“Cover me, I’ll go get him. Ripley, take care of my rifle.”

  He pulled out his knife and moved fast, snaking across the ground, careful not to make any noise. This had to be done quickly, cleanly and silently. If the men inside got wind of an attack, the searchlight would power on, sweep the ground in front of the bunker, and pick up Cruz and the other two men. They’d be dead meat.

  He crawled on. The soldier was relaxed, enjoying his cigarette. He inhaled, causing the tip to glow brightly, and that would reduce his night vision.

  He knew he was out of time, and he took a chance. Rose to his feet and raced forward, knife held ready to strike. He almost made it, until his boot touched a loose stone and sent it skittering away into the darkness. The soldier whirled, spotted the dark shape hurtling toward him, and brought up his AK-47. Too slow to get off a shot, but not too slow to shout a warning. He screamed to the men inside the bunker just as Heller reached him and plunged the knife deep into his chest. Despite the mortal wound, he struggled hard and managed to push his hand away so he could scream again. What came out wasn’t a scream of warning. This was a scream of fear and agony.

  He wrenched his rifle away, just in case his victim got a chance to try again. He didn’t try again. The scream faded as fast as the lifeblood gushed from the terrible wound in his chest. Heller turned his attention to the men inside the bunker. Now they knew something was up, and in the next second or two they’d switch on that searchlight and start blasting. When they’d machine-gunned Cruz and the others, they’d rush outside to find out what’d happened to their guy.

  He’d left his assault rifle with Ripley, so it didn’t rattle and make a noise as he crawled toward the bunker. His armaments consisted of a combat knife, the blade wet with blood, and his Colt automatic, as well as two grenades clipped to his webbing. He was reaching for the first grenade when a man appeared in the doorway, aimed his rifle and fell backward, thrown back by the two bullets he pumped into him. He snatched out the pin, tossed a grenade inside, and three seconds later it detonated.

  He rushed into the bunker to make sure he’d got them all. He discovered two soldiers, one dead, the other squirming in agony, his belly ripped apart by shards of hot metal. He was aiming at his head to finish him when a small, dark object sailed through the vision slot. Followed by another, and another.

  Grenades! Fucking Cruz!

  He’d have heard the shots, heard the grenade he’d thrown, and ignored the likelihood he would’ve rushed in after the grenade detonated to finish off survivors. The motherfucker had gone ahead with the attack. Three grenades were about to explode. It was time to get out of Dodge. He dived through the open rear doorway and flattened himself on the ground a split second before three massive explosions erupted inside.

  He didn’t escape unscathed. Hot metal and chunks of stone that’d broken away from the crumbling French structure flew every which way. He was cut in a dozen places by flying debris and saw stars when a large chunk of stone smashed into his helmet. He attempted to get to his feet, swayed, felt dizzy, and fell. He looked up at the sky, trying to work out why his arms and legs didn’t work like they should when he passed out.

  It was just for a few seconds. He awoke with Tom Ripley staring down at him. Tried and failed to get back to his feet. “What the fuck!”

  “Sarge, you had a serious blow on the head. I’d stay down for a few minutes if I were you.”

  It was good advice. “Yeah, I think I will. What’s happening, Where’re the others?”

  “They’re coming up now. The stupid bastard, he should’ve known.”

  He didn’t need to say who he meant. Cruz was supposed to have plenty of battle experience in Vietnam. He should’ve realized what was happening, but instead he’d pressed on with his attack. Didn’t he understand that one of the three men he’d sent to cover the rear of the bunker, Heller, Ripley, or Akulov, must’ve tossed that grenade? Didn’t he understand someone would’ve gone in behind it to mop up?

  It was done, over. No need to make a big deal out of it. “It was a mistake, is all. Shit happens.”

  Ripley grimaced. “There’re times when shit shouldn’t happen.”

  Cruz arrived and looked down at Heller. “What’s going on, Sergeant? Are you injured?”

  He told him what’d happened, and he’d be okay in a few minutes. The Lieutenant scowled.

