THERE BE DRAGONS (26 page)

“Thank you, old buddy.” Jacobs turned around.

Dragon Master pulled the bayonet from Cage Guard’s chest. A spray of blood erupted as the tip of the blade came out.

Jacobs fired, but the rifle was empty. “Just my luck. It really has been one of those days.” He expelled the mag and ran to remove a full magazine from Torturer’s gruesomeness-caked webbing.

He clipped the new mag in. He chambered a round.

Dragon Master stabbed down at him.

Jacobs dropped the rifle, grabbed ahold of the wrist that held the bayonet and fell onto his back atop Torturer’s lifeless body. His left forearm bore the weight of Dragon Master’s upper body as it fell down on top of him. Jacobs’s back squelched on the chest of Torturer.

Dragon Master pressed his bulk down onto the hand that held the bayonet. The blade slowly moved towards Jacobs’s Adam’s apple. “This blade will cut away all the smart ass comments from your mouth. I’ll watch the wit seep from your throat. I’ll watch you choke on your own witticisms.”

• • • • •

Three Russians ran out of the bunker’s entrance when they heard shots fired in the hut. They carried AKs and shouted orders at each other. Their confusion was obvious.

One was completely panicked. He would take a few steps forward, then a few steps back when one of his comrades would shout at him.

Stephens stood up from behind the oil drums and fired an arrow. It struck the panicked Russian in the shoulder and his AK fell to the floor. The other two soldiers raised their rifles at Stephens as he fixed in another arrow.

Moore jumped up from the cover and fired a burst of three shots into one Russian, then the other, all within the space of a few seconds. Red craters appeared in the soldiers’ chests and their feet took off from the ground. Their bodies reacted as if wires were fastened to their backs and a strong force had just yanked them. They flew with their feet higher than their heads and thudded into the dirt.

Stephens fired another arrow into the panicked Russian, who still clutched at the first black chrome stick. The soldier fell in a more labored way than his friends. He collapsed onto his chest and the arrows were driven farther into his body by the impact.

An NVA ran from the bunker.

He held a pistol and fired one handed with no fixed aim. The recoil of each shot, and his lack of ability to control the movement, made each next shot even more wild.

Stephens and Moore ducked as a few bullets zoomed overhead.

A shot hit near Stephens’s feet and he jumped to the side. His shoulder hit the ground, hard. “Damn it!”

The next shot was roughly aimed at Moore. The agent felt air whoosh by his shoulder. He was just about to pull the trigger on his rifle when the enemy’s missed shot struck one of the oil drums.

The drums exploded and the blast knocked Moore forward.

One of the drums shot into the air, and arched to the left over the well and into the side of one of the barracks. A fire raged.

Another drum rocketed straight up, a stream of flames and a tail of smoke behind it.

The NVA shielded his eyes from the light of the blasts. Then he aimed his pistol at Moore.

The rocket-drum hurtled down and impacted the Vietnamese soldier. He was knocked flat and burning oil drowned him in flames. His screams stopped as Stephens shot into the figure-shaped furnace.

Moore stood up and said, “Who the hell started shooting?”

“It must be Buttons. I sent him to the hut,” said Stephens.

“That idiot!”

“No time to worry about it now. Follow me.”

Stephens ran, came to a stop, his back to a concrete wall on the side of the bunker, the entrance to his right. Moore moved into position behind the sergeant.

Stephens removed a frag from his webbing. He looked to Moore and they both nodded. He pulled the pin and threw the frag in the opening that led into the bunker.

The grenade exploded.

Dust, rubble, and flames shot from the entrance. An NVA soldier was also thrown out with the blast. His uniform was charred and red.

Stephens unslung his CAR-15. He put the bow over his neck and shoulder so the strings ran across his chest. He chambered a round and with the rifle to his shoulder stepped into the bunker.

Moore followed, his CAR-15 at the ready too.

• • • • •

Smoke filled the inside of the bunker. A Russian soldier was clambering to his feet.

Stephens shot him down, dead, with one bullet to the skull.

Shots rattled from the mist.

Both Stephens and Moore jumped to the hard floor and bullets cut into the concrete between them. Dust puffed from the quickly formed holes.

They both fired through the smoke towards the sound of AK fire. A body fell from the frag fog and landed a few strides before them. They both got up and to kneeling positions, their rifles ready. They waited for the smoke to clear.

Once it was gone, they saw more dead Russians and NVA.

The bunker itself was bare, except some weapons in fixed positions looking through a slit that overlooked the base. There was a large metal door set into one of the thick concrete walls to the rear. It led into the cliff. On the door was a handle, a wheel. Like a door you would find on a ship or submarine.

A noise came from the entrance to the bunker behind them.

Stephens stood and swung his rifle towards it.

It was Teacher and Cage.

“We got all the sleeping beauties,” said Teacher.

“Where is Diaz?” asked Stephens as he lowered his weapon.

Moore stood and went towards the metal door.

“I sent him towards the hut to help Buttons,” said Cage.

“Okay, you two are with us,” said Stephens.

Moore turned the wheel and started to pull the door open.

It creaked.

Stephens, Cage, and Teacher readied their weapons.

Moore grunted and put all of his strength into the pull. It didn’t work.

Stephens lowered his rifle, sighed, and went to help Moore. With Stephens’s added strength, it was soon fully open.

Before them lay a concrete corridor that was lit by bulbs fixed to its walls. Puddles of water covered the floor, light danced over the little waves caused by the wind sucked through the tunnel door. Electricity cables ran down the right side where the floor met the wall. At the far end of the corridor they could see a light that shone from a rocky arch, an opening into a cave.

