She didn’t let them faze her and carried on as if nothing had happened, heading for a gap in the netting that looked big enough for them to get through. The takeoff roll was shortened because of the fires, and everything depended on the elderly aircraft picking up enough speed to get off the ground.

  They were halfway there, and if he was a betting man, he doubted he’d put money on getting away. The girl had made up her mind. “We’re not gonna make it! We’ll crash into the jungle.”

  “We’ll make it.”

  They were alongside the huts from where bullets were hitting them in a continuous hail. The firing increased as they threw everything at them in a furious effort to stop them from escaping. One bullet tore through Vien’s left arm, just above the elbow. She cried in pain and placed her right arm on the throttle lever. “I have to pull up, or we’ll crash!”

  “No!” Before she could move the lever, he grabbed her hand and moved it away, “Get us off the ground, now!”

  “Heller, I can’t…”

  “Yes, you can. Do it!”

  They shouldn’t have made it, but fate intervened. The wheels lurched into a shallow ridge, and the forward momentum bounced them into the air. Incredibly, they were flying, just for a couple of seconds, and then the wheels dropped back down. Her hand flew to the throttle, but again he stopped her.

  “Keep going, we’re nearly there.”

  “So is the jungle.”

  He glanced through the shattered windshield, and she was right. The trees were rushing toward them. They should’ve played safe and pulled up, except pulling up wouldn’t be playing safe. It would be falling into the hands of soldiers who were as mad as hornets. He had to do something. She’d resigned herself to the aircraft not getting off the ground. He looked at the ground speed indicator, but it was broken, the needle stuck on zero. Either they would take off, or they wouldn’t.

  He gripped the control yoke and eased it back. She stared at him in terror, like he was sending them to their doom, but something clicked in her head. She realized they were out of options, and she pulled back even harder on the control yoke in front of her, and once again, the Antonov left the ground. Heading for the trees, and it didn’t look like they were going to make it.

  He looked back into the cabin. “All of you, move to the rear now, we need to get the front wheels higher.”

  They reacted immediately, and the changed weight distribution caused the front to rise and the tail to dip. It saved them. The front wheels brushed the tops of the trees as they left the ground. The aircraft seemed to shudder when the tailwheel snagged a branch and tore away from the tree, causing the nose to go up and the tail to drop even more until the branch broke free and they were in the air. Climbing away from the jungle strip, leaving behind a flaming inferno.

  In the few minutes that’d elapsed since they reached the aircraft and started to take off, something had changed with Cruz. They were still skimming the treetops, clawing for altitude and failing. She was barely keeping the aircraft flying when he bustled into the cockpit and demanded to know where they were headed. She looked at Heller, and he didn’t have any answers. Told him they’d worry about that later.

  He was wide eyed, fizzing, which was more than the Antonov was doing. The engine continually spluttered, and they were so close to the treetops he could’ve reached down and grabbed a handful of leaves.

  “Vien, you need to gain height.”

  “I can’t. There’s something wrong with the engine. I think we’re out of fuel. A bullet must’ve holed the tank. We have to land.”

  “Land where?” She ignored Cruz’s stream of orders, telling her to head east for the coast, “There is nowhere.”

  “Find somewhere.”

  They touched the trees and lifted a few inches as the engine caught, ran for a few seconds, and stopped. They were gliding inches above the forest canopy, with no place to land. Until he spotted the open area, a couple of hundred meters ahead. Water. Had to be rice paddies. He pointed. “Put her down on the water. It’s our best chance.”

  She nodded, adjusted the control column, and the aircraft caught an air current that lifted the nose a fraction. They cleared the trees, she pushed the column forward, and they were diving toward the water.

  “Brace yourselves,” she shouted, “This is going to be rough.”

  It was rough. She showed her flying skills when they were most needed. Flared to level the Antonov, and they skimmed across the surface of the water that acted like a brake on their speed. Just as they reached the sloping, muddy bank, the belly of the fuselage went into the water, and they stopped dead with a jerk. He was thrown forward, twisted to avoid the jagged shards of broken windshield, and collided with the edge of the instrument panel. The last thing he heard was McGuigan swearing from inside the cabin.

