The trek to the new helicopter crash site had been uneventful for the MIA teams. Nothing exploded. No adders dropped. No time was wasted. They’d passed briefly through the Ban Hoong village then headed directly for the dead man’s field. Of the villagers, only headman Ar’s son Bok bothered to go with them. He followed from a safe distance with four or five jars and bottles in his arms. Two tethered beetles flew from his cap like the antenna of a nervous ant.
The teams reached the edge of a clearing that stretched before them like a lake of dark rust. It was true that very little had grown there. Plants had tried but they now poked brown and lifeless from the ground. Trees once tall and proud were now cigar butts. If the spirits of the land had really chosen this as their garden, they were truly awful gardeners. The teams crunched to the far edge of the clearing where they found the pond. It wasn’t the type of natural spring you’d dip into on a hot day. It looked polluted. There was something eerie about the whole place.
“This isn’t just a crash site,” Peach told them. She’d been talking to Sergeant Johnson. “He’s seen numerous crash sites. A lot of forest gets burned but the jungle’s a hungry place. Three months later and it’s reclaimed the burned land and hidden the evidence of the crash. By then you’d only find wreckage by accident. It’s been ten years since Boyd went down and still nothing’s been able to grow. He thinks there was something on that helicopter with the power to destroy nature completely. Not even Agent Orange would have this effect.”
The sergeant walked to the edge of the pond and spoke as if to the spirits.
“In all my years of active duty, I’ve never seen anything like it. There’s only one thing for certain. If the chopper really did come down here, whoever was flying it is in pieces so small we’ll need someone with a microscope.”
Everyone shared these feelings and nobody had a theory as to why the crater was at the edge rather than the center of the site. But there was still a strong urge to begin the search. There was a belief that they’d be able to find something to identify the helicopter. They laid out a plastic groundsheet beside the pond and by ten it was piled with shrapnel, shreds of PVC, petrol caps and wire from the surrounding jungle. There were no identifying marks but they were sure there was a workshop somewhere that would be able to recognize the materials and pinpoint the type of machine they’d come from. Technology had advanced to the stage that a single bolt might yield the make of a helicopter. They hoped. All they were missing was a pilot.
One unavoidable reality was that someone would have to get wet. The crater was the hub of the explosion and it was likely that debris had been blasted into the ground there. The pond was repulsive but, even so, Sergeant Johnson was the first to volunteer to go in. Commander Lit’s hand then shot up almost immediately. He wasn’t about to be out-volunteered by an American. And Inspector Phosy became the third member of the pond detail if only because he was bored with picking up screws. He was in a hurry to find something substantial so they could all go home. Something was niggling him about the major’s death and he wanted to take another look around at the hotel. A quick resolution to the pilot hunt would make that possible. A skull would be nice, preferably wearing a helmet with H32 written on it.
At its deepest, the pond went down four meters and was thirty across. Diving to its depths was like swimming through hair oil. The three brave divers, stripped down to their underwear, would take a breath, grovel through the mud below until their lungs hurt, then return to the surface with their spoils. Lit was by far the most competent. He could remain underwater so long, one of his dives equalled two of Phosy’s. At one point the two were resting on the bank together wrapped in blankets against the cold.
“You swim very well,” Phosy told him.
“Grew up on a river. I was the one they always sent out to catch lunch.”
“You’re from Huaphan?”
“That’s right.”
“I’m surprised we didn’t run into each other up there.”
“I spent most of my army life in Vietnam. I just returned to Xam Neua a year ago.”
“Why do you suppose Dr. Siri included your name on his list?”
“Hard to say. We’d worked together on a case up in Vieng Xai. I suppose something about me impressed him.”
“I dare say.”
They sat for a while and admired the fog bank rolling over the far ridge.
“My wife was in Vieng Xai with Dr. Siri,” Phosy said.
“I know. That’s where I met her.”
“Right. You know, I was just wondering…. She mentioned a security officer she’d met up there. Someone who’d made advances toward her.”
“She did?”
“Yes. You wouldn’t happen to know him?”
“Well, that depends.”
“It does? On what?”
“On your definition of “making advances.” If that includes a proposal of marriage, then the security officer in question would be me.”
“A proposal. Yes.”
“Then it was definitely me.”
“Good. Just wondered.”
“Right.”
Sergeant Johnson noticed a new enthusiasm in the diving after that point. Inspector Phosy seemed to have found a new lease on life and a new pair of lungs. He was spending far more time underwater and returning with much heavier chunks of wreckage. The sergeant was a good swimmer but he couldn’t match these two Lao. But at one point, neither returned to the surface. The water was far too murky to see the bottom of the pond so Johnson trod water and waited … and waited. He looked up at Rhyme who’d been taking photos of the dive. He too was concerned about the missing men. Not even river dolphins could stay under that length of time. Johnson duck-dived down to the mud. At first he found nobody but after a long frenzied search he bumped onto first one, then the other diver. They were hunched over and pulling at something large buried in the mud. He joined them. His hands found the edge of some sort of machinery, but not even his added strength was able to budge it. The three men burst to the surface gasping for air.
After a prolonged discussion over who had first laid hands on the object, the divers agreed that they should attach a rope to it and get everyone to join forces to pull it to the surface. Rhyme from
Centimeter by centimeter they heaved and their catch edged its way up the slimy embankment. At last it surfaced, a lump of machinery with no obvious markings. It soon became clear why it had been so hard to dislodge. It was held back by some sort of anchor. A steel cable was attached to the machine and seemed to pull from the other direction. The team won the first round. They had their catch on the ground in front of them but the cable still stretched back into the water. They abandoned the rope and pulled directly on the steel line which seemed to have no end. It curled around their feet as the pulling grew easier, and they issued a disappointed groan when all they found at the cable’s end was the cable’s end.
“I was rather hoping for a fish,” said Civilai.
Sergeant Johnson knelt beside the machine and explained what they’d found. He was obviously the helicopter expert in the American team.
“It’s a winch,” he told them. “It’s certainly from a helicopter. It’s normally attached just above the side hatch. It’s controlled by the flight mechanic. Originally, its main purpose was for sea rescues. They’d lower the cable with a harness on the end and pick up shipwreck survivors. But they found it worked pretty good on rescue missions in the jungle too. Picking up downed pilots in spots where there was too much vegetation to land.”
