Tiger War

the tension and uncertainty of the night. Overhead, the planes began circling the valley in a holding pattern. Bolan turned to Stressner. It was time to find out what he was bringing.

'To what do we owe the pleasure?'

'The helicopter broke down, and they can't find Russian spare parts,' Stressner announced. 'The files will have to be transmitted out.' He nodded at the container by his feet. 'I brought a Crypton.'

'A Crypton?' Bolan said.

'A high-speed key transmitter. Works like a typewriter. Codes itself.'

'That'd take hours,' said Bolan.

'Depends on how much there is to send,' said Stressner.

Bolan nodded to himself. It meant an overhaul of their strategy. Galloping Horse had been planned as a hit and destroy operation, in and out. Now they would have to provide security after capturing the hardsite to make sure the transmitting was not interrupted by the appearance of some Tiger unit returning from the bush.

Furthermore, there was the agreement with the Meo. Nothing in it stipulated they had to establish a defensive perimeter after the hardsite was captured. Montagnards were loath to do that, hit and run being their specialty. He or Nark might be able to convince them to prolong their services, but they most certainly would ask for overtime money.

'I don't suppose Control sent some extra cash, did they?' asked Bolan.

'Beg your pardon, Colonel?' said Stressner.

'Never mind.' Obviously they had not.

'We could offer them the gold at the hardsite,' suggested Nark. He had caught on immediately to what Bolan was thinking.

'They already expect the gold,' said Bolan.

'They might expect it, but nothing in the agreement we made with them stipulates they're entitled to it,' said Nark. 'I intentionally refrained from making any commitment.'

Bolan chewed on a blade of grass. It was a moot point, but it was a start. In fact, it was about the only approach he could think of. 'Okay, I'll try that.'

'Romeo one to Phoenix. Can we resume?'

The last crate was being dragged off the field by ponies. 'Go ahead, Romeo,' said Bolan. He looked at Nark. 'Take over,' he said and set off for the woods to solve the latest problem.

* * *

In the forest, by the light of flaming torches, headmen were prying open crates and giving out arms. Others were demonstrating how to use them. A noisy crowd milled amid the trees, and the air resounded with the rattle of bolts and slamming magazines. There was also a great deal of brave war talk. Gloom had given way to bravado.

As he made his way through the crowd, Bolan observed the wide variety of weapons. There were brand- new Kalashnikovs and ancient Mosin-Nagants, Dragunov snipers, and Simonov carbines. There were several makes of machine and submachine guns, and four types of grenades: soup can, egg, pineapple, and potato masher.

The variety was something Bolan would have preferred to do without — the profusion of calibers meant ammunition was not interchangeable — but he had been warned to expect it. To avoid arousing interest that might have compromised the mission, the arms were bought in small quantities in various parts of the world, and not everyone had the same weapons for sale.

Bolan found Vang Ky by a crate of pepeshas, the acronym for the PPSH-41, the famed submachine gun of World War II whose perforated barrel and circular 70-round ammunition drum gave it a distinctive appearance. With it the Red Army drove the Germans from the Soviet Union. The guns had been bought in Chad from a supposed Marxist revolutionary making a killing from the resale of arms given to him by the Soviet Union.

'Everything going okay?' Bolan asked.

'Very good, Colonel,' replied Vang Ky, his mood visibly improved. 'The men are very happy. Plenty of guns.'

'And the money?'

'Already divided.'

Bolan watched him explain to a younger man how to use the pepesha.

As with most older Montagnards, Vang Ky was familiar with World War II Russian weaponry from the war fought from 1946 to 1954 between the Vietminh and the French in which the Montagnards sided with the French.

When Vang Ky finished, Bolan asked, 'Can I have a word with you in private?'

'Important?'

'Yes.'

The headman signaled to an assistant to take over, and they went back out onto the field. A plane was coming in for a drop. Bolan waited until the plane passed and the noise subsided, then he explained the problem and made his proposition. In return for a defensive follow-up, the Meo could have the Tiger gold.

Vang Ky considered it for a while, eyes on the ground, teeth sucking the air. Bit by bit his head began shaking. 'No, Colonel,' he said finally. 'No good. If we must defend, we must be paid more. And not with gold. The gold belongs to the Hmong.''

'Not quite,' said Bolan.

For the next quarter of an hour they haggled like a couple of fishmongers. It was a role Bolan did not relish, but he did not shirk it. As Bismarck once observed, three things are necessary to win a war: money, money, and money. And he who talks money by necessity talks like a fishmonger.

'Okay, Major,' he said at last, 'if that's how you feel, you can lead the attack yourself. Nark and I are pulling out.'

The headman started, taken aback. A ruse or for real? He was well aware the Meo needed Bolan as much as Bolan needed the Meo. Without Bolan, the chances of them destroying Tiger were nil. Instead, Tiger would destroy the Meo. 'Pull out?' he exclaimed. 'You cannot do that!'

'You don't think so?' said Bolan. 'Listen, Major, the whole point of attacking Tiger is to exploit their files. Without security they can't be transmitted. The attack becomes pointless.'

Again Vang Ky lowered his eyes and sucked through his teeth. Again, his head began to shake. 'No, Colonel, I still cannot agree.'

'Sombaj, Major,' said Bolan and walked off.

'Wait!' Vang Ky called after him. He ran up to Bolan's side. 'Let us say I agree. Could you obtain immigration visas for my sons?'

Bolan stared down at him in amazement. You son of a gun, he said to himself. Talk about a horse trader. All the while Vang Ky had been building up to this. 'That could be arranged,' he said.

'Then I agree. A defensive perimeter in return for the gold. And visas for my sons. Shake?'

They shook hands, and Bolan went back to Nark.

'Well? 'asked Nark.

'We're back on the rails,' said Bolan.

'I knew you'd do it.'

'Romeo one to Phoenix!' The voice was frantic. 'Low-flying aircraft closing in from the south. Unidentified.'

'I thought those gizmos were supposed to blind their radar,' said a voice in one of the planes.

'Goddamned Russian equipment,' spat another.

From over the ridge came the sound of jets. Two F-86 Sabre fighters roared over the valley, and Bolan caught sight of red-white-and-blue rondelles: Royal Thai Air Force. The planes banked and went into a tight circle over the valley, effectively blocking any further drops.

'Romeo one to Phoenix. Fighters demanding we identify. What do we tell 'em?'

'Stall them,' Bolan replied. 'You don't understand. Ne panimaiyu. In the meantime, what is status of cargo? Romeo one?'

'Clear.'