  “This is no time to take a rest. We have to move on.”

  Chapter Three

  They tidied up as best they could and dragged the bodies away. Cruz ordered them to hide them where they wouldn’t be easily found. They looked at each other and made no comment, but they’d find them within minutes. They did the best they could, but when the next squad came on duty, it would take them a matter of minutes to work out what’d happened.

  When they were done, Dao led them further inland. They walked for three klicks until they reached an abandoned hooch. It was almost daylight, and they had to hide through the hours of daylight. The Communists ruled North Vietnam and that meant every civilian, every peasant, every merchant, every living soul was a potential enemy.

  His head was still ringing, and he was glad to slump down inside the squalid, rotting structure. He wouldn’t admit it, but he’d felt dizzy ever since the blast. At times his legs felt rubbery, close to collapsing. At least holing up for the day would give him a chance to get over it. Ripley understood and had stayed with him during the walk, carrying his pack and his rifle to lighten his load.

  McGuigan took the first watch while they settled down to rest, trying to ignore the insects scuttling around the musty interior of the hooch. Heller must’ve fallen asleep, for he awoke suddenly, his head feeling like it was on fire. He’d removed his helmet, but he pulled it back on. McGuigan had heard something. Without waiting for Cruz to acknowledge, he was out the door and racing toward the nearby track that led to a village Dao had told them was around one klick further inland.

  It didn’t take long to spot the source of the sound McGuigan had heard, and he raced back. “We got trouble. Soldiers. My guess is they discovered the bunker, and they could be searching the surrounding area, including every village. They’ll find this place in no time.”

  Cruz nodded. “I concur. Time to head out. We’ll have to chance moving in daylight. Dao, what do you suggest?”

  “There’s a river about two klicks south. There used to be an old fisherman’s hut on the bank, we could shelter in there.”

  “They won’t search it?”

  “I doubt they’d bother. It’s not much, just the remains of a few bamboos, vines, and palm leaves.”

  “Good. On your feet men, time to move out.”

  Heller got to his feet and swayed for several seconds while he corrected his balance. He took his rifle and pack from Ripley and told him he’d be okay. They left the hooch and started walking, giving the village a wide berth. Two hours later they reached the river, and Heller estimated they’d hiked around five klicks. It wasn’t a difficult calculation. He’d counted every step and extrapolated the number to work out the distance.

  They walked along the bank until they found the hut, and Dao apologized. “I’m sorry, it’s a long time since I was here. It’s much worse than before.”

  The hooch they’d vacated earlier was like a palace compared to the dilapidated structure. The roof had vanished completely, leaving the thick bamboo uprights. Most of the foliage had disappeared, and all that remained were a few dried branches and shriveled leaves. It would’ve been a problem, except that fresh foliage had grown up around the structure like a camouflage, making it all but invisible from even a short distance away.

  They slumped down and tried to get some rest. After sweeping away numerous insects, Lynch discovered a poisonous snake he delighted in decapitating with a lightning blow from his knife. Cruz looked beat, like all the starch had gone out of him. As if he’d had second thoughts about what they were up against and decided it was too much of a stretch. Before he settled down to rest, Heller checked out the surroundings. The hut was positioned on the bank of a river about fifteen meters wide. A river they’d have to cross to reach the target. A river Dao told them was too deep to wade across, so they’d have to find a bridge or a boat.

  “The bridges will likely be guarded, so that means we’ll have to steal a boat. As soon as it gets dark, I’ll go looking for one.”

  Heller was only half listening. Vien had seated herself next to him and slipped an arm around his waist. He tried to ease her away, but she was having none of it, and for whatever reason stayed close to him. It wasn’t all bad. He felt the warmth of her body, the fragrance of her perfume, and in this hideous place, in the middle of enemy territory, he could almost have begun to feel aroused. Except he didn’t. His head still rang, he felt like shit, and besides, he found her behavior odd. Couldn’t work it out.