  * * *

  He arrived at the airstrip when they were still trying to put out the fires. Commissar General Tran Khiem had been on a visit to the prison camp, where he’d come to inspect the new arrival, Nguyen Huy Quan. The President’s nephew, no less. Although the attack on the Palace hadn’t yielded the result they’d wanted, this was still an enormous propaganda coup.

  He looked through the barred window of his cell to confirm the identity of the prisoner. There was no question, it was Quan. The Russians may want him for enhanced interrogation, although it was unlikely Hanoi would agree to hand him over. In the meantime, he was anxious to speak with him and extract every last bit of information about future South Vietnamese strategy. Especially since a prisoner exchange was possible, despite their initial refusal to consider it. If it happened, the price would be high. Monstrously high.

  He looked at the guard, about to order him to open the cell door, when he heard a commotion. A man rushed toward him. “General Khiem, General Khiem, they’ve attacked the airfield.”

  He paused and gave him an icy glance. “Which airfield?”

  “The nearby airfield, our airfield, where we fly the Antonov on urgent missions.”

  His guts churned. This couldn’t be happening. “Tell me everything you know.”

  The fire in the camouflage netting was bad. The loss of two MiG jet fighters was a disaster. The escape of the attackers in the Antonov was a catastrophe.

  “Prepare my vehicle, I shall go there now.”

  His driver sped along the narrow track, the Gaz jeep bouncing and swaying over the rutted surface. He arrived at a scene beyond his worst nightmares. Everything burning, and soldiers running around like ants after the nest had been kicked over. The remains of two MiG 15s were still burning, and the Antonov missing. He strode toward the huts from where men were running to meet him. The man in the lead saluted.

  “Major Tu, Sir. We’re doing everything we can to deal with this, but the attack came all of a sudden, and…”

  “You’re in charge, Major? Are you responsible for this?”

  “Uh, yessir, I command here.”

  “Not anymore you don’t. Consider yourself under arrest. Who is your deputy?”

  “Lieutenant Lam, Sir.” He pointed to an officer standing nearby.

  “Good. Lieutenant, place Major Tu in custody. You’re in command, so I want to know what happened, and what you’re doing about it. Everything.”

  He gave him a brief account of everything he knew, none of it of any use. The damage was done, and the attackers had gone.

  “Is there any good news, Lieutenant?” Khiem was thinking fast, working out how to save his skin, “Do you know which direction they went?”

  For the first time, Lam smiled. “Yessir, I do. Northeast, but they didn’t get far. We noticed the aircraft losing fuel after it left the ground, so we believe we hit the fuel tank with at least one bullet. It didn’t stay in the air for long. One of our patrols reported the Antonov losing height before it disappeared. It crashed into the trees, so there’s no question, they’re all dead. Impossible to survive such a crash.”

  He felt a glimmer of hope. They’d stopped them from escaping. “You’ve seen the bodies?”

  “Uh, Nossir. Not yet, we’re not sure of the exact location of the crash site. It’s about two kilometers from here is my best guess, but I haven’t sent men to search for the wreck, not until we have everything here under control.”

  He grunted. “Under control? There’s nothing left to get under control. Send out search parties and find that wreck. Confirm they’re all dead.”

  “Sir, they must be dead. One of our men heard the engine cut out less than two kilometers away from here, and there’s nowhere to land, so they must’ve crashed into thick jungle. There’s no way they could survive. It’s not possible.”

  “Lieutenant, do I need to find a senior NCO to take over command? Or do you locate the bodies and confirm they’re dead?

  “I’ll get onto it right away.”

  “Get every available man and find them.”

  Chapter Seven

  He came awake and examined his surroundings. He was close to a rice paddy, lying on the ground deep inside a stand of bamboo, surrounded by the rest of the squad. It stank of shit. Probably water buffalo shit. He felt something in his throat and coughed up a stream of muddy water.

