We checked our gear, such as it was, to make sure we had nothing loose to make any noises or rattles to alert the enemy. As the light started to fade, we dipped our hands into the earth and plastered it on to disguise our faces. There was little else we could do, except wait. We were hungry, but the prospect of impending combat makes a man forget the yawning gap in his belly, and he starts to think about other things. Like his girl, his home country. His life, any life away from this green hell.

  I said goodbye to Brooke, and she wasn’t happy. I wasn’t happy, but what the hell, something had to be done.

  “Be careful with Minh. He seems okay, but you never know. Keep the Colt handy at all times.”

  “I will.”

  “And if you even suspect he’s doing something suspicious, cap him.”

  “I will.”

  We left them and started walking along the track. Twice we had to dive into the thick foliage when we heard men approaching, but both times they failed to see us, and we were able to continue. We reached the outskirts of the village, and found to our astonishment they’d relaxed their discipline, assuming the American and ARVN troops were bottled up inside Khe Sanh, and they had no fear of any attack on the ground.

  Due to the constant danger of air attack, men and women moved around holding tiny kerosene lanterns, and the mood appeared almost festive. We had a problem. People. Too many of them, and most of them uniformed soldiers. The likelihood was Phan Dung had his headquarters in the village, where he’d be protected by his own people. Getting through hundreds of soldiers to locate and kill him looked to be impossible.

  I had an idea, and I spelled it out to Massey. “We need to draw them off, and that means a diversion. I can circle the village and unload a few shots from the opposite side. On the off chance it could be the beginning of an attack, they’ll have to respond, and they’ll come running. That will give you the chance to slip inside and find him.”

  “If they find you, they’ll kill you.”

  “I’ve done this before, Ray. In the Iron Triangle, we learned to shoot and scoot. The bastards had dug themselves into tunnels at Cu Chi, and when we saw the enemy, we put them down and got out fast before they began pouring out of tunnels all around you. Don’t worry about me. Just get the bastard. Put a bullet in him so we can all go home.”

  “Home? You mean Khe Sanh?”

  “Better than this.”

  He nodded. “Okay, we’ll do it. How long do you need?”

  “As long as it takes. When you hear the shooting, you’ll know.”

  We shook hands before I left, and it was a somber moment. We didn’t need to say anything. The chances of us meeting again in this life were slim to non-existent. But a man can always hope, and besides, I didn’t intend to let the bastard kill me. Not when my girl was waiting back in the jungle. Besides, I had a job to finish. Someone had killed those two men at Khe Sanh, and I didn’t intend to let them get away with. Killing the enemy in battle was one thing. Murdering your own side was something else. I didn’t like it, in fact I hated it, the worst kind of treachery.

  At first, I made good time, following a narrow game trail through the jungle. When it was about to peter out, I had a stroke of luck and found an area scorched by an earlier napalm strike. It had destroyed the foliage and made it easier to get through. The stench of smoke and burned jungle was an acrid irritation to the nostrils, so strong it must have been that morning when the jellied gasoline enveloped the surrounding area. So strong I almost missed it.

  It was smoke. Except this was tobacco, the kind they use to make cheap cigarettes for a population too impoverished to afford anything better. In my earlier days I’d been a Marlborough man, which was probably why I hadn’t noticed it at first. This was different, a coarse odor, slightly unpleasant. They smelled like Jet, the brand of cigarettes favored by most of the indigent poor, which included the VC and many of the NVA, and the ARVN lower ranks. If I could smell the smoke, someone was there. Just ahead of me, and I dropped to the ground.

  It was dusty, covered in powdered ash after the napalm strike, and the going was easy, without having to force my way through a tangle of roots and vines. He was ahead of me, and the first inclination was the glowing tip of his cigarette. He could have been anything, a sentry, a man doing his best to avoid some unpleasant duty, or a deserter. I didn’t care. He was a Communist soldier, an enemy, and as I crawled closer, the pith helmet and the rifle on his shoulder with a banana-shaped magazine loaded were enough. I didn’t need to know more. I reversed my M-14 and held it by the muzzle. When I was close enough, I catapulted to my feet and raced forward, swinging the rifle like a baseball bat.