  They waited out the day. In the afternoon, they had a scare. Vien was chatting away, trying to reassure them this would work out. They didn’t need reassurance. They needed to locate the camp holding Quan and the MIAs, assuming it was in the vicinity of those missile launchers. Kill any enemy they encountered and get the freed prisoners back to the shore, where they’d signal the Forrestal to send helicopters to get them out. That was all any of them needed to know. Go in fast, get out even faster. This was a mission into North Vietnam, and no amount of reassurances from Vien would make them feel any easier.

  As he rested, trying to ease the ringing in his head, he noticed something peculiar. Cruz and Lynch spent a lot of time talking. Sometimes it sounded more like arguing. They stayed apart from the others, frequently glancing around as if to make sure nobody was listening. As if anybody would give a shit about what they had to say, but it was strange. Lynch made no secret of his hatred for officers. What was going on?

  Akulov, with his hunter’s finely tuned hearing, heard it first. “Something coming. I can hear an engine.”

  Cruz sprung to his feet like the rest had recovered his old fire. Heller stood and parted the foliage surrounding the hut. He saw nothing. How could there be anything, there was no track nearby, no way a vehicle could be heading their way. It proved to be something else, not a vehicle. The noise got louder. A boat, and when the vessel hove into view, they saw the noise came from an outboard motor affixed to the rear of the boat. More of a large dinghy they’d pressed into service as a patrol boat. The vessel carried a half-dozen soldiers.

  “What’s the deal?” McGuigan grunted, “You want me to take ‘em?” He had the M-60 pointed toward the boat, concealed behind thick foliage, and he looked mighty anxious to squeeze the trigger and rip the Viets apart.

  Cruz opened his mouth to speak, but Heller got there first. “We do nothing, Private. Nothing! Let them go past and pray they don’t see us.”

  The Lieutenant glared at him for giving the order, but he said nothing. They waited until it was out of sight and relaxed. They hadn’t spotted them, and as soon as the light faded, Dao told them he’d go looking for a boat they could use to cross. Before he left, Cruz joined him. “I’m going with you. Lynch, you, too.”

  He paused for just enough time to irritate the Lieutenant, shrugged, and followed. Akulov kept watching the river, and Collins watched the landward side. An hour elapsed, and they weren’t back. Heller disentangled himself from Vien. Went to Collins first. “Anything?”

  “Negative,” he murmured, “Quiet as the grave.”

  Not the best way to put it, but he got the message. He joined Akulov, who shook his head. “Nothing.”

  He went back inside the hut and discovered Vien had disappeared. Ripley told him she’d gone to a place on the riverbank about ten meters away, where she could freshen up. They waited in silence. Eventually, Ripley murmured, “Do you trust them, Sarge?”

  At first, he wasn’t sure who he meant. The Viets, Dao and Vien? Cruz and Lynch, lately spending much time conversing in whispers? Or Private McGuigan, a man for whom the term ‘loose cannon’ seemed to have been invented.

  He thought about it for several seconds. “Ripley, you’ve been in Vietnam long enough to know your way around. What’s the first rule of survival?”

  He nodded. “Trust nobody.”

  “Right. Except when the bullets start to fly, that’s when you get to know who’s your enemy and who’s your friend. Even then you can still make a mistake.”

  “Damn right.”

  Vien returned in a hurry, looking flustered. She told them she’d heard men pushing through the bushes, about two hundred meters away. He looked at Ripley, who nodded. “They must’ve tracked us.”

  Vien stared at him. “From the hooch?”

  “No.” He looked at Heller, who’d guessed the same thing, “From the bunker.”

  “But… but… surely we’d have heard them.”

  “We didn’t hear them, and they’re almost here. They would’ve followed at a distance, and they know the ground, so they could stay quiet. Get Collins and Akulov inside, and prepare to get out of here, fast.”

  “What about the others? Dao, Cruz, and Lynch?”

  “Nothing we can do now. We’ll try to link up with them later. Move out!”

