave me a smile and a wink. "The generals are coming in," he said with a hint of excitement. Chong's face took on a pained expression. "Oh, man," he groaned. "Now they're talking about when they'll have lunch."

  I popped another piece of baloney in my mouth and washed it down with water from my canteen.

  "They're talking about Operation Snake!" Chong said excitedly.

  I moved closer to Chong so that my knees were pressed against his. I put my head close to the earphones. "Tell me everything they're saying," I told him.

  Chong nodded once. "The generals have decided to wait until Tonle Sambor talks with China before they eat."

  I frowned. "Talks?"

  Chong held up his hand to silence me. "Two of the generals are pulling a radio transmitter from another room. Tonle Sambor is going to contact the Chinese Communists on the radio."

  I knelt close to Chong so we could both hear the voices. Chong remained quiet and I understood why. The little general was on the radio now, and if Chong spoke, he might miss something that was said. We both listened, frozen, for almost an hour. Then the voices on the radio stopped. Tonle Sambor told one of the generals something.

  "They're putting the radio back," Chong said. "They've decided they can have lunch now. They're laughing as they leave. Nick, I think something really stinks." He pulled off the head set and threw it down with disgust.

  "What is it?" I asked. "What is this Operation Snake?"

  Chong looked off to the west, then he turned to me. "Man, we're going to have to hustle."

  "Damn it, Chong! Don't give me riddles. What the hell is Operation Snake?"

  As Chong talked, he traced a crack between stones in the floor. "Tomorrow morning a company of Chinese Communist regulars are due to arrive at the temple. They will be coming in five trucks along Kompong Road. They will use the Society temple as a main base. From there, they'll use hit and run tactics against American forces along the Mekong River. That's Operation Snake, man."

  "Anymore to it?"

  Chong nodded. "This is going to be a trial operation. If they can pull it off, make it work okay, then more Chicom troops will be brought in later. The trucks carrying the troops are also loaded with large amoun
ts of arms, supplies and food. You know, Nick, there's one real sickening part of this. The recruits are going to be told that the trucks are filled with more volunteers disguised as Chinese troops. Now isn't that really low class, man?"

  "Very," I said. "Do you know where this Kompong Road is, Chong?"

  He nodded. "It'll take us half a day of hustling to make it. Nick, I mean we're going to have to move at almost a run all the way.

  "We're going to wipe out the Society of the Silver Snake, aren't we?" he continued.

  I nodded. We moved off side by side to the west. Chong trotted next to me with fixed determination. I knew it all now, and I knew what I had to do. First I'd have to get to the road. And second I had to find a good landing place for the Strike Patrol raiders.

  Thirteen

  Kompong Road was what a Jeep driver would call a trail. Coming to it in darkness as Chong and I did, we almost passed right over it. There were two narrow ruts on each side of the road with a high grassy strip running down the middle. The jungle grew right up to the edge, paused briefly for almost ten feet, then began growing again. It was a narrow, little-used road.

  Chong and I dropped beside it to rest. We had been running, then trotting, then walking, then running again for more than 12 hours.

  But we sure as hell had reached Kompong Road, That was the first thing I had to do. Now to get on with the second.

  I patted my complaining stomach with both hands and looked over at Chong. He was lying flat on his back, both legs spread.

  "Chong?" I said.

  "Man, I will not move for anyone. I will lie here until my bones bleach in the sun. I am actually dead; my body just hasn't been told yet."

  I leaned forward and got to my feet. "Come on, tiger, there's work to be done."

  Chong groaned, but he got to his feet. We started walking. I didn't see how five trucks filled with troops, arms, supplies, and food could drive along it without their sides scraping jungle on both sides.

  I was looking for a clearing somewhere along the road where the strike patrol could land. I knew they would be parachuting from planes, and the planes wouldn't start until I gave the signal. But I couldn't give the signal until I located a place for the men to land. Chong stumbled beside me, protesting how I must had once been in charge of the slave trade from the Gold Coast of Africa to New Orleans. It was either me or my grandparents. I was well suited for such a trade, the way I was making his dead body move.

  "Chong," I said. "You're the one who said we had to rescue Sariki's brothers, right? My job is simple now. All I have to do is signal for some help, wipe out five truckloads of Chicom regulars, which probably will be by here shortly after dawn, attack the Society of the Silver Snake and kill Tonle Sambor if possible, convince the recruits that the whole Society idea was a Communist plant to dupe them, and if I handle all that, rescue Sariki's two brothers. Simple, see? Do you want to help me or not?"

  Chong stumbled in front of me and put up his hands like in a western movie. "Hey, man, ease up. I don't mind telling you, Nick, old buddy, I don't like the odds. I think we're just a wee bit outnumbered, dig?"

  I gave him a grin. "Maybe I can even the odds a little." We had come to a place in Kompong Road just before it started around a blind curve. With the growth of greenery on each side of the road and along the middle any curve would have been blind. But I found a place that looked pretty good to me. On one side as the road began to curve was the thick-growing jungle; on the other, or inside the curve, was a large grassy clearing. Squat heavy trees marked it off. It looked like it had been cleared at one time for a way-station or a rest-stop. It reminded me of the time recently when the American government decided to introduce a remote Indian reservation to the marvels of modern time-savers in the home. A batch of shiny, brand-new refrigerators and washers were sent to the tribe. But the man who originally had the idea forgot to find out one small detail: the reservation had no electricity. So the tribe ended up with some pretty expensive storage bins. They kept tools well insulated in the refrigerators, as well as little jars of nuts and bolts.