  At the last moment he heard my approach and started to turn, pulling the rifle off his shoulder, but he was too late, much too late. I’d aimed at a place underneath the rim of his helmet, but as he turned, he sensed the danger and arched away. The wooden butt of the M-14 landed on his neck with the force so great he dropped like a stone. I’d managed to hit him square on the carotid artery, and the stunning blow knocked him unconscious. Presenting me with a problem.

  Fighting a war meant killing the enemy, that was a fundamental principle, and had been since the dawn of man. But killing the enemy in battle was one thing. Killing them in cold blood was another. And yet if I left this man alive, it was a certainty he’d recover, and he’d race into the village and raise the alarm. Once the North Vietnamese were alerted, they’d come pouring out of the woodwork and saturate the area. They wouldn’t give up searching until they’d found us and killed us. I didn’t want to die, but I wanted even less for Brooke Austin to die. I wanted her to live, and to give her that chance. This guy had to die.

  His helmet had fallen off when I hit him and rolled away, so his head was exposed. The hair was plastered to his head with sweat and his eyes closed, so he looked asleep. I raised the rifle butt again to bring down with enough force to split his skull, so he’d die, and that’s when the grunt came from the darkness. He wasn’t alone, and I dropped to the ground and lay still. Hearing his footsteps coming toward me, and he called again. He sounded puzzled, and his next move showed he was more than puzzled. He was suspicious.

  The unmistakable action of the charging bolt on an AK-47. He had his rifle levelled, ready to fire, and I didn’t need to wonder if he had the safety on or off. This guy suspected an enemy was close, and maybe the enemy had attacked and disabled or killed his comrade. He’d be alert, ready to shoot at the first target that appeared in front of him. I needed to do something, and that something could have been putting a bullet in him. The North Vietnamese soldier wasn’t the only man with a round racked ready to fire. Except he could afford to make the noise so close to the village. I couldn’t.

  In desperation I looked around, and my eyes came to rest on the body next to me, the man I’d knocked unconscious. He had a bladed weapon hanging from his belt, a machete. Probably it served a dual purpose, to hack through thick jungle or through enemy soldiers. Perfect, I needed to hack through an enemy soldier. Just not the one they’d intended it for. I reached out and slowly, quietly, eased the machete from its sheath.

  The blade was dulled, so reflection wouldn’t be a problem, and I eased myself over the unconscious soldier and lay flat on the ground. I was in deep shadow and confident he wouldn’t spot me when he arrived. Several seconds later he was there, taking one step at a time, peering round suspiciously, and then his eyes fell on the body of the soldier. I was more than lucky. Despite the gloom, he should have seen me, but since I’d just crawled through the dust and ash left over after the napalm strike, I had become like the shadows. The same texture, the same color, and he didn’t even look in my direction.

  Instead, he grunted something, straddled the body of his comrade, shouldered his rifle and reached down with both hands to lift him to his feet. Suddenly, I was presented with a target, in the shape of a man’s groin. His most vulnerable place, and in my hand, I held the right weapon to do the most damage. I laid my rifle on the ground, and the slight noise made him jerk his head around. Too late, I grasped the hilt of the machete in both hands, thrust it forward between his legs, and brought it up in a surging blow. I hit him so hard the blade bit deep and traveled several inches through his groin, splitting the lower part of his body apart.

  He opened his mouth to scream, dropped his hands to the terrible wound, and gasped in air, all in the same moment. I snatched out the machete and swung it. This time my target was his neck, and with his hands down low to favor the terrible wound in his groin, he was unable to protect himself. The blade chopped into his larynx, chewed halfway through his neck, and he started to choke. He fell, and I brought the machete down for a final blow, slicing through his skull into the brain. He died almost without making a sound.