  The hostiles were coming from the east. To the west was the river, so all they could do was head south or north. Dao and the others had trekked north, and they took off in the same direction. They could hear the enemy now, pushing through the foliage. They increased the pace and jogged along the riverbank, hoping to Christ the patrol boat didn’t reappear and put them between a rock and a hard place. After the first five hundred meters, they found a track that led inland. They followed it for several klicks, then turned back toward the riverbank.

  They’d forged ahead of the pursuit, and Akulov in the rear, told them it looked like they’d lost them. The escape had also taken them away from their intended line of march, and they saw lights in the distance, at about five klicks.

  “Haiphong docks,” Vien told them, “There’s nothing else like it, not in this vicinity. The docks are in use all night, and they only extinguish the lights when they detect an incoming raid.”

  Heller paused to work out their next move. They were heading in the wrong direction for the target location, they still had a river to cross, and they’d lost contact with Cruz, Dao, and Reggie Lynch. There was no way they could go looking for them, not with an unknown enemy in their rear.

  They didn’t have any choice. “We find a way to cross the river. Find this camp and get those people out.”

  Vien raised an eyebrow. “What about my brother and the other two men?”

  “If they have any sense, they’ll be heading in the same direction.”

  That was the question, did they have any sense? He didn’t have an answer. Dao maybe. Cruz and Lynch? Not so much. Hopefully enough. They walked along the riverbank to check out the stretch they’d bypassed when they detoured inland. After the first hour, they sighted a bridge. There was no sign of sentries, and Ripley volunteered to check it out. He didn’t argue. He felt like crap, his head still rang, and his balance was still shot to hell. Ripley was good, didn’t make a sound, and when he reached the bridge, he spent a couple of minutes peering through the darkness at the other side to satisfy himself. The bridge was clear, they were okay to cross, and he waved them forward.

  When they reached him, he told them it looked okay. “There’s no sign of sentries, no sign of hostiles. This must be one bridge they forgot.”

  “Let’s go.”

  They hadn’t forgotten. They’d almost reached the opposite side when it happened. Abruptly, a searchlight came on, bathing the bridge in bright light. At the same time, a voice shouted over a loudhailer in heavily accented but understandable English.

  “Halt! Drop your weapons and put your hands up!”

  Chapter Four

  They headed back to the fisherman’s hut, but they didn’t get far. Lynch walked into a concealed punji trap, and he was lucky. It was old, very old, and whatever poison they’d smeared on the sharpened stakes had dissipated. They pulled it out, and the wooden point had gone through his boot, piercing his foot. Instead of causing the leg to swell as the poison seeped through his body, his blood just leaked out through the hole.

  Dao pulled off the boot and inspected the wound. He tried to tell him how he’d been lucky, but Lynch ranted and raved stuff like, ‘fuck the luck.’ Dao wrapped a dressing around the wound to stem the bleeding and said they’d have to wait for the blood to dry and get the boot back on his foot before they could continue. Cruz didn’t like the idea of waiting at least an hour, maybe more. He told Lynch he’d have to manage without a boot, and they’d cut a branch to use as a crutch. He told him to go fuck himself. Said they’d have to wait. The Lieutenant scowled and started to argue, but Lynch gave him a threatening stare, and to Dao’s surprise, the officer backed off.

  “Okay, we wait.”

  Two hours later, they’d got the boot back on his foot and helped him get painfully to his feet. They were about to move on when in the distance they saw a bright light shining through the bushes from upriver. A voice was shouting into a megaphone. Although they couldn’t make out what he was saying, it wasn’t hard to work out what’d happened. Cruz murmured, “They got them.”

  “Tough shit!” Lynch grunted, “Now we can call this thing off and get back to the beach. Call in a helicopter to take us out to the carrier, so I can get medical attention for my fucking foot. Jesus, it hurts like hell.”

  Cruz looked like he was considering it. Dao looked puzzled, like he couldn’t work out how come an enlisted man was giving orders to an officer. He was worried, and it wasn’t the only thing that worried him. It looked like the enemy had captured the rest of the squad, and that included his sister, Vien.