the Last Run (1987) (44 page)

"Base, this is Three Alfa. One-three and Papa One are on first base. No hits, no errors, they are moving to second base in one mike. Out."

Shane had frozen in his tracks listening to the voice and let out a sigh of relief. He exchanged smiles with Ellis and nodded toward Childs. ' 'Phase one down.''

Childs showed no expression as he continued patting Bitch's head. It wasn't time to smile; there were three phases left and a helluva lot more waiting before the mission would be over.

Sergeant Selando's One-three team had been inserted into the small LZ that was ten miles west of the Stadium. Lieutenant Gibson's team, a combination of Wade's and Zubeck's, was called Patrol One and had been put in several klicks north of the horseshoe bend. Foley's radio message meant both teams had gone in safely and had waited the required ten minutes. Both teams were now moving toward the Stadium. The second phase would be complete when Gibson's patrol reached the Stadium and reported in.

Rose took a deep breath and cautiously stepped out onto a small trail. They'd been moving for only fifteen minutes, paralleling the river, when he'd spotted the path.

Rose knelt down to touch the ridges of a footprint. The impression left by the heel was still damp. The person was small and had an unusually wide foot. It had to have been a Monta- gnard. Vietnamese regulars wore sandals or Chicom boots. Rose stood and motioned Wade and Lieutenant Gibson up.

"A Yard walked down this trail less than an hour ago," whispered Rose.

Gibson looked to Wade for advice. Wade shrugged his shoulders. "We gotta take it. It's heading in the right direction. The Yards this far in the boonies are hiding out. They shouldn't be a problem."

Gibson turned around and whispered to Thumper. "Pass it back. We're taking a trail. Last man pull rear security."

Thumper nodded and whispered to the next man.

Gibson looked back at Wade and Rose. "Well . . . shit, let's doit."

Rose brought his weapon up and began walking.

Ky Toan sat on the riverbank, searching the sky. He had released the blackbird from the cage a few minutes before. The black one's wing had mended well, for the bird had made several circles over him, then had soared toward the mountains across the river.

Toan's heart was heavy. He had hoped the raven would return to him, but he knew it would not. All black living things were messengers of the spirits.

Toan lowered his gaze from the white, billowing clouds to the mountains across the river. It was almost time to visit his old home and the spirit house. His snares and traps had caught many rabbits and fish to strengthen his body for the journey. Perhaps tomorrow he would go. Perhaps the blackbird would welcome him there. Perhaps the lowlanders were gone. Perhaps . . .

Toan began to rise but heard a strange noise and spun around. The forest plants were thick, but he knew an animal of prey was looking at him. The noise he heard was a large branch snapping. Only an animal of size could make such a noise. His eyes searched the vegetation for several seconds and froze abruptly.

He saw two large white eyes staring at him from behind the broad leaves of the chaoc. Toan shut his own eyes and fell over in the sand. It was a black spirit, not an animal. His life was over.

The spirit never appeared until it was time to begin the long sleep. Many whom he had tried to heal spoke of seeing such a spirit just before they died.

Wade positioned his men in overwatch positions and nodded toward Rose. The black soldier walked out of the jungle, pointing his rifle at the old man.

Toan trembled at the sound of approaching steps and began mumbling chants of contrition.

Rose stood over the pathetic, shaking man and lowered his rifle. The old Montagnard was wearing a dirty scarlet loincloth. His gray hair was matted with dark grease and was full of clinging sand. His small body was thin but his legs looked like those of a man thirty years younger. His calves were big as baseballs.

Rose reached down and grabbed the mumbling man's arm and yanked him to his feet.

Toan cried out upon feeling the spirit's touch and opened his eyes. He sank to his knees again. It was not a spirit, but a black- skinned soldier who would surely kill him.

Rose lifted the Montagnard again and dragged him toward the trees.

Toan sat on the ground outside the front of his hut, watching the huge, light-skinned soldiers search his house and camp. He felt better now, and had finally stopped shaking. They wouldn't kill him, he could tell by their eyes, but they might take him with them. Three of the light-skins knelt in front of him, talking in a strange language and motioning with their hands.

They were the light-skins the lowlanders battied. He had seen their kind a few years before when they had come in iron birds that dropped from the sky and took his people away. Another of the light-skins who had come many years before had learned the Sedang language and told of a great spirit called Jesus. The light- skin had come from a place called France. His language was different from that of these men. He'd taught the language to the Sedang and had shown them new ways to grow their crops.

Wade lowered his hands in exasperation and shook his head at Gibson. "It's useless, sir. He doesn't understand a word of English or any of our sign language."

Gibson leaned closer to the old man and spoke in slow Vietnamese. "Dung sa Vietnamese?"

The Montagnard cocked his head to one side, obviously not understanding.

Damn! thought Gibson. The old man could tell them if there was a way up the Stadium.

"Parlez-vous Francais?" asked Gibson as an afterthought.

The old man's eyes widened and he broke into a grin. "Oui, Monsieur. Parlez-vous Francais?"

Gibson's mouth dropped open in shock. Wade clapped Gibson's back. "Damn, sir, ya did it. I sure didn't know you spoke French."

Gibson looked at Wade with a frown. "I don't. You just heard all the French I know."

Wade smiled. "Russian does-he learned it in the mercenaries."

Gibson broke into a wide grin. "Get the bull over here and let's find out how we get up that." He pointed in the direction of the looming Stadium hilltops.

Childs listened to the radio report and made some notes. He spun around and barked to the runner, "Get the major!"

Minutes later Shane walked into the bunker with Colonel Ellis and the Air Force liaison officer. Childs was about to speak when the radio crackled again. "Base, One-three has found a highspeed trail. They've spotted ten NVA pushing bikes to the east toward the Stadium. Over."

Childs picked up the handset. "What is One-three's position? Over."

"Base, they're six klicks from the western end of the Stadium. Over."

"Three Alfa, have One-three remain in their location. Do not, I say again, do not move until we give orders to do so. Over."

"Roger, base. Out."

Childs turned and looked into Shane's eyes. "Sir, the dinks are in the Stadium." Shane's knees felt weak. He sat down as Childs continued. "Gibson reported in a few minutes ago and said they found an old Yard who says dinks moved into the Stadium a month ago. The Yard knows a way up the eastern end and will lead them up tomorrow morning. You just heard what One- three reported. The reason I stopped them was that we need to keep this coordinated. We'll have One-three move at first light tomorrow, too."

Colonel Ellis slapped Shane's back. "My God, this is it. They've found them!''

Shane let out a breath, stood up, and turned to the Air Force liaison. "Orlando, we have a lot of work to do. You'll need to target the whole Stadium area and contact your people that we'll need every F-4 available on call. When my men go in tomorrow, I want to guarantee they'll have air support in minutes."

Shane stepped up to the map and looked at Childs. "Get the Army liaison in here and have two more maps hung up. We all can't work around one map."

"Sir," said Shane, nodding to Colonel Ellis. "I need several maps of the Stadium area blown up as big as we can get them. Can someone in Corps do it for us?"

Ellis walked to the telephone. "Yeah, I can have the photo people do it right now and have them flown down in a couple of hours."

Shane nodded and looked at his watch. "It's 0945 now. We've got about twenty hours to plan this out. In one hour I want everyone here, and we'll go over every contingency."

Each of the men nodded except Childs. He was staring at the map, lost in thought. The NVA Division they sought was in the Stadium. Three of his teams were close. Real close. They had to sneak in, find the main base, and get out undetected. Selando, Gibson, Wade, and Zubeck were good. He couldn't have picked better men for the job. They'd do it. They'd find the bastards.

Shane stepped up beside the sergeant and spoke softly. "Jerry, can you think of anything else we should be doing?"

Childs broke his stare from the map. "No, Ed, you're doin' good. When we get everybody here, let the Air Force brief us on the B-52s and what lead time they need for planning a target. We need to know how far away the teams have to be before they start droppin' their bombs.''

Shane smiled. Childs had never called him by his first name before. It wasn't a slip of military discipline. He was telling him in his own way he was a friend, a close, respected friend who would support him during the upcoming trial of leadership.

Shane put his hand on the sergeant's arm. "Thanks, Jerry."

J. D. Gibson sat alone at the edge of the Montagnard's camp, looking across the silty river at the mountains. They couldn't really be called mountains-they weren't high enough-but they sure as hell couldn't be called hills, either. They were like the pictures heti seen of Hawaii where the mountain chain was steep on the windward side and gradual and rolling on the other. His men would not have been able to climb this side. It was almost straight up. The old man had said there was a streambed they would follow and that there was a small passageway hidden in darkness that would lead them to the valley. The path was used by his tribe, the Sedang, to travel to the river for fishing.

Gibson looked at his watch. It was almost noon. He'd wanted to take the path today, but old Toan insisted on waiting until tomorrow. He'd said he needed rest before making the journey.

J. D. felt a tingling sensation run up his back. The NVA Division was in the Stadium. The only question was where. The tingling feeling came from knowing that tomorrow the question would be answered.

Matt, the team, and Toan sat in the Montagnard's hut, eating the rice and fish the old man had prepared. Toan jabbered to Russian for several minutes before taking a mouthful. Russian laughed and quickly translated. "He talk of crazy one. He think Rose was maybe a black spirit who had come to take him to his heaven. He say he know Rose not spirit when he come closer, because he smell like wild pig."

Rose frowned.* "That's not fimny, man. The dude is a redneck, Yard, racist. I don't stink. He do!"

Russian smiled. "We all smell to him. We eat different foods, and our bodies give off strange odors."

"Well, the dude smells like a gook to me!" blurted Rose.

Wade got to his feet and motioned Russian to follow him outside. The two men stepped out of the small hut and walked to a nearby tree and sat down.

"Carl, what do ya think?"

The Czech's head swung to the Stadium. "We can trust Montagnard only to top of mountain. I walk point with him and watch him close. ... We must be very careful, my Sergeant. The Communists could be anywhere. Keep radio close and move very slow. We will stop and listen to the forest many times tomorrow."

Wade stared at the Slavic face of his mentor. He wanted to tell him he felt confident because of his presence. Russian was a man he would give his life for. Russian broke his stare from the Stadium and looked into the eyes of his sergeant.

Wade knew he didn't need to say a word. Cari Rostov's eyes told him he already knew.

Woodpecker sat back against the hut wall, cleaning his machine gun. Preacher sat beside him trying to disassemble his M-16, but his mind was on the mission. He fumbled with the weapon and finally set it down.

Woodpecker tapped the Indian's leg with his cleaning rod. "Relax, warrior, we're going up there tomorrow and play Indian. We gonna snoop and poop just like your ancestors did. Looks to me you got an advantage on us."

Preacher smiled and held out his hand. "You are a good friend, fellow warrior, I am truly blessed to have you by my side."

Woodpecker took his hand. "Three-one, buddy."

Sergeant Din Thong pointed to the stream ahead. "Is it not beautiful like I say?"

General Binh Due smiled as he stared at the inviting, crystal- clear water and bamboo-shaded banks. "Yes, my friend, you were correct. It is truly a place of beauty."

Thong awkwardly pulled the AK-47 from his shoulder and sat on the stream bank. "I will protect you while you bathe and rest. Remember, do not get close to the boulders. As I told you, the stream becomes a demon beyond the big rocks."

General Due took off his uniform and waded out into the cool, refreshing water. The old sergeant had been right. The stream was just what he needed.

He lay down in the water perfecdy still for a few moments and could feel the gende tugging toward the boulders. He could also hear the faint roar of the waterfall Thong had spoken of and closed his eyes to imagine its beauty.