  I was almost done, and I finished off the unconscious soldier with the machete by chopping part way through his neck to cut off his air supply. I rolled the two bodies into the nearest patch of unburned foliage. Breathing deeply, I shouldered my rifle and kept on walking. Stunned by the sheer animal viciousness of the attack I’d perpetrated on those two men. I had no choice, they had to go down, but there’s a difference in shooting a man at a distance and chopping him to death with a heavy machete. Some say it arouses the basest human instinct to kill, the dark force rumored to look inside us all. I said different. After the first few steps, I knelt on the ground and vomited everything I’d eaten that day.

  After several minutes, I recovered enough and continued circling around the village, until I got to the other side. Men were still milling around, uniformed NVA soldiers, and I took aim, switched to full auto and emptied the magazine into their midst. A moment to slam in a fresh magazine, and I followed up the first burst. They were running for cover, the wounded screaming for help, others shouting orders, shouting warnings, and it was enough. I reloaded again and retreated to circle back the way I’d come, just in time. They were fast, and a squad of soldiers came pouring out of the village and began beating the jungle, searching for the enemy.

  I’d done what I came there to do, and I circled back. When I passed the two bodies of the men I’d killed on the way in, I paused for a moment, thinking of the callous brutality of war. All I could do was console myself with the thought that if I’d done anything else, more people would die, so I’d had no choice. It didn't make me feel any better, and the acid in my guts reminded me this was warfare in its most primitive form, little different from when man had emerged from the caves to club an enemy to death, most often to steal scarce food.

  I made it back to the jump off point where I’d left Massey and settled down in a patch of shadow to wait. It was a long wait, and I estimated he’d been gone almost four hours. Much longer and it would start to get light, and we'd all be in deep shit. I was still thinking about those two ruined bodies I’d left behind when I heard a rustle of bushes, and he was standing in front of me. I lowered my rifle and stared at him in astonishment. Not astonishment because I hadn't recognized him, but because of the prisoner he’d brought back with him.

  He grinned. "Mr. Yeager, say hello to our new friend. Comrade Major Phan Dung."

  He had the man by the scruff of his neck, wrists bound behind him, and his mouth gagged so he couldn't cry out. I stared at him for long moments, scarcely able to believe what I was seeing. Not that I doubted who he was, for he betrayed himself with his gaze. The feral gaze of a wild beast, a man who believed his sole mission on earth was to kill. To kill again and to keep on killing.

  "Tell me this isn’t happening."

  He chuckled. "Change of plan. I decided we'd be better off bringing him back with us. He must have a lot of information in his head, and that's information our people can use to beat these bastards."

  I shook my head. "We'll never get him back."

  "We will. Unless we run into the enemy, in which case I won't have any choice but to put a bullet in his head. But don't worry, we’ll make it. It’ll give them something to think about when we get back to Khe Sanh."

  "You're mad. You should have slit his throat so we could just go home."

  "No, I think this is the better way. We have an idea what they're planning, their order of battle, and intended targets. He should be able to fill in the gaps so we can hit them before they know what's happening."

  I still found it hard to believe, but I told him it was time to get back and head away from this place.

  “When they realize he's gone, they'll be after us with everything they have. They could blanket the area with troops, send in a North Vietnamese brigade to get him back."

  "Don't worry about it. It’s time to get moving."

  He pushed the prisoner before him, and when he stumbled, Massey kicked him back to his feet, convinced he was trying to slow us up. Maybe he was right, but still it was ugly. Somehow this war had descended into something even deeper and darker. Brutality didn't even begin to describe it.

  We reached the huge tree with the overhanging branches where we’d left Brooke guarding Minh, and I pushed inside the outer foliage. "It’s okay. We’re back."

  There was no reply. "Brooke, where are you?"

  The silence mocked me. I looked everywhere and they’d gone, with no explanation for the reason why. There was no sign of a scuffle, nothing to indicate the NVA had found them. Except for two expended cartridge cases on the ground, .45 caliber. All I knew was that the one person who had made all this horror seem worthwhile, at least in part, had disappeared. She’d gone. All she’d left behind for me to remember her by were those two chunks of brass. I picked them up and put them in my pocket. As keepsakes went, they weren’t much.

  Chapter Eight

  An hour before, Captain Le Linh had called a halt. He’d had enough of stumbling around the outskirts of Khe Sanh, encountering napalm strikes, enemy gunfire, all for no reason. He was a soldier, determined to prove his worth to convince the leadership he’d left his bourgeois routes behind, and he longed for combat to show them what he was worth. They’d sent him to join the attack on the American hilltop position, but his tiny group of men had little to offer, and besides, they now had a wounded man to carry with them.

  “Comrade Captain, we should leave him behind.”

  He knew what Vo was thinking, and maybe he had a point. Although he suspected the Lieutenant wanted to abandon him so he’d be able to run faster should they hit any trouble. Then again, burdened with the wounded man, they were hardly an effective fighting force to go looking for trouble. But what kind of a fighting force was a company with six able-bodied men, two officers, one was convinced was a coward, and a wounded soldier. His command had become a pitiful joke, and besides, he was increasingly worried about Private Dao.

  “He needs help, and our priority is to get him that help. We know our troops have taken the village of Lang Vei, so we’ll take him in for medical attention, and I will request further orders.”

  He could see Vo thinking, and it wasn’t hard to work out what he was thinking. There were no enemies at Lang Vei, only friendly troops, so he wouldn’t have to worry about stopping any bullets.

  “That sounds like a good idea, Captain. Private Dao deserves the best treatment we can get him. I’ll get the men moving again.”

  “Do it. And tell them to be gentle with Dao. He is very bad.”

  “Of course, of course.”

  They shouldered the burden and started walking toward the village. Le Linh insisted they stay off the main track. The last thing he wanted was to run into enemy troops who could deplete his tiny force even more, so they followed a game trail which ran parallel to the main track. They walked for almost an hour when he told Vo to call a halt.

  “We’ll rest here.” He pointed to the huge, ancient tree, its thick branches drooping down to the ground, “In there, it’s good cover and we’ll be out of sight. Tell the men to take fifteen minutes and then we continue.”

  * * *

  Massey wanted to move on, but I insisted we waited beneath that tree. I don’t know what was on my mind. Did I think she was coming back, and if we went away, we’d missed them? Or did I think Minh had somehow attacked her while her guard was down, and he’d grabbed the weapon from her to turn the tables. Which would mean everything he said was bullshit, and he was running back to his Commie pals. Which meant…

  “Lang Vei.”

  Massey gave me a peculiar look. “Excuse me?”

  “If they’ve taken her, that’s where they’ll have gone. Lang Vei. We have to go back.”

  He gave me a dour look. “Yeager, in case you’ve forgotten, we got what we came here for.” He nodded in the direction of Phan, “We need to get this guy back to Khe Sanh, so we can start working on him. He’ll have plenty to tell them.”

  The Viet’s eyes bulged, and he shook his head, gurgling through the gag. There was no need to translate, this was a guy determined to stay silent. His problem was the men who interrogated him would be just as determined he talked. Probably a lot more determined. That was the way men felt when several thousand hostiles had come down from the North to kill you.

  I was also determined. “You want to take him back, knock yourself out. Brooke is missing, and the most likely explanation is they’ve taken her to Lang Vei. I’m going to get her out.”

  “Jesus Christ, I’ve got Phan out, and now you’re talking about going back? Does the word ‘suicide’ mean anything to you? How about I kill you now and save the commies the trouble?”

  “I’m going back. I’m not leaving her.”

  “You’ll never make it, even if she’s still alive, which is doubtful.”

  It burned through my head, the sheer conviction she was alive. I knew it, beyond any doubt. “I’ll make it.”

  He paused, and I could see he was thinking hard. But when he looked at me, it was with a deal of sadness. “Listen, Yeager, this guy is vital, and what he knows could tip the balance here at Khe Sanh. He’s ten times, one hundred times more valuable than your girlfriend.”