  She was peering down at him, her face anxious.

  “We thought you were dead.”

  “What happened?”

  She told him he’d somersaulted through the windshield and landed in the water. Ripley went in after him, repeatedly diving into the rank, stinking slime until he found him and brought him back to the surface. When they dragged him out, he wasn’t breathing. Ripley worked on him, banged on his chest, massaged his lungs until water poured from his mouth and he sucked in a long, deep breath.

  “Where is he? Ripley.”

  “He heard something, and he went off with Akulov to check it out. Wait, they’re coming back in.”

  The two men arrived back, and it wasn’t good news. “I reckon we didn’t make more than three klicks, and they must know we crashed because they’re searching for us. They’re everywhere, looking for the wreck, I guess. They’ll want to be sure we’re all dead.”

  The wreck! A dead giveaway.

  “If they find it, we’re fucked.”

  “They won’t find it. She put us down in a flooded rice paddy, and after a few minutes the aircraft disappeared beneath thick, brown water.”

  “Okay, that’s good news. Where’s Cruz?”

  Vien’s lip curled. “The last I saw he was talking with Lynch. I think we all know the reason.”

  “I guess so, but there’s damn all we can do about it, not here, and not now. I have to get up and check things out.”

  He put his hands to the ground to push himself upward, but his head swam, and he found he couldn’t do it. She told him he most probably had a concussion, so he’d have to be patient and rest until it’d eased.

  Ripley added there was nothing any of them could do, not while the bushes were alive with gooks. “Just take it easy, Sarge. We won’t be leaving any time soon.”

  He didn’t argue. Waves of pain had invaded his head the moment he tried to get up, and he knew they were right. Vaguely, he heard someone say something about going back out to look around and see if the search had moved away. After that, he fell into unconsciousness, and he had dreams, no, nightmares. Thinking about the ambush on the edge of the Iron Triangle. Herman Weiss was dead. The Viet who’d tried to surrender was dead, he’d killed him. Then there was Vien.

  In the depths of his dream, he was lying on his bed. He felt a naked body slide beneath the covers next to him, and he recognized her distinctive, expensive French fragrance. She put her arms around him, hugged him, and he felt around her body. The slim, girlish waist, the small yet perfectly formed breasts. His hands slid lower, cupped her buttocks, massaged her thighs, and he felt himself becoming insanely aroused, more than he could ever remember.

  They made love with a fierce passion as if they’d never get the chance again. Afterward, they lay back on the bed, and he cradled her in his arms. Murmuring to each other, the kinds of things lovers do in the afterglow of sex. After a while, he dropped off to sleep. When he awoke, she’d gone. There was no Vien. Instead, the ghostly figure of Herman Weiss was standing in the bedroom, blood pouring from a score of bullet wounds, his head pointed toward him.

  The eyelids were closed. Suddenly they opened, but there were no eyes. Just black holes. The mouth opened and instead of two rows of teeth, there was just a dark hole. Outside, he could hear the rattle of automatic fire, the crash of exploding mortar shells, screams, shouts, and booted feet running in every direction. Men panicking, calling for medics, and a familiar voice, Lieutenant Cruz, shouting for Lynch. “I need a fix, and I need it now.”

  He looked at Weiss again and saw the head give a slight shake. Then his figure dissolved into nothingness. Outside, there was just silence. No raging battle, no nothing. He could see across the vast air base at Tan Son Nhut, and he suddenly realized the walls of his hut had disappeared. He was lying out in the open. Jerked off his bed, but too late, the battle hadn’t ended. One last shell was arrowing down toward him. He looked up and watched it come closer, and closer. Until it exploded, and he was dead, along with the others.

  He woke up, and he wasn’t dead. He was alive. He wasn’t lying in a bed inside Tan Son Nhut. He was lying on the muddy ground inside a thick stand of bamboo close to the rice paddy where the Antonov had landed. None of it was real. Except Vien. She was leaning over him, arms around him, her lips inches from his, and in a sudden flash of realization, he knew she’d been kissing him while he was unconscious.

