* * *

  Early that evening, Colonel Franklin D. Monaghan summoned the Recon Team back to the briefing room. The reason a man like Monaghan had been chosen to put the mission together soon became apparent. It was a hot potato with the potential for disaster if it all went wrong. Riven by political and military differences between MACV and the Saigon government. They’d chosen Monaghan, an officer who was disposable, to carry the can if everything went south. An officer who would be no loss if it failed and resulted in a full-blown inquiry.

  The map was still pinned to the wall, with the location of the previously unknown missile batteries marked. He delivered the briefing in bored tones as if he had much better things to do, better places to go. He spoke for a few minutes, reminded them where they were going, and what they were looking for. When he was done, he handed over to his sergeant clerk to fill in the details.

  They’d fly from Tan Son Nhut, and an aircraft was already on standby, waiting to take off. They’d fly to Dong Ha and transfer to a U.S. Navy aircraft, a Grumman C-1 Trader. The Grumman would take them out to a carrier in the South China Sea, the U.S.S. Forrestal. The carrier would steam north on a regular and routine patrol that wouldn’t alert the North Vietnamese. When they were twenty klicks offshore, as close as the Forrestal dare sail, they’d board an inflatable dinghy and steer toward the coastline a few klicks south of Haiphong.

  From there, they’d hike inland to the target. Monaghan, who’d been slumped in a chair at the side of the rostrum, took over before the man had finished. He stifled a yawn before he started to speak. “I think that covers everything, so good luck.”

  He started to turn away when the Sergeant coughed. “Sir, there’s something else. What about the ARVN officer assigned to go with them?”

  “Oh, yeah, I forgot. He’s a Ranger, Major Nguyen Dao. You’ll meet him at Dong Ha.”

  The Sergeant murmured in his ear, and he nodded. “Oh, yeah. We’re supplying you with signal flares and smoke grenades. There’ll be aircraft overhead at all times, and in the event you run into trouble, you use green to mark a target and white to signal when you need extraction.”

  Once again, the Sergeant murmured something, and Monaghan chuckled. “I got it wrong. That’s white to mark a target, and green to signal when you need extraction. I think that about covers it. I have to go, I’m needed elsewhere.”

  Heller didn’t say it, although he thought the same as what he believed most were thinking.

  Probably a poker game and a few drinks with his buddies. War? What war?

  They left the briefing, grabbed their gear, and strolled out to the stand. It was getting dark, and rain had started to fall. Correction, the sky had opened up, and so much rain hammered on the tarmac that in places it was like a river flowing past. An Air Force NCO pointed to a Fairchild Provider bearing the markings of the Republic of Vietnam Air Force waiting several hundred meters away. They walked through the hammering rain and climbed into the cabin. The pilot and co-pilot were seated in the cockpit. The pilot turned to wave a greeting. The co-pilot ignored them.

  A crewmember closed the door, the engine started, and without so much as an announcement, something like ‘Fasten your seat belts,’ the engines started with a roar. Minutes later, they taxied across the tarmac, reached the strip, the engines went to full power, and they climbed steeply away from the ground. No pilot enjoyed a gentle takeoff. Not with the possible presence of Vietcong and NVA lying in wait with something nasty to bring them back down with a bump hard enough to make a large crater in the ground. Something like an RPG-7 rocket.

  The hours passed as they droned north through the night. The cabin was noisy enough to make conversation difficult, more of a shouting match, and they did what soldiers do when they have downtime. They tried to sleep, or at least doze. Cruz didn’t try to sleep. It was as if the prospect of going into action had lit his fuse. Talking about how they’d ‘Give those fucking gooks a nasty surprise.’ Heller ignored him, pretended to sleep, and finally did manage to grab an hour's shuteye before they began the descent into Dong Ha.

  For a change, the place wasn’t under fire, and the landing was uneventful. The Provider rolled to a stop less than one hundred meters from another aircraft, a sturdy, high-wing, twin-turboprop, U.S. Navy Grumman C-1 Trader waiting to convey them to the carrier. They hustled them across to the waiting aircraft and through the door of the ‘Guppy’ shaped cabin. The interior was in darkness, and Cruz shouted at a crewman to put some light on so they could find somewhere to sit.