  That's the way I figured Kompong Road. Asian governments just seemed to spend more for less practical projects than the Americans. They are second only to the Latin Americans, who build freeways that cars and oxen use, and modern cities that become ghost towns within five months.

  I pulled out the plastic bag of electronic capsules. Chong came running over to me when he saw me at the bag.

  "Is this the little electronic gizmo I didn't get a chance to see before?" he asked.

  "Only now we're going to use them." I said. "It's going to be dawn in an hour or so, Chong, so listen carefully." I handed him five white capsules and kept five for myself, plus the all-important red one. Chong was looking curiously at the ones I had given him. They looked like white buttons with a corkscrew on one side. "What you do, Chong," I explained, "is screw these into the sides of the trees around the clearing. Just screw them in tight, then give them a extra half-turn to set them off."

  Chong frowned. "What the hell are they, man? Some kind of bomb?"

  "I'll tell you when we get them all set. I want you to head up the road about fifty yards. Stick the capsules on trees about ten yards apart. Put them on the side of the trees that face the clearing. Can you remember that? Remember to give them that extra half-turn to set them off."

  Chong gave me one short nod then took off back up the road away from the curve. I trotted ahead, rounded the curve, then plunged into the jungle toward the clearing. I judged I was about 50 yards away from it, on the opposite side from Chong. Moving at a fast trot and only stopping every ten to fifteen yards, I screwed the capsules into the trees facing the clearing. I looked straight up above me. Was it my imagination? Or was the sky not quite as dark as it was an hour ago? Dawn was not that far off, and I was just now calling for help.

  Even the jungle leaves seemed wet with heat. They slapped at me as I moved between them and gave an itch to my skin. Thick brush tangled around my legs making me jerk with each step to free them. The wetness of my clothing seemed to be a permanent part of my existence. I couldn't remember ever being dry or cool.

  Now Chong and I were without food, our water was low, help might or might not be on the way, and there was the business that lay ahead. I had to keep those trucks from reaching the Society temple. A company of Chinese regulars plus almost 200 men would be too much for even the sharpest crack Strike Patrol.

  I was making my way back to the clearing. I had no idea how many men would parachute down to help me, but I figured on seven or eight. Even with Chong and I, it wouldn't be enough. All of us fighting a company of Chinese. I didn't think so. I was in the clearing now and cutting across it. I found a tree closer to the actual clearing itself than any other. Chong came running up to it.

  "Nick," he said. "What the hell are all these kooky little buttons supposed to do?" I wondered how many men in Southeast Asia there were like him. And I was willing to bet I could count them on the fingers on one hand.

  I had the red capsule screwed into the tree. I turned to face Chong. "These little buttons are giving off radio signals. All the white ones are giving out a signal that sounds like static; all the signals are conflicting with each other. Anybody trying to pinpoint where they are coming from would have such a maze of static it would be hopeless." I patted the red capsule. "Only one of these buttons is giving out as a good true signal."

  "Outasight," Chong exclaimed. "Man, I have never seen anything like that in all my life." He suddenly frowned. "But how come this drop plane doesn't hear all that static, too?"

  "Because it is tuned in on one frequency, the one put out by the red capsule. That small strike force I told you about is going to help us stop those five trucks;"

  "You're kidding," Chong said. "You and me and a scrawny strike force against a company of Chicoms? No way, man."

  I looked up at the paling sky. "If they don't come soon, Chong, it's likely to be just you and me against all those Chico
ms."

  "How long you think it will take them?"

  I shrugged. Enough time had passed that any number of things could have happened. That member of the Cambodian government could have got in touch with the U.S. Ambassador and told him all deals were off. The Cambodian government could have protested loudly to American officials. That Vietnamese village being wiped out could have changed it. Hawk might have been notified to cancel everything on the Silver Snake Society. There were just too many things that could have happened.

  If there had been any changes in plans, how would anybody get hold of me? Then there were those pleasant words from Hawk about how if I were captured the United States would deny knowing me. How would I know? I already had to make a few changes of my own along the way.

  I looked at Chong. "I don't know," was all I could think of to say.

  He seemed to accept it. We had been stumbling along all right so far; maybe he thought we'd just keep right on doing it. He looked to the trees around us. "Nick," he said, "we won't be able to do anything about the trucks until we know they're coming, right?"

  I nodded. It sounded logical, but I wondered what he was driving at.

  "I'm going up one of these trees to see if I can tell when they're coming, dig?"

  I watched him choose one of the taller trees. He went up it easily, his wiry body like a piece of elastic swinging from limb to limb as he climbed. I stood under the tree, my hand shielding my eyes from the sun. When he was almost to the top he found a comfortable seat and wedged himself between the trunk and a limb. He waved down at me with a happy grin.