  “Vien,” he murmured. Was it a protest? Or something else?

  “Heller. Just lay back and relax. There’s nobody here, just us.”

  “No, this isn’t…”

  It was insane. Totally, stark staring mad. They were surrounded by enemy soldiers, lying on the muddy ground, and anyone could turn up at any moment. One of the men could return, or a North Vietnamese soldier happen on them. Yet he couldn’t stop her. Didn’t stop her. She slid down her pants, did the same for him, and lay on top of him. It was like nothing he’d ever known, a surreal moment. It couldn’t be happening, but it was, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. Even if he wanted to stop it. He couldn’t swear that he did.

  When they were done, she rearranged both their clothing, just in time. They’d linked up and arrived back together. The news was good and bad. Akulov had scouted the furthest, and there was no way they could go anywhere, not with enemy soldiers searching for them.

  “You know what this means?” Cruz grunted, “Before we can leave, we have to wait it out here until the search moves away. Then we’ll head to the coast.”

  He thought he was hearing things. “The coast?”

  “That’s right. When they’ve gone, we’ll wait for nightfall before we slip away. I reckon we have a good chance of getting out.”

  “What about the MIAs?”

  He looked puzzled. “MIAs? Sergeant Heller, this mission is a bust. Sooner or later, they’ll send in more men to look around, and when they know where they are, they can work out a plan to get them out. In the meantime, we must take care of ourselves. The best thing you can do is rest, so you’re recovered when we make a move.”

  “I found it.” Every head jerked toward Akulov.

  Cruz looked stunned. “Excuse me?”

  “I said I found it. The camp. I couldn’t get close, but I know it’s there.”

  “How do you know?”

  A shrug. “The usual. About two klicks away, I found boot prints, evidence of activity along the paths.”

  “Private Akulov, it’s just more evidence of North Vietnamese soldiers, not American prisoners.”

  “American boot prints.”

  He shot him a withering look. “What does that mean? We know they steal everything, and that includes our boots.”

  “I know what I saw.”

  “You saw nothing. All of you, get some rest. If they’ve moved away by nightfall, we’re leaving. Ripley, take the first watch.”

  They went quiet. McGuigan and Lynch wore satisfied looks. Collins gave an eager nod, happy to be getting out. Ripley didn’t look happy to be getting out. He shook his head and walked away to watch for signs of the enemy. Heller’s thoughts were in turmoil. They’d taken a beating, sure, and they were down. But not out. They had the tools they needed to carry on, guns and ammunition. All they lacked, in some cases, was the will to carry on.

  He lay there thinking about things, and he didn’t like much of what he was thinking. He believed Akulov. He was a man who rarely made mistakes. They were there, and they were close. What was it he said, about two klicks? After everything they’d done, the obstacles they’d overcome, all the blood they’d shed, they were almost there. He still hadn’t recovered, and he drifted into a deep sleep. This time it was different. There were no nightmares. It was as if the episode with Vien had been some kind of catharsis. Perhaps it was something he needed to get out of his system. Her, too, perhaps, although how could any man understand what was in the mind of a female? Especially a married woman who’d made such a huge thing about getting her husband back and risked everything to do just that.

  A couple of hours later, Collins took over from Ripley and crouched down close to Heller. Saying nothing, keeping his thoughts to himself. He removed a strip of jerky from his pack and munched on it, looking lost in some kind of deep contemplation. After a while, he went through the motions of checking his weapons, the ‘borrowed’ AK-47, and something else he hadn’t noticed before. A tiny Tokarev automatic he must’ve filched from one of the corpses.

  He never said a word, and neither did Heller. It was as if a dark pall had descended, the kind that grips men when they’ve given up something they’ve tried desperately hard to achieve. He knew exactly how he felt. Vien fussed around him, rummaging in his pack for the remainder of his C rations. She found canned spaghetti and chocolate. He wasn’t hungry, but he wolfed down the food, knowing he’d need the calories inside him if he was going to keep going. Going where he hadn’t decided.