  The reply he got was, “Not a good idea, pal.”

  “What the…”

  That was as far as the Lieutenant got before the first of the incoming shells landed, and they didn’t need any interior lighting. Exploding ordnance lit up the base and the interior of the aircraft. The ground shook so badly the aircraft rocked as each shell landed. The engines screamed to full power, and the Trader took off. The pilot didn’t taxi to the main runway. He just built up to full power, raced across the stand, over the packed earth, and bumped onto the tarmac. Almost before they’d built up to take off speed, he yanked the column back, and they zoomed into the sky. The angle was so steep they had to grab for handholds to stop themselves from being hurled to the rear of the cabin.

  Fifty feet off the ground, amidst the racket of the screaming engines, the vibration of the aluminum fuselage and the continuous explosions, they heard the crewman mutter, “What was that about turning the fucking lights on? Fucking lunatic.”

  They strapped themselves in, and as the aircraft climbed higher, the guy made his way through the cabin and stared at the Lieutenant.

  “Was that enough light for you?”

  He didn’t answer, just sat in sullen silence. The crewman grinned and made his way toward the cockpit. Cruz didn’t speak for the rest of the long and boring journey over the sea. At last, the aircraft started to descend, and the crewman re-entered the cabin.

  “Fasten your seat belts, ladies.”

  Already done, the announcement was unnecessary. It’d been a bumpy ride, the shelling of Dong Ha was fresh in their minds, and they were inclined to play safe.

  “We’ll be landing in a few minutes. Any of you ever landed on a carrier?” They all answered in the negative, “In that case, you’re in for an interesting experience. If you look under the seats, you’ll likely find life jackets. If we overshoot, you’ll need them.”

  Jokes like that we could do without.

  “Do you overshoot often?” Cruz asked him.

  “It happens.”

  The aircraft slammed onto the deck with a jarring bump, and after a short run came to an abrupt halt when the arrester wire caught in the hook. The engines started to die. The pilot, in U.S. Navy uniform, left the cockpit and entered the cabin, followed by the co-pilot. It wasn’t a man. Nguyen Anh Vien smiled when she noticed the surprise on their faces. “I hope you had a good flight.” She turned to the Navy man. “Thanks for letting me fly this thing. It was interesting.”

  He grinned. “You’re more than welcome, Vien. And thanks for… you know.”

  “Any time.”

  She pushed past them and walked down the steps onto the flight deck. Heller overtook Cruz and went after her. “Ma’am, I don’t know what you think you’re doing here, but if it is what I think it is, you can forget it.”

  She didn’t look at him. A Vietnamese soldier wearing the uniform of the ARVN Rangers stepped forward to greet her, but not in the way they would’ve expected. He put his arms around her shoulders and gave her a swift hug, followed by a kiss on the cheek. He said something in Vietnamese, let go of her, and regarded Heller. Gave him an easy smile. “You’re Lieutenant Cruz? I am Major Nguyen Dao.”

  He bristled with energy and enthusiasm, a rare quality inside the ARVN. He was short, like most Vietnamese, compact and good-looking. It looked like the man inside the uniform took care of himself and kept fighting fit. Again, rare inside the ARVN, where officers were often more concerned with looting the pay of enlisted men or selling military supplies to the highest bidder. Dao looked different. A promising start.

  Heller shook his head. “That’s Cruz.”

  The two officers shook hands. Dao told them time was tight. Shortly, the Navy planned to launch a raid on Haiphong to cover their approach to the coast. He grinned.

  “But we do have time for coffee. It’s been a rush, but as you know, they could transfer the prisoners at any time, so we need to reach them as fast as possible.” He pointed to a door at the side of the island, the vast nerve center of the ship alongside the flight deck, “That’s where we’re going.” He looked at the girl. “Vien, it’s good to see you again.”

  He gave them a suspicious look. “You two know each other?”

  She smiled. “Dao is my brother.”

  Fuck. This is getting more complicated by the minute.