• • • • •

Stephens was the first to step into the corridor. He kept his eyes trained down his sights. He took five steps forward, then waved the next man to follow. That was Moore.

When Moore was a few steps in, he waved Cage forward. Then Cage did the same for Teacher.

Stephens neared the light and saw a silhouette. It was clear from the black outline that it was an NVA soldier. Stephens fired and the figure fell from the light of the archway onto the dampness of the corridor’s floor. Water splashed.

Bullets started to cut up the ground and walls of the corridor.

Stephens opened fire into the light and moved sideways. He stopped when his shoulder hit the wall.

Holes appeared in the concrete just inches before his face and wet dust shot onto his fatigues and into his eyes. The grime interrupted his vision; he rubbed at his eyes to clear them.

When he could see again, he saw Moore on his front, his face pressed into the puddles on the floor, water being kicked up around him from the bullet impacts. Behind him, Teacher was knelt; looking away from the light, with an arm covering his face, dust spraying on him.

Cage walked forward. A bullet hit his left thigh. Blood spattered. He missed a step, screamed in anger, then fired his Blooper.

The light before them grew brighter and the corridor got warmer for a split second.

Cage loaded his last shot into the Blooper and continued to press on.

“Corporal, you’re hit!” yelled Moore as Cage walked by.

“I’d noticed,” said Cage. “I ain’t got time to bleed.” He was limping.

Shots began to rattle from the light again.

Cage fired and the explosion seemed to shake the corridor. He dropped the empty Blooper and unslung his M-16. He held it to his shoulder and continued the walk.

Stephens, Moore, and Teacher began to move forward, using Cage as a human shield.

Shots rang out from the light once more.

Cage fired on full automatic, shooting from the hip. He was still moving towards the archway.

Stephens joined the action. He leant out from Cage’s bulky frame and fired on full automatic too.

He spread his fire across the opening and at differed heights.

His and Cage’s bullet casings echoed through the concrete corridor as they hit the soaked floor.

Out of ammo. Both of them.

As they walked, they removed their empty mags. Again an echo as they hit the watered ground. They clipped in new ones and chambered rounds, the sound travelled down the enclosed space.

They entered the light.

• • • • •

The tip of the blade touched the skin of Jacobs’s neck and blood started to roll down towards the sticky body below him.

Dragon Master practically growled as he pressed down all his weight. “Today you will die, GI,” he said.

Spittle landed on the Jacobs’s face. He could feel and taste his enemy’s breath. “I disagree,” said Jacobs.

Jacobs brought his left knee upwards into the Russian’s ribs. The bayonet moved ever so slightly away from his throat as Dragon Master took the hit.

Jacobs threw another knee and the bayonet moved even farther away. He felt the wind expel from the Russian’s lungs.

He kneed him once more.

As soon as it hit and the bayonet rose again, Jacobs pushed with all his might. He managed to turn Dragon Master onto his back and now he had his weight lay on the enemy.

Jacobs forced the arm with the bayonet towards the floor of the hut with the use of his thumb-less hand. The arm was bent at the elbow, an awkward angle. Dragon Master grunted in pain.

Jacobs held the limb in its twisted place and head-butted his captor in the face. There was a crunch from the impact of skull against nose and the Russian’s fingers loosened on the bayonet.

Jacobs bent the warped arm even more. There was a gut-wrenching sound as the gristle in the joint popped. “Today you will die, comrade.” With his good hand Jacobs removed the bayonet from the Russian’s grip. He stabbed the blade down.

With a microsecond to spare, his opponent moved his head to the side. The bayonet stuck into the wooden floor of the hut.

Jacobs twisted it and tried to pull it free.

Dragon Master grabbed ahold of Jacobs’s right ear. He heaved on it and threw Jacobs from his mounted position.

The Russian got up. Jacobs was on his hands and knees. Dragon Master stamped down on the bandaged hand. Blood seeped through the wrapping and Jacobs cried out. He picked the hand up from the floor and held it to his chest.

The Russian kicked Jacobs in his stomach; he was lifted into the air. He spun in a half circle then his back smashed down onto the floor. “You are a tough little bastard,” said Dragon Master. He kicked Jacobs in the face and then scrambled for the bayonet.

Jacobs slowly stood to see the Russian twist the blade free from the wood.

Dragon Master charged at Jacobs and thrust the bayonet towards his midsection.

Jacobs sidestepped but left a leg trailing.

Dragon Master tripped over it and fell to the lumber of the surface. He slid forward and his head hit the wall of the hut. He got to his feet quickly but Jacobs was there. He grabbed the wrist that held the bayonet.

“Of course I’m tough. I’m an American,” said Jacobs.

Behind the Dragon Master was a slit window and Jacobs smacked the back of the hand that held the bayonet onto the ledge. After four hits, Dragon Master’s grip was broken and the weapon fell outside.

While he still held the wrist, Jacobs stamped down onto Dragon Master’s left foot. He then turned his back into the Russian and flipped him over his waist, judo style.

Dragon Master hit the floor. Dust puffed up from the impact.

Jacobs stumbled towards the desk and picked up one of the jugs that had been used for torture. The jug was full of water and heavy. He walked to Dragon Master, who was getting to his feet. “Thirsty?” asked Jacobs.

Dragon Master was halfway up when the jug crashed down onto his back. The jug smashed, water drenched him. He fell back down to the floor.

Jacobs stumbled backwards, his feet slipping on the liquid. He steadied himself by leaning on the desk. He breathed heavily.

Dragon Master started to get up again.

Jacobs met his effort with a kick, but Dragon Master blocked it, took ahold of the leg. He twisted the foot and Jacobs was taken off his feet. He corkscrewed, his chest hit off the top of the desk and then his back found the floor.