  They reached a spacious canteen. A few sailors were seated at the tables. They’d be enjoying a break from their regular duties. The U.S.S. Forrestal was on a war footing, and that meant their duty stations would be manned around the clock. They seated themselves at a vacant table, and Dao fetched a tray of coffees. Took a chair and started to speak. “About the mission…”

  He didn’t get any further before Heller interrupted. “She doesn’t come with us. There’s no way. Categorically no.”

  Dao raised his eyebrows, looked at Heller’s stripes and looked at Cruz. “I thought you were the man who gave the orders. Is it normal in the United States Army for officers to take orders from NCOs?”

  Demeaning his rank was exactly the right thing to say to get him riled. “No, it’s not normal. Sergeant Heller, I say who goes with us, not you.” He looked at Vien. No surprise there, most men looked at her twice. She was an attractive girl, and despite her shapeless Republic of Vietnam Air Force flight suit, she managed to show off her feminine curves in all the right places. She still carried with her the odor of expensive, French perfume, another magnet to turn a man’s head. “Ma’am, why did you come along, what were you planning?”

  She flashed him a beaming smile, enough to make him go weak at the knees. “I can be useful. A woman can often go where a man cannot go without arousing suspicion.”

  Before anyone pointed out the flight suit would be a dead giveaway, she unzipped and stepped out of it, revealing simple peasant clothing, yet cut to flatter her figure.

  Cruz blinked and nodded. “That’s good enough for me.”

  Dao interrupted and informed them that in ten minutes they’d push off in an inflatable boat. Under cover of the raid, they’d make landfall south of Haiphong and head inland toward the target. He confirmed they had everything they needed, especially the white and green flares and the emergency locator beacon.

  “If we find them, we send up the green flare, and that’s the call for the helicopters to get us out. They’ll send an escort of as many fighters as they can put into the sky, and they’ll have fighter-bombers on station, loaded with ordnance, waiting and watching for the white and green flares.” He smiled, “If we run into more than we can handle, we just fire a flare over the enemy location, and they’ll be on them in minutes. That’s all, gentlemen. I believe our transport is waiting for us, so I suggest we get aboard.”

  They went outside to a scene of total chaos on the flight deck. Engines roared, and they waited for two Grumman E2A Hawkeyes to take off. They crossed to the ladder and descended to the waiting boat. Behind them, aircraft continually took off. F-4 Phantoms, Douglas A-4 Skyhawks, and a squadron of bombers, Grumman A-6 Intruders. At the other end of the flight deck, a rescue helicopter hovered overhead, in case an aircraft ditched. More helicopters waited on the deck, prepared to rush to collect them and the freed prisoners. Should they find them and should any of them survive.

  They climbed into the boat, Dao started the silenced outboard engine, and they cast off. He pointed the bow west toward the shore of North Vietnam. Overhead, more aircraft were taking off, and it seemed like the U.S. Navy had called in every available resource on the South China Sea.

  “The fuckers are in for a pasting,” McGuigan growled, “I hope they blow their gook heads off.”

  If Vien or Dao heard, they gave no indication. Probably they were used to it. Those kinds of comments were nothing new in South Vietnam. Maybe it was too much to expect soldiers who were shedding blood in the fight against the Communists to not feel bad about people who looked the same and spoke the same language. The outboard motor purred smoothly, pushing them through the waves toward their intended landfall. They’d estimated it would take around two hours, so they’d come ashore around 03.00 when it was still dark.

  They were halfway through their journey when distant explosions lit up the sky. Haiphong lay fifteen klicks to the northwest, and the bombers were giving the defenders a hard time. Flames dispelled the darkness, soaring high into the sky. Too high for exploding ordnance, so they must’ve hit oil tanks. McGuigan chuckled, probably enjoying the thought of roasted gook. The rest of them were silent. They were the enemy, but they were also men. There were good ways to die and bad ways to die. Consumed by burning oil was not a good way to die.

  Just before they hit the beach, Dao spoke abruptly.

  “Something I should mention. I was brought up in the Haiphong region. After the split between North and South, my parents fled to the South, but I opted to remain in the hope that things would be much better under the Communists. After a short time, I realized I was wrong and I made it to the South, but I still know people in the region who may be prepared to help if we get into trouble.”

  “That’s good to know,” Cruz murmured.

  A few minutes later, the boat touched the shore. They jumped onto the sandy beach, deflated the dinghy, and buried it. Dao assured them he was familiar with the area, and he led them inshore, heading toward a dark patch of jungle where they started along a narrow path. Heller caught up with him, and before they’d gone more than a few meters, Vien joined them.

  The path ended. They left the shelter of the jungle and moved into open ground. The sky was clear, and moonlight made it possible for him to see her. What he saw made him feel uneasy. They were a couple of meters behind Dao, and she kept looking at him, darting intense glances in his direction. He asked her if there was something she wanted, and she shook her head. “Nothing. At least, not now.”

  He wasn’t sure what she meant. If she meant it the way he’d imagined, he preferred not to think about it. She kept her gaze fixed on him, and when she saw he’d noticed, she licked her lips. At any other time in any other place, he’d have considered it a come-on. But not here, not now. Not after she’d pushed hard for the operation to rescue her husband. She must’ve loved him a great deal to risk her life enough to insert herself into the mission. So what was she after? Maybe he’d got the wrong signals, and he cautioned himself to watch his back. It could be she blamed him in some strange way for the abduction of Quan. Women could be difficult to understand.

  They continued walking, re-entering a patch of thick jungle, and Dao held up his hand for them to stop. They were about half a klick from the shore, and he guessed the guy wasn’t sure about the route. Seconds later, he discovered there was no problem with the direction. The problem was something entirely different, in the shape of a concrete bunker situated on a low hill. There was no sign they’d spotted them. If so, they’d have switched on the powerful searchlight mounted next to the structure on a rusting tripod stand. Switched it on and pinpointed them like rabbits caught in the headlamps.

  Dao dropped to one knee and signaled them to do the same.

  “I hadn’t expected this. The bunker would’ve been constructed by the French and abandoned when they left. It looks like they’ve put it back into use. The path goes right past it, and there’s no way around it, not without making a long detour, and we don’t have time. The problem is, there’s open ground on the other side, and if soldiers happen to be outside when we go past, they’re sure to see us.”

  Cruz had come up with them, his eyes bright with energy and determination. “We’ll deal with them. Heller, take Ripley and Akulov. Work your way behind it and wait for the action to start. I’ll sneak forward with Collins and Lynch and toss grenades through the vision slot. If any of them survive, you know what to do. Blast them.”

  Dao sucked in his breath. “Lieutenant, if we take out the bunker, they’ll know we’re here. Perhaps it would be better to find another way.”

  “Not gonna happen. We can’t spare the time. While we’re finding another way, they could move those prisoners, which means by the time we get there, it’d be too late. It has to be this way, but we’ll tidy up afterward, so maybe they’ll think their guys just deserted. McGuigan, cover us with the machine gun. Collins, Lynch, with me. Sergeant, you know what to do.”

  Without waiting for a reply, he dropped to his knees and started to crawl. Lynch followed, after giving him a look of pure hatred. Collins brought up the rear. Heller swapped glances with Dao, and both men shrugged. It was a mistake, and they knew it. How could you tidy up a defensive position that’d been attacked with grenades and a machine gun? How could you tidy away blood and strips of human flesh?

  Cruz’s squad was already halfway. He shrugged, nodded at Ripley and Akulov to stay close, and started toward the pillbox. The jungle at the side of the path was less dense, and they made good time pushing through the thick vines while staying out of sight. A narrow game trail led past the bunker, a stroke of luck, and they were able to make good time. They emerged at the rear of the bunker and immediately pulled back into the shadows. A soldier was standing outside, framed in the low, narrow entrance, smoking a cigarette. When Cruz’s squad tossed their grenades, this guy would avoid the explosions. And go after the men who’d tossed the grenades.

  Alternatively, he could take off like a hound on a strong scent and race to the nearest garrison to sound the alarm. No way could they let it happen. They had to take him out before they tossed the grenades, and he estimated they had less than a minute before the shit